I feel panic rising inside me. Everyone was right. My mother was so sure, and I thought she was nuts, yet looking at him now, I know she wasn’t.
“Let’s enjoy the night and talk about whatever’s on your mind after? Can we do that?”
He takes a deep breath, nodding. “That’s probably best.”
I exhale, closing my eyes while he’s distracted. That was close, and I can’t have that talk with him. Not now. I need to think through how I’ll let him down easily. I need Asher in my life, and this could be the very thing that severs our friendship for good.
It makes me feel sick to my stomach.
I take my sweet time eating and even order dessert, determined to drag this night out and avoid that conversation for as long as possible.
Fully stuffed and a glass of wine on the wrong side of sober, we make our way toward the waiting taxi.
The entire ride home is strained. I watch Asher from the corner of my eye, and I catch him staring at me every time. His hand lands on my knee, and I tense.
It’s not like it’s the first time he’s touched my knee, but now that I think he actually has feelings for me, it feels... wrong.
I don’t remove it, and when the taxi pulls up to my apartment, I realize that was a mistake.
It’s only when I step outside into the shock of cool air that I realize I’m thoroughly drunk. I grab his arm to stabilize myself, and Asher stares down at me in a way that suggests he’s misreading my proximity to him.
I flush, a mix of the wine and weather combining, and Asher’s eyes darken.
“Raven,” he says way too huskily.
Before I can take a step back, he leans in to kiss me. My hand claps across my mouth, effectively halting his advance.
“I’m going to be sick,” I say, turning around and running toward my door.
I’m not. It’s all an act to get out of this horrible situation. All that innocent flirting has put me in this spot. It’s always been our way, but now that potentially real feelings are involved on his end, it has to stop. I’m sending mixed signals, and it’s not fair.
I have nobody to blame but myself.
I drank too much and, in turn, sent the wrong signals.
“Raven,” he calls to my back. “Can I help?”
I turn around slowly. “I just need to be alone. I don’t want you to see me get sick.”
He smiles down at me. “Please text me in the morning.”
“I will,” I promise, opening the door to step in. “I had a good night. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He leans in and places a chaste kiss on my head. Like he typically does.
Then he’s gone, and I truly feel sick.
Inside the comfort of my home, I flop onto the bed and cry.
What have I done?
I grab my phone and call the one person I can tell about this.
“Mom... I messed up, again,” I start.
“What’s wrong, baby girl? Are you okay? Is it work?”