Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“I’m good,” Asher grinds, but his voice sounds highly constipated. I mean, not like I’ve met that many highly constipated people, but it just sounds all pinched and wrong. Plus, he looks even worse. Now he’s biting his lip, and his nostrils are flaring.
“Are you in pain?”
He doesn’t answer that. Instead, he shoves his bag of popcorn at me and says, “I’ll be right back.” Then, he stands right up with absolutely no care for the rows of people behind us, but we’re also right in the middle of the theatre, in the middle of a row, so I’m not sure how else he is supposed to get out.
He makes quick work of it, nimbly dodging past at least fifteen people. When he hits the aisle, he makes a break for it and disappears around the corner so fast that I have to blink at his empty seat.
Holy freaking popcorn. I have no idea what just happened. I don’t think it was normal, though, so I should go and check if Asher’s okay. He might not be my real boyfriend, but he is my boss, and I do kind of know him. Besides, I’m here with him either way, so I feel kind of responsible for his wellbeing.
I’m also slightly freaked out.
Plus, I’d really like to get away from Crawly Beard. Just saying.
I stand up too and make apologies down the entire row as I try to climb out. I’m not freaking athletic and nimble like Asher, so I struggle a little. Plus, I’m holding two bags of popcorn and two full drinks. I’m a walking disaster.
Finally, I manage to get out of the theatre, and the first person I see, coming out of the washrooms at the end of the hall, is Asher. Thankfully, he’s no longer purple. Now, he’s a perfectly normal color, at least until he sees me, then his cheeks become slightly pink.
“Are you alright?” I ask as soon as he’s close enough that I can whisper and know he’ll hear me.
He nods, but then he runs a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it in a messy, sexy kind of way that makes my fingers, nipples, and va-jay vibrate.
“I’m glad you look better. You scared the crap out of me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Asher gets that weird look I’ve seen on my brothers’ faces way too many times when we were growing up, and they did something terrible they knew would piss my parents off. He looks guilty, and I have no idea why.
I lower my voice to a whisper. “You know we’re just fake dating, right? If something’s going on…” I’m the one who feels sick saying it, though. Thinking about him rushing out of the theatre to answer a text from someone else, someone female who is not me, really sucks.
“No. It’s not that.”
I believe him. Irrationally, of course, my relief is immense. “If you’re feeling sick, you can just tell me. I’m not one of those people who is all uptight and will freak out. I can even drive you home if you want, or at least back to your hotel, and get a cab. Or if you need to go to the doctor, I can—”
“It’s not that. Really. I’m fine.”
“But you…you just ran out of there.”
Asher gets that look again, but this time, I realize it’s not guilt. It’s embarrassment. I remember he was coming out of the washrooms. Oh. It was that kind of problem.
“You realize I grew up with two brothers. There really isn’t any bathroom humor I haven’t heard. They used to take very pointed and specific pleasure in farting on me. They’d freaking hunt me down in the house, walk into a room, find me there, come over, and fart straight on me. Both of them. They were disgusting beasts. I swear it was the only thing that gave their life meaning. Of course, me being their little sister, they felt they had a right to initiate me into life that way.”
I watch carefully, and Asher’s shoulders slump. His jaw relaxes, and his left eye stops ticking. The vein in his forehead also stops throbbing, but his cheeks become an even darker red. He blows out a long breath.
“We had a lunch meeting. Tacos. I’ve, uh, well…the beans and spices were…potent. I didn’t want to, um, pass gas. In front of you. Or in a public place.”
I can’t hide my amusement, literally. Unable to help myself, I giggle. I know I shouldn’t laugh because Asher’s so serious and mortified, but yeah. I did grow up with two brothers, and their whole world revolved around gas.
“It’s good to know that even billionaires get gastric catastrophes.”
“That’s not funny. Being rich doesn’t give you a steel stomach.”
“It should give you better immunity. You can afford better quality food, good vitamins, and the best medical care.”