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Asher

 

These past few days with Payton around the office has been a distraction. A distraction I can't afford, since her dad is my boss. She’s cute, though, with her skirts and high heels. I step foot into the break room, and there she is. Huge smile, pink little ribbon in her hair, and a ladder next to her.

She looks over at me as I grab a water bottle from the fridge. “Oh, Asher, you’re just the person I wanted to see.”

I scrub a hand down my jaw. “Really? Why?”

“Can you hold the ladder? I want to hang these.” She points to three small framed snapshots.

“Um, does the break room really need pictures?”

“These aren’t just pictures. They’re art.” She holds up the framed photo in her hands. “It’s a cute little brook hiding in the mountains. Besides, if you can't be outdoors, why not bring it inside.”

It’s as if I’ve just offended the whole country with my statement. She’s upset, judging by the flush on her cheeks, so I set my water down and step closer to grab onto one of the rungs. “Didn’t know the fate of the world depended on pictures.”

She giggles, a soft, cute little laugh. “Well it does.”

“Great, we’re all doomed then.”

She climbs the ladder, and her long, silky leg brushes past me on her way up. Trying to keep my gaze fixated on the clock, watching the second-hand tick by, I blink as she loses her footing.

I reach my hand out to steady her, grazing my fingers along her inner thigh. “Are you ok?” I ask.

“I think so.” She straightens her posture.

“That picture almost cost you your life. Hope it was worth it.”

She looks down at me and our eyes meet. “It is definitely worth it.”

My damn hand is still on her leg, and I move it off as quickly as I can. Now I have nowhere to stare. Her legs are right in front of me. I could glance up and maybe catch a quick glimpse of her panties. Idiot. This isn’t high school. I return my attention back to the clock.

“There. All finished,” she says, making her way back down the ladder.

“Pictures hanging in the break room. All’s right with the world.” I laugh.

Her hand slaps my chest, and I like the way her smile makes her eyes light up. “Thank you for your help,” she says, softly.

She’s really fucking close. Her perfume tickles my nose. I step back, crossing my arms across my chest. “No problem.” I need out of here.

I step into the hallway and catch Brett walking toward me out of the corner of my eye. “Hey man, want to have a drink tonight?” he asks.

“Yes,” I shoot back not even thinking about it. I need to drink tonight. All the beer. I need to get Payton off my mind. Her sexiness and cuteness is just, well...too much. I’ve never really met anyone like her before. I bet they have candy named after her, because she is just that damn sweet. And I'm not really used to sweet. So, yeah, I need a fucking drink.

At the end of the day, I walk into the office to clock out.

“Sir, if you’ll just let me finish speaking, I’ll explain,” Payton says, tapping a pen on the keyboard. “You were given an estimate which means it could be more or less, depending on what the guys find.”

She hasn’t noticed me yet, so I lean against the wall waiting to see how she handles this asshole customer. Her eyebrows draw together in frustration as she clutches the phone to her ear.

“No, sorry. No one else is here. They’ve all left for the night. If you think it’s too much, you can come pick up your car and get a second opinion.” I watch her eyes widen, filling with tears, as her mouth hangs open. It’s like she’s frozen and can’t move.

Pushing off the wall, I grab the phone from her. “Listen, you fucking bitch,” is all he gets out.

“Excuse me,” I shout. “Come get your fucking car. I’ll be waiting for you.” Slamming the phone down, I search her bright blue eyes. “What the hell was that about?”

“Oh...umm...he didn’t like his estimate,” she says, turning away from me.

“What did he say to you?” I push.

She stands. “Asher, it’s no big deal. Go home. I’ll wait for him to pick up his car,” she says, knocking into my shoulder as she rushes past me.

Like hell she will. I look at the computer to see who she was talking to and grab the keys to his Chevy Camaro. I drive it to the front of the building and get out, leaning against it. Lighting up a cigarette, I wait, checking behind me, every so often, to make sure Payton isn’t coming. For some reason, I want to beat the shit out of this guy for whatever he said to her.

Just as I toss my smoke, a Ford F150 pulls in, and I stand up straight. A guy in a suit climbs out of the passenger side.

“Where’s the girl I was talking to?” he yells, walking toward me.

“You’re dealing with me now,” I say, crossing my arms.

He laughs, shaking his balding head. “She has no idea how to deal with customers, or maybe it’s just men. I’d like to speak to whoever’s in charge not the help.”

This fucking prick. “You’re speaking to him.”

“You’re in charge? Great,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Well, your secretary was rude. When I wanted to discuss the price, she wouldn’t allow me. It was completely unprofessional.”

“I stood there and listened in on the conversation, and she wasn’t the problem.” I toss his keys to him and the asshole he is, he misses them.

“She needs to be taught how to talk to people,” he says, bending down to pick up his keys.

Clenching my fists, I take a step toward him. “Maybe it’s you who needs to be taught, because when I grabbed the phone you were calling her a fucking bitch. Maybe I should teach you how to be fucking respectful.”

Walking past me, he mumbles, “She must be a good lay.”

Seeing red, I push him against his car, holding onto his shirt. “You ever talk about her like that again and I’ll fucking kill you,” I say, seething.

“Asher,” Payton yells, and I look up, crashing into her blue eyes.

“Get the fuck out of here,” I whisper, pushing him against the car before backing up.

He peels out of the parking lot. Payton stands still with her arms wrapped around herself, staring past me. Walking over, I gently touch her shoulder. “Payton.”

“Why would you do that?” she whispers. Unsure of how to answer, I push my hands into my pockets and shrug. “Asher, why?”

“He disrespected you, and it pissed me off.”

“You don’t even know me,” she says, tucking a lock of long brown hair behind her ear.

“No, I don’t know you, but I know you deserve respect. Everyone does.” I hate the way I felt when that asshole was disrespecting her.

A small smile pulls at her full lips and she nods. “Yeah, they do.”

“I was going to go have a few drinks with Brett. You want to come? I think you could use one.” I’d sure as hell like her to come. Over and over while I’m slamming into her.

“Oh, umm,” she starts, pausing to look around, “you know if my dad found out, you’d probably lose your job. I’ll just go home and have a drink, but thanks.”

She turns to go back into the garage, and I make an unexpected offer, “Dinner and beer at my place. My treat. No strings. Just friends. No one will know.”

She stops. It seems like a lifetime before she answers. “You know what? Screw it. I’d like that.”

We exchange numbers, and I give her my address. On the way home, I cancel with Brett and hit the grocery store to pick up all the things I need to grill some chicken kabobs. Yeah, I like cooking. My parents taught me well.

Twenty minutes later, I enter my place and toss my keys on the small cherry table by the door.

After a quick shower, I throw on a fresh pair of jeans and a black button-down shirt. I don’t know why I’m dressing up for Payton, but I am. It's not like this is a date. She seems like a nice girl, and I don’t normally do nice girls. Maybe we could be friends, though. Wow. That’s something I’ve never done before. Friends with a girl. Hey, crazier shit has happened.

I fire up the grill and prepare dinner. When they’re done, I set everything up on the granite island and glance around at the stark white kitchen. I'll admit it, I cleaned the stainless appliances and they gleam like a motherfucker. But this is not a date. There’s a knock at my door, and I rush to answer it. Running my fingers through my hair, I spot her on my doorstep. Fuck, she’s sexy. Her little red dress and sandals are perfect and match her ruby, red lips. Not a date. Friends. Just friends. I can do this.

“Come on in,” I say, ushering her inside.

She’s shy, moving slowly past the threshold, and I place my hand on the small of her back. She immediately sidesteps out, and I let my hand fall. It’s awkward for a moment, until she’s in the entryway.

“Ready for kabobs?” I ask with a smile.

“I’m always ready.”

I crack my neck to the side, wishing I could see what else she’s ready for. God, I’d love to find out.

She follows me into the kitchen. “I have some Miller Lite in the fridge. You can grab one if you want,” I offer, trying to make her feel more comfortable. The whole ‘my house is your house.’

She pulls two bottles of beer from the fridge, and my chest warms at the sight.

After the food is plated, I slide hers over to her and she takes a bite. She licks her fingers with an ‘mm’ and my dick twitches. Fuck. Stop. This is friends. We grab our plates and head into the living room.

“I like your house,” she tells me.

“Thanks, the open floorplan is one of the things that sold me on it.”

She glances around at the furnishings—large flat screen tv on the wall, bookcase, leather sofa and recliner—and I wonder what she thinks of my lack of bows. I’m a man, so my place isn’t bogged down with frilly decor. It's simple. Like me. Most days. Sure, when I get under the hood of an old car, yeah, I get greasy, but I keep the grease at the shop and my place neat. It isn’t borderline obsessive clean, but everything has its place. Especially my prized possession: a framed Wayne Gretsky signed jersey and official picture. It hangs right over the couch, and Payton stares at it for a moment.

“Hockey fan?” she asks, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder before planting that fine ass on the couch.

I sit beside her. “Gretsky fan. Big difference.”

“Oh, well hockey’s cool.”

“Hockey’s ok,” I say.

“It’s so mean.”

“Mean?” I take a bite of a green pepper.

“They nearly kill each other on the ice. It’s all so violent.”

I tilt my head to the side. She’s sweet. “Yeah, I guess it is kind of violent. What about you? Big sports fan?”

She shakes her head. “Not really.”

“Knitting?” I ask.

Confusion is set in her eyes. “I’m sorry?”

“Your hobbies. I bet you knit. Like sweaters and shit,” I say, taking another bite.

She laughs. “No, I don’t know how to knit.”

“So, what does Payton Hudson like to do for fun? You do know what fun is right?”

She glares at me, crinkling her nose. “Yes, I know how to have fun.”

“That doesn’t involve decorating?”

“Oh, ha ha. I sometimes like to hike.” She takes a sip of her beer.

I set my plate down, taking a quick swallow of beer. “Wait a second, you hike?”

“Sure. What you don’t think I know how to get dirty?” she asks.

Oh damn, I’d love to find out how dirty she can be. Keep it together, man.

I stare at her for a moment, trying to think of something to say. “Yeah,” is what I say. “So, you like living here now?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Well, I’m not really sure. I mean, I like it here for now.”

I raise a brow in question. “For now?”

She places her plate down and takes another sip of her beer. “Yeah, for now. Who knows where the road will take me.”

She sounds like a wandering traveler, and all of a sudden, I want to know more. I need answers to her past, present, and future.