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“Well...” I started, suddenly all kinds of awkward. “I should go. Gotta restock my shitty whiskey for the big emotional crisis happening upstairs.”
The man considered me, his dark brows pulled down over his eyes as he did so, and suddenly I felt the need to squirm under his scrutiny.
And what the hell wasthatall about? I didn’t squirm. I was, for all intents and purposes, very firmlyanti-squirm.
Suddenly wanting to be anywhere else, I took a step back, ready to turn and get the hell outta there.
“Wait,” he called, that low, rough voice filled with urgency. “Come inside.”
“Uh,” I hesitated, looking from his outstretched hand to the door he held open. It was the door directly beside the one that led to my apartment, and at the moment, it was wide open, showing the very empty, very under construction shop space I’d watched him work in earlier. “I don’t know that I particularly want to do that, random stranger with an empty room full of power tools.” His mouth opened, but he said nothing. “This seems like another one of those true crime situations we talked about earlier. If I go in there with you, I may never come out again.” To emphasize my point, I pointed a finger at him. “I don’t even know your name, dude.”
He dropped his gaze to my finger, those dark eyes narrowing even further, before he looked back up at me.
“I’m Asher. Asher Dunn.”
Chapter eight
Asher
Shelookedatmelike I was nuts.
Hell, maybe I was.
Because who knew what the hell I was thinking.
When I’d first seen her there, staring at me through the window in the pouring rain, I hadn’t been quite sure what to make of her.
I mean, come on. She’d been a bit of a hot mess, standing there, soaking wet, her dark hair plastered to her face and her makeup smudged under her eyes.
I shouldn’t have found it so damn hot.
But, growing up the way I had, I didn’t often see women getting messy like that. Perfection always seemed to be the name of the game for them. Didn’t matter if it was noon or midnight, the women I’d known in my life were always more concerned with their appearance than anything else. Because God forbid any one of them bothered to cultivate any kind of personality.
No, they let their push-up bras and their daddy’s bank accounts do all the talking for them.
It was fucking exhausting.
It was also a big part of the reason I’d made the move to the city in the first place. My siblings had been mortified when I’d decided to set up in Queens, not understanding why I wasn’t staying near to family in Pennsylvania, but I was determined to do this my way. My gramps understood, even if he didn’t like my being so far from home.
But my business partner—and best friend—Easton had been just as excited about it as I was; we’d spent months drawing up plans and scouting locations, working our asses off to make our dream a reality.
As soon as we’d settled on Myrtle Avenue, I knew we’d made the right decision; the neighborhood felt like home in a way that an exclusive area in Allentown never would.
Making my way to the back of the building, I reached behind the bar—the only structure in the whole place that was even close to completed—and pulled out one of the bottles I’d stashed there earlier in the week.
“Why don’t you give this a try?” I offered, holding the unopened bottle of premium whiskey out to her.
“What’d you do to it?” she asked skeptically, eyeballing the bottle like it was a bomb.
“Chill, Betty,” I said, rolling my eyes. “It’s perfectly fine. Look”—I pointed to the bottle neck—“it’s even still sealed.”
“You know, my name’s notactuallyBetty.”
“I figured. But it suits you.”
She made a face.
“Does it suit anyone, really?”
