ASHER'S POV

That kid has some nerve.

Me, a psychopath? I don't know anything about this Theo punk and I'm supposed to be cool with him? I bit the tip of my pen and bounced my foot against the carpet floor until I couldn't sit any longer.

Working all afternoon, had made me feel cooped up. I stood up and started pacing around my living room. The repetitive motion had made my stomach churn, but I did my best to ignore the sensation.

I wasn't a psychopath.

He's my mate. I'm supposed to be concerned with who he's hanging out with. Okay, maybe I shouldn't beat up his friends. I'll work on that, I guess.

I looked over at my phone sitting by the needless amount of paperwork. It dinged every so often from clueless clients that literally didn't know how to run their own business. After two minutes of just hardcore staring at the device I let out a sigh and started pacing again.

Who was I kidding? He's not going to text. He hates me and can I blame him? No, I'm a huge tool.

When the phone started buzzing, I nearly tripped over myself to grab it. My eyes went wide. It was an unknown number. Maybe there's hope for us after all. I took a deep breath and answered the call.

"Hello," I said keeping my tone even.

"Hey, Fisher, it's Ezra."

My heart nearly dropped to my stomach. I knew it was too good to be true.

"I hope you don't mind me calling so soon, but I was wondering if you wanted to get drinks later tonight." Ezra sounded bashful and I let out a sigh.

"Yeah, no worries, drinks sound good. Does six at the Dirty Oyster work for you?" I walked back to my desk and slumped into my chair.

"I should be out by then," Ezra said excitedly. "Looking forward to catching up!"

"Same," I said before hanging up and tossing my phone on the desk.

My eyes lingered on the work I should be doing for the next three hours, before wondering to the first drawer underneath the desk. I pulled it open and dug my hand inside it until I felt something small and and made of metal.

I pulled out a hot wheels car from the drawer and placed it on the desk in front of me. I know it was dumb to buy it for him in the first place and even dumber to have it after all these years, but it always felt wrong trying to get rid of it. 

If only I could express myself like a normal person, he'd be here. My thumb grazed against the faded painted, metal doors. I should have come back. I could have explained it to him.

No, he was too young. He would have never understood and it wasn't my place to tell him. 

With a heavy sigh a small shake of my head, I picked up my half chewed pen and returned to work.