I bite my lower lip. “Honestly? I don’t know. I go back and forth on it. Sometimes I see cute kids in the grocery store, and they’re giggling and smiling, and I want that. Other times I think about all the time I have to commit to this program, and I worry about the time my job will take from me and wonder if that’s fair to put on a kid.”
He hums in agreement. “I understand. This career, whether you teach it or practice it… takes up a lot of your time.”
“I think this field of study has also… made me almost scared to have kids?” I say, but it sounds more like a question. “I think it’s so easy to want kids, but raising them without hurting them in some way seems impossible sometimes. Like not being home enough so you don’t have a relationship with them,” I finish, bringing it back around to the demanding hours of being a psychologist.
He nods. “Some careers really highlight the horrors of the world.” Another comforting trace along my spine makes meshiver. “It’s okay to want to help kids and not have any of your own,” he adds softly.
“Do you want kids?” I ask after a beat of comfortable silence.
He shrugs. “Since my sister had my niece, I’ve considered it. But I’ve never felt a strong pull to be a father. I’m open to the idea of it, but it’s not something I think I need to have a fulfilling life.”
It’s refreshing to speak with someone who isn’t appalled that I may not want kids. As a woman who’s nearing thirty, it feels like just about everyone is waiting for you to settle down and have kids, otherwise you’re labeled a spinster.
My mind drifts to thoughts of my mother. She places her own regrets on me and assumes I’ll make the same ‘mistakes’ that she did.
Asher’s fingers trace along my spine, from the base of my neck to the top of my tailbone, making me tremble.
“I like that you react to my touch,” he murmurs as he peers at me through hooded eyes.
“I like the way you touch me,” I respond quietly.
When was the last time I felt like this? Have I ever felt like this? I don’t think I have. Despite the situation we’ve found ourselves in and the possible consequences, everything with Asher feels soeasy. As easy as breathing. Almost like it’s meant to be, like there’s no universe where we don’t end up together.
“What are you thinking about?” he whispers, a small smile creeping across his lips.
“Mm, just you,” I hum.
“What about me?” he asks, his grin getting wider and cockier.
“Just how handsome you are,” I say in a singsong as I flick his nose.
His eyes brighten, and he pulls me closer by my waist. “Is that so?”
I run my hands through his hair, mussing the dark espresso-colored strands. My hands drift lower, across sharp cheekbones covered by tanned skin, under his dark green eyes, the color of freshly cut grass. Lower still, my hand traces perfect pink lips, the bottom just a bit fuller than the top, and a strong, prominent jaw.
He’s the most perfect man I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, as his eyes dart over my features, just as mine have been doing to him. I feel a blush heat mycheeks. “Have you always been this beautiful?”
I shrug with a small laugh. “How am I supposed to respond to that?”
He rolls us so that he’s on top of me. “It doesn’t matter; I know you’ve always been this beautiful.”
I roll my eyes, which earns me a playful nip to the sensitive skin of my neck. “What about you?” I ask. “Have you always been this handsome?”
He nods. “Pretty much.” A cocky grin breaks out across his face, and he laughs as I lightly shove his shoulder.
“Unbelievable,” I scoff.
He leans in and kisses the joke from my lips. I wrap my arms around his neck and arch into him as I feel him harden against me.
Nights like these are something I can get used to.
I’m pulling out my phoneto text Asher if he wants to have dinner with me when I hear someone call my name. I hastily shove myphone into my bag before looking over my shoulder, where I see Matt jogging to catch up to me in the hallway.
“Hey,” I say with a polite smile as he slows beside me.
“Did you check our midterm grades?” he asks.
