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I nearly told her. She was my friend, after all. But if I gave away my secret location, she would storm over with a martini in her hand and a truckload of Louis Vuitton luggage, and we’d never get off the beach. Thanks to Asher getting me through the next few days, I had a chance to salvage this trip.
While I hesitated, Viv huffed. “Are you really not going to tell me where you are? Seriously?”
“Well…it’s just that—”
“Wow, Faith. Just…wow.”
“Viv, it’s not like that. I need some time alone. And oh my God, I already have stories for days,” I added brightly. “Stories involving helicopters and—”
“Yeah, whatever, Faith, I have to go.”
I sagged. “Don’t be mad. It’s not about you, I promise. It’s just something I need to do for myself.”
“Who’s mad?” she asked coldly, her voice clipped. “Enjoy your alone time,wherever you are.”
The phone went aggressively silent. I tossed it aside and rubbed my eyes.
“Crap.”
It wasn’t even seven a.m.; close to ten, Seattle time. About the hour I’d start thinking about rolling out of bed on a Monday morning—workday or not—if I weren’t anchored down by a hangover. But after making Viv feel like shit, my guilt wasn’t going to let me go back to sleep and neither would my ankle.
Asher had left my crutches propped against the wall next to my bed. I reached for them and noticed the beautiful man had also left a glass of water and two Advil on my bedside table.
I smiled to myself, a warm feeling in my chest. Asher Mackey was a mystery. A grouchy teddy bear who was giving up his time off to help me, even if he wasn’t going to get a thing out of it. Not even sex.
“A crying shame,” I muttered, thinking of his numerous impressive physical attributes. But I must’ve been on the path to enlightenment, since talking to him last night had been satisfying in an entirely different way from orgasms. Intimate in a way I wasn’t accustomed to.
“Oh my God, one decent convo doesn’t make you the Dalai Lama.”
I tore aside the bedcovers to examine my injury. My ankle was still puffy and decorated with bruises in various shades of purple but not as swollen as it had been yesterday. Still, four days didn’t seem like enough time to get back on my feet, so to speak. But four days was all I had. After, Asher would go back to work saving lives, and I’d be on my own.
I puffed out a breath and gingerly swung my legs over the side. I made my way to the bathroom to pee, both crutches nearly clattering to the floor when I washed my hands. Then I trekked to my open luggage on the floor and put on white shorts and a yellow tank top. What should’ve taken me five minutes took me twenty.
I debated crawling back into bed, but Asher said he’d drop by sometime this morning to check on me. I had to make an effort. I brushed my hair and contemplated makeup, but why bother? We were just friends.
“That less-fun F word,” I muttered.
But as I crutched over to unlock the front door, I found that I was looking forward to Asher’s visit. To just being with him. His rugged magnificence aside, my firefighter was a tough nut to crack. Like a stubborn client I had to wear down, and I knew there was more to his Coming to Hawaii story than he’d let on.
Or you could, I don’t know, respect his privacy?mused a voice that sounded like Silas.
I grabbed an icepack from the freezer, smiling to myself. If Viv was the devil on my shoulder, Silas was the angel. I set my foot on the coffee table and balanced the ice pack when there came a knock on the door. It opened a second later and Asher strode in, his chiseled features stony and serious.
“You should lock your door,” he said and set a grocery bag on the counter, along with a tray of two coffees.
“Good morning to you, too. And haven’t we already covered the door situation?”
But either he’d forgotten that little bit of flirtation from last night or had changed his mind. His expression remained hard, brows furrowed.
“It’s not safe.”
“Fear not. I unlocked it this morning specifically so you could barge in.”
That drew a reluctant smirk out of him, and he crouched on his heels in front of my foot to inspect my ankle. Immediately, I was inundated with the heady, masculine scents wafting from Asher—expensive cologne over no-nonsense soap and shampoo. His dark hair was still damp, and his jaw freshly shaved. Firefighters weren’t allowed beards, I supposed.
“Diagnosis?”
“I’ve seen worse.”
