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Me and Asia.
The two people standing on the brink of divorce.
I wonder if it’s that easy to fool someone.
The reporter’s either blind or an adept liar.
Anyone could see that’s something off between me and Asia.
Or maybe they can’t.
Maybe I’m the only one so consumed by the failure of his marriage that it’s become my whole world. Maybe people only need to see two people smiling, heavy petting and holding hands to believe they’re in love.
Pathetic.
Right under the surface, that couple could be going through hell.
The interviewer leaves and Asia drops my hand like it’s a hot coal. The way she flings it away and huffs in disgust throws me completely off guard. She tugs the strap of her purse higher and turns away from me.
My body aches for her.
I want to pin her to the wall and snatch those hands right up again.
I want her to look me in the eyes with something genuine, none of that fake stuff she was putting out for the interview.
I want inside of that tight little body.
And I want all of that tender heart.
But I don’t deserve to go there.
I screwed it up once.
I’d only hurt her again.
And I can’t, under any circumstances, do that to Asia.
So I stay back.
Keep my distance.
The silence lengthens.
“How have you been?” I ask, unable to control myself totally.
Her eyes flick up. They’re dark. Ringed with thick, black lashes. The makeup draws attention to the almond-shape of her eyes and some sparkly shadow on her eyelids. It’s like her eyes are glowing. Like she’s magic.
Asia tightens her fingers on her purse strap. “Fine.”
“I swung by the house yesterday. The manager told me there was a leaking pipe. Figured maybe I could fix it.”
“Hm.”
“It was a simple solution. I only had to—”
“What are you doing, Hansley?”
I blink. Shake my head. “Making conversation.”
