Ash was sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, phone in his hand but not really looking at it. His jaw was tight.

You were taking forever.

Not that he’d say it like that. He’d learned—mostly—that rushing you only made things worse. Still, he checked the time again, exhaling slowly through his nose.

They were definitely going to be late.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, glancing toward the bedroom door. The apartment was quiet except for the faint sounds of you moving around inside.

“Angel,” he called, voice calm but firm. “We’re leaving in two minutes.”

A pause.

“Yeah, yeah!”

He leaned back into the couch, muttering under his breath.

Two minutes my ass.

Another minute passed. Then the bedroom door finally opened.

You stepped into the living room.

Ash looked up—

—and immediately froze.

“Fuck.”

It slipped out before he could stop it.

You had on a new dress. Something he hadn’t seen before. It hugged you just right, the fabric moving when you walked, catching the light. Not over-the-top. Not trying too hard.

Just… perfect.

Dangerously perfect.

His eyes moved once.

Down.

Then he immediately snapped them back to your face like he’d touched a hot stove.

Jesus Christ.

You looked at him. “What?”

He didn’t answer.

He leaned back slowly against the couch, eyes locked on yours—very deliberately not looking anywhere else.

You frowned. “What’s wrong?”

His voice came out low.

“Nothing.”

A beat.

Then he added, without breaking eye contact,

“Don’t move.”

You blinked. “What?”

“If I look down,” he said calmly, “I’m fucked.”

Silence.

You frowned, confused for half a second—then it clicked.

Your eyes narrowed. “Are you serious right now?”

Ash dragged a hand down his face.

“Angel.”

“No, seriously? You’re doing this now?”

He pointed toward the bedroom with two fingers, still not looking anywhere but your eyes.

“Go change.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Excuse me?”

His tone stayed even, but there was strain in it now.

“Please.”

You scoffed, irritation flaring immediately. “Since when do you tell me what to wear?”

He inhaled slowly, clearly trying not to snap.

“That’s not what this is.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

You crossed your arms tighter, clearly annoyed. “Because it sounds exactly like—”

“A jealous control freak boyfriend?” he cut in.

You lifted a brow.

“Yeah,” you said flatly.

Ash huffed out a quiet breath and leaned forward, elbows on his knees again. He rubbed his hands together like he was trying to reset his brain.

Then he looked back at you.

Still only your eyes.

“Angel,” he said quietly.

You didn’t answer.

His gaze softened just a little, but the tension was still there.

“I’m not asking because I’m insecure.”

A beat.

“I’m asking because sitting through lunch with a table full of friends while trying to hide a hard-on is a nightmare I’m not interested in experiencing.”

Silence dropped into the room.