Chapter 29: Penny
Less than an hour later, Tyler’s car is purring like new.
Asher wipes his hands off on a rag, tosses it into the back of the garage, and slides
in it.
into the driver’s seat like he owns the world and everything
I buckle myself in a little slower, watching him out of the corner of my eye.
He doesn’t say anything – just starts the engine and pulls out of the lot, steering us toward the neighborhood like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
The silence stretches for a beat too long, thick enough to chew.
So 1, naturally, decide to fill it.
“Okay, serious question,” I say, twisting toward him. “What’s your favorite color?”
He doesn’t even glance over. “Black.”
I nod solemnly, like I’m absorbing this great revelation.
“Favorite food?”
“Tacos.”
Another pause.
I squint at him, suspicious. “That sounded… almost normal.”
He flicks a look at me, brief and unimpressed.
“Don’t get used to it.”
I grin, kicking my foot lightly against the dashboard. “Favorite movie?”
He grunts
–
actual verbal acknowledgment.
We are making progress.
But before he can answer, I hold up my hand dramatically.
“Wait. No. I already know all the answers.”
I drop my voice into the lowest, gruffest tone I can manage, trying to mimic him..
“Favorite color: black. Favorite food: sand. Favorite hobby: brooding in dark corners. Favorite music: the sound of suffering.”
A tiny, almost imperceptible noise escapes from his side of the car like he tried to smother a snort and failed.
I freeze, whip my head around to look at him.
And there it is.
The tiniest smirk. Barely there.
But enough..
And holy crap is that a dimple?
I blink, stunned, mouth falling open slightly.
Because no. No.
This tall, scowling, grumpy, terrifying man should not have a dimple.
It’s unfair.
Illegal, probably.
I stare at him for a beat too long, realizing with horror that I’m gawking at him like he’s a particularly dangerous piece of art.
Heat floods my face.
I clear my throat loudly and yank my gaze out the window, pretending the passing trees are fascinating.
Smooth, Penny. Really smooth.
The car hums under us, tires whispering over the pavement, and I do my best to look composed, like I didn’t just have a minor existential crisis over a single half–smile.
A few seconds later, my stomach betrays me.
–
It growls loudly.
Loud enough that Asher flicks his eyes toward me, one eyebrow lifting in silent judgment.
I pull my hoodie tighter around me,
“I’m fine,” I say quickly.
Asher says nothing.
mortified.
Instead, he turns sharply onto a side street not the way toward my house.
I sit up straighter, frowning. “Uh…where are we going?”
“Getting you food,” he says simply, like it’s obvious.
“I said I’m fine!”
He gives me a look – flat; unimpressed, cutting right through my lies.
Right. Because clearly my stomach had other ideas.
I huff, crossing my arms.
He shakes his head, lips twitching like he’s fighting another smile.
“You’re a real piece of work,” he mutters.
I grin, victorious,
“Pizza okay?” he asks.
“Perfect,” I say.
Because honestly? I could eat literal sand at this point if it meant avoiding going home alone.
A few minutes later, he pulls into a small lot in front of a no–frills pizza joint the kind with neon signs and peeling paint and a hand painted banner that says Best Pizza in Town! in questionable handwriting.
We get out of the car and head for the door.
And that’s when I notice it.
The way people turn to look as we walk in.
I don’t know if it’s because Asher’s tall–like, really tall fight.
if i
f it’s the way he carries himself, coiled and ready, like he’s always waiting for a
Or maybe it’s just because he’s…
Well.
Striking.
Not in a polished, model kind of way.
In a dangerous, sharp–edged, holy–hell–who–let–this–walking–sin–out–in–public kind of way.
I ́straighten my spine instinctively, hyper–aware of how small I am next to him, how different.
We make our way toward the counter
–
or we try to
“Penny! Asher!”
We both turn automatically.
Asher’s body shifts without thought – angling slightly in front of me like a shield.
It’s so fast, so instinctive, it makes my heart hiccup in my chest.
But it’s just Tyler.
Ay
He’s bounding across the restaurant like a golden retriever who just saw his favorite people at the park.
“I’m so happy you guys are still here!” he says, grinning. “Come sit with us!”
I glance over his shoulder and see a table full of familiar faces – just not ones I want to look at right now.
Every part of me screams no.
Asher must be thinking the same thing, because he deadpans, “No.”
At the same time, I start rambling.
“Um, we actually- I mean, we were just–well, I think we were gonna grab something and-”
Tyler’s already grabbing my arm lightly and steering me toward the table like I didn’t say anything at all.
I glance back desperately at Asher, who stands there for a beat too long, looking like he’s calculating whether murder charges are worth a
Then he sighs.
The longest, most suffering sigh I’ve ever heard.
And he follows.
