Asher ✓

36 | priority

FEBRUARY 11, 2014 / STEELTON AUTOMOTIVE REPAIR AND SERVICING

It was only when exhaust fumes threatened to knock him out that Asher stepped back from the car to breathe and cough out the lump in his throat. His tongue swept across his teeth, tasting petrol.

"Christ, kid," Vanessa Porter looked up from the car she was servicing, just long enough to throw Asher a worried look. "I bet you're going to go crazy in your forties because of all the diesel leaking into your blood."

Asher grunted a reply, "I'm taking a break, then. Be back soon."

There was no sign Vanessa had heard Asher, but he left anyway. Asher hadn't taken his jacket, and couldn't be bothered going back once he realised. Instead, he rolled down his sleeves, ignoring the dark streaks his fingers left across the fabric. The light grey cotton smudged with black grease — it looked like the colour scheme for a thunderstorm.

Down the road was a quaint cafe — one minute to walk — and everyone who worked at the garage had been there so many times that trips to it weren't actually considered leaving. Otherwise, Asher would not have risked getting in trouble with his manager. It had a very DIY feel, with handwritten menus and polka-dotted bows fastened around the food displays. He especially liked coming there in winter, where the heat from the kitchen kept him constantly warm.

When Saxon Rush walked in, Asher was draining his cup of coffee. As soon as he saw the man walk in, wearing his signature fedora, all the blood in his head quickly drained. It'd been over a week since they'd even texted each other, so Saxon had more than enough reason to get mad. But he wasn't.

He was smiling softly, looking as confident as he had the night they'd met. "Long time no see. Or talk."

Asher froze, swirling the taste of coffee around in his mouth. Truth be told, he hadn't ever planned on meeting up with Saxon again. They met on New Year's, and he went back to Saxon's apartment three days later. After that, all they did was meet up for food at this very cafe, or a quick fuck. Asher had never stayed the night, and nor had he gone on a date with Saxon.

He assumed they were finally moving on, but the person sitting in front of him proved him wrong.

"I, um. I thought we were only casual. And that you probably got tired of having me in your entourage."

"Entourage?"

"Well, yeah. Your mother's a fucking millionaire. I bet you have heaps of people regularly accompanying you to parties and concerts and nightclubs."

Saxon laughed. "You think I do stuff like that?"

"We met doing stuff like that," Asher pointed out.

"Good point. See, those people who do wild shit with me do it because I pay every time, and they want to feel like their lives are significant by surrounding themselves with important people. Harsh, but true."

At the last comment, Asher let himself chuckle. Saxon always said exactly what he was thinking, with no regards to who might be hurt or what might be triggered. Then again, he'd probably grown up endlessly appeased because of the fortune to his name.

"What makes you think I'm not after you for your money?" Asher asked.

"Because," Saxon leaned closer, "I get the vibe that you have a very good sense of what's important, and what's not."