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I shrug. “I’m not sure. Maybe something like business or accounting.”
“But that’s not what you want to do, right?” Jesus this man is intuitive. “I mean it seems such a boring, mundane choice for a girl that could have anything she wants.”
I snort. Does he really believe that? I am not a girl that can have anything she wants. I’m a girl struggling to make ends meet. A girl that would love nothing more than to be a professional artist but knows, deep down, it’s a pipe dream, and I’m better off sticking with theboringandmundane,as he put it. “What’s your name? And what do you do?” I ask, ignoring what he said. The question reminds me that I know nothing about this man and that maybe I should have asked his name when he was pushing to know mine.
He smiles like he was waiting for me to ask. “I’m a teacher… amongst other things. And my name is Asher.”
The name somehow suits him, but as for being a teacher, I can’t see that. He’s just too hot. I briefly wonder what school he teaches at but push that aside for now. “Asher?” I repeat his name in a whisper, tasting it on my tongue.
His eyes squeeze shut, and I swear he groans a little before they snap open. “Now, what’s your name?”
I push off the couch with a smile, and stride to the door, pulling it open in the next second. “Crystal,” I say before I walk out.
Sweet Temptation
Eden:They say a moment can change your life.
I shouldn’t want him. But I do.
I should stay away. But I can’t.
He's off-limits.
But that won't stop me.
After all, rules are meant to be broken.
Nate: They say a moment can change your life.
I shouldn’t want her. But I do.
I should stay away. But I can’t.
She's forbidden. Off-limits.
A sweet temptation, one I should never have.
But that won't stop me.
After all, rules are meant to be broken.
Prologue
Eden – Age 14
Ishove the key in my front door, wondering what state I will find my mom in today. Yesterday was a bad day when I got home……. I found her passed out on the kitchen floor surrounded by empty liquor bottles and Xanax.
Please be okay today, Momma, please, I chant over and over in my head. I take a deep breath and push the door open, stepping in I call out to her, “Mom?” No reply. “Mom?” I call again while still chanting a silent prayer in my head.
I check the kitchen first, there is no sign of her. I head back toward the entryway calling out for her. “Mom!” I call again, the worry in my voice evident. Still, I get no reply. My pulse picks up as I start to panic, my heart beats against my ribs as I make my way to the living room. I freeze just inside the door, scrunching my nose up in disgust. The smell hits me first…vomit.
Tears prick my eyes as my gaze lands on my mom, laid out on the couch, an empty vodka bottle beside her. I rush to her prone form - avoiding the puddle of vomit by the couch - relaxing alittle when I see her chest rising and falling. At least she isn’t dead—this time. I think to myself bitterly. Grabbing her hand, I gently shake her.
“Mom. Mom. Mom.” I repeat. She doesn’t respond, too passed out from the liquor and God knows whatever else she took. I shake my head.
I shouldn’t have to deal with this at fourteen years old, but I do. Living with an addict for a parent, I’ve had to grow up quickly. To be there for my mom. When I look at other kids my age, I see the difference between me and them. But scenes like this have become a regular occurrence over the last few years.
Ever since myfatherleft, I have had to step up. I hatehim. I hate that he just left us. Left me. He gave up on us for a younger woman, moved to another state. I resenthimfor leaving me to clear up the mess he created. I resent my mom for not being stronger. For constantly putting me through this. I resent her for losing her nursing job due to addiction. Leaving us to depend on the monthly maintenancecheckshesends. Fortunately, our two-bedroom house on the outskirts of Seattle is paid off, otherwise that would have been another thing to worry about. Although it’s small, it suits us just fine and is in a nice neighborhood.
