A muscle ticked in Asher’s jaw before his expression smoothed. “Good.”
Good.
The terseness of his response ran the length of my spine, followed by a strange thrill.
He’d uttered one word, and my mind was tearing it apart, searching for hidden meanings that didn’t exist—like whether that was jealousy behind his good or sincerity.
I crossed and uncrossed my legs, restless amidst the mushrooming silence. Asher’s gaze flicked down before sliding toward the window again.
Clearly, today’s abrupt change of plans had addled my brain if I was worrying over what he thought about my “date.”
Why didn’t you tell him you were going with Carina instead of some hypothetical guy you met on an overrated dating app?
Because it’s none of his business.
Sure. That’s why.
Shut up.
Earl turned the corner, and my oh-so-delightful conversation with myself died a quick death.
I wasn’t a stranger to luxury. Vincent lived in a multimillion-pound mansion that once belonged to a famous rock star, and during my career prime, I’d attended parties at venues that would make even the most jaded jaws drop.
But the estate before me…wow.
It boasted the usual features one would expect from a house in one of the poshest neighborhoods outside London—intimidating iron gates, marble fountains, a sprawling green lawn.
That wasn’t what made it exceptional. What made it exceptional was how unexpected it was.
I would’ve pictured Asher’s house (and I was almost positive this was Asher’s house) as some modern monstrosity made of glass, concrete, and no soul, per the standard bachelor pad design package.
Instead, three stories of pale stone soared over the perfectly manicured grounds, its walls thick with ivy and its arched windows bright beneath the sunlight. A marble swan adorned the fountain anchoring a circular drive, and everywhere I looked, flowers flourished in all their summertime glory. Peonies, roses, geraniums…
A snort of laughter escaped when I noticed a pair of hedges sculpted into the shape of a football and a championship trophy, respectively. They were so obviously satire that I could only shake my head.
“Subtle,” I said as Earl parked in the drive and we exited the car. “If you added your squad number, you’d have the trifecta on your lawn.”
“That’s a great suggestion,” Asher said with all seriousness. “I’ll call my landscaper and let him know.”
“Will you pay me a consulting fee for the idea?”
“Only if you take it in the form of pizza and ice cream.”
“Veggie and pistachio?”
“Pepperoni and Rocky Road.”
“Deal.”
A smile tugged on Asher’s mouth. Our earlier awkwardness dissolved, replaced with a heady new tension. It crawled beneath my skin and spurred my pulse into a gallop.
I’d always prided myself on my ability to think clearly.
When my parents divorced, I’d drawn up a thirty-point logistical plan of action for all four members of our household.
When a pipe burst last year, flooding my flat and destroying half my belongings, I’d calmly turned off the main water supply, opened the faucets to drain any remaining cold water, and called the plumber.
And when I found out I’d never dance professionally again, I hadn’t shed a single tear. Devastation was a private thing, to be confined within the walls of my mind and soul.
So no, I wasn’t prone to emotion-led decisions. I kept my thoughts as rational as possible.
But sometimes, when I was around Asher, I found it hard to think much at all.
My mind blurred around the edges. I was roasting in my leotard and tights. I couldn’t tell whether that was because of the weather or—
Earl cleared his throat. The sound had the same effect as dumping ice water over a roaring fire.
My mental haze vanished, and Asher and I took a simultaneous step away from each other.
Earl didn’t say a word, but I swore I saw a smirk slip across his mouth.
“Let’s go inside.” Asher turned his back to me and unlocked the front door. “It’s too hot out here.”
A hush blanketed us again during our walk through his house.
“Pizza and ice cream. Not the diet I’d expect from a top footballer,” I said. I was beating a dead horse at this point, but I needed to fill the silence.
“I don’t make a habit of it.” Asher’s arm grazed mine as we turned the corner. “But sometimes, I’m in the mood for something sweet.”
