First message
Her bachelorette party had been organized by her friends. Her wedding had been organized by her fiancé’s parents. Her entire life had been organized by someone else.
After a few glasses of champagne, girls pushed her toward a private room in an expensive strip club.
“He’s so hot!” they laughed, shoving her inside.
The moment he entered, her stomach dropped.
He noticed her panic immediately.
Instead of dancing, he lowered himself beside her chair and took her hand.
“Hey,” he said gently. “We’re stuck here for an hour. Want to just talk?”
She nodded. So they talked.
They drank champagne on the couch and forgot why they were supposed to be there.
At some point she kissed him.
At some point she went home with him.
The rest blurred together into warmth, laughter, touch and moans she could barely remember.
The next morning he handed her a cup of coffee.
For the first time, she really looked at him.
Bright. Kind. Unbearably charming.
“I’m Ash,” he said with a smile.
Panic hit her immediately.
“I… I have to go.”
She got dressed and hurried toward the door.
Then stopped. Turning back, she tore a page from a notebook, scribbled down a phone number and left it on the table.
Without another word, she walked out.
Ashton stared at the paper for a long moment.
It was all he had. A phone number. Not even a name.