“You were at the back to school dance?” I don’t remember him being there.
“Not that you’d notice. You were too busy dancing and grinding on Ben’s junk.” Ash makes a face. “He probably wouldn’t know what to do with your perfect ass if you handed it to him on a platter.”
How can someone make a compliment sound like an insult? It’s Ash’s particular skill. He’s really good at it. “You are seriously so disgusting.”
“Seriously. Seriously. You use that word all the damn time. Doesn’t Ben get tired of that shit?”
“Will you please stop bringing him into this conversation?” My voice rises. If he keeps this up, I will soon be full-blown shouting.
“You’re the one who told me you two haven’t fucked yet.” He shakes his head, collapsing onto the bar stool next to mine. “I can’t believe it.”
“Would you not call it that please?” I sound weary. I am weary. I’ve spent all day lounging in bed feeling sorry for myself and worrying, that I’m completely exhausted.
“What? Fucking? What do you want me to call it? Making love?” He draws the words out mockingly.
“I would never call it that.” I can barely think the words making love without wanting to giggle.
“Boning. Banging. Doing it. Getting laid. Sex. Fucking. It’s all the same, right?” He shrugs, angling his body toward mine. His gaze roams over me, as if he just realized I’m not wearing much, and my skin starts to burn.
“You’re so crude.”
“I’m sure your boyfriend is never crude.” I open my mouth to chastise him and he points his finger at me, cutting me off. “I didn’t say his name, did I?”
He’s got me there. Sort of. “It would never work between us, you know.”
“You really think so?” He sounds surprised.
“I know so.” I don’t, but it sounds good. “Maybe it’s best if we’re just friends.”
Those dark brows shoot up practically to his hairline. “Really? You just want to be friends with me?”
“Yes.” I nod, warming up to the idea. His earlier confession that I had his heart was nothing but a bunch of lies to try to worm himself into my house, and it worked. But he can only get so far, and he’s hit his limit. “Friends are understanding of each other. When one friend tells the other that it’s time to go home, they leave without arguing.”
I stare straight ahead, trying my best not to look at him. I see the blue light of the oven clock glowing—the time says 8:22. My family won’t be home for a while yet, but he doesn’t know that.
“That’s what you want me to do? You want me to go?” I can feel him watching me, yet I refuse to look at him.
“Yes. That’s what I want.” My voice is firm. It doesn’t waver or shake, and I glance down at my hands to see they’re clutched so tight around the edge of the counter, my knuckles are white.
“Okay. I’ll leave.” He smacks the edge of the counter and rises to his feet, exiting the kitchen with a few long strides.
I chase after him until we’re both in the foyer and he’s got his hand on the door handle, his back to me, when I ask him a question. “How’d you get up here anyway? To the lake?”
“What do you mean?” he says to the door.
“I didn’t see your truck.”
“I hid it. Parked it behind a bush just before you come to the circular drive.” He glances over his shoulder at me, his barely there smile irritatingly adorable. “Didn’t want you to spot it and call the cops on me.”
“I would never call the cops on you.” I really wouldn’t. I’m not that mean. Unless he was threatening me with bodily harm or being really aggressive.
“That’s what they all say.” He faces forward, opening the door, then turns toward me once again. “Do friends give each other hugs? The friends I have do. Sometimes.”
“There is no way I’m hugging you.” I roll my eyes.
“A truce hug then? Come on.” He lets go of the door handle and faces me fully, stretching his arms out in invitation. “I’ll leave you alone after this, okay? I promise.”
I’m not sure if he’s the type who keeps his promises. I’m guessing no.
This could be the last time I hug him. This entire encounter has been weird. Confusing. We’re a mess. We would never work, and us going ’round and ’round in circles tonight just proves that.
So what’s the harm in getting one last hug from Ash? It’s just a hug. A brief moment of bodily contact and then I’ll send him away. He won’t bug me again. He’ll get over his so-called feelings for me. He’ll give his heart to someone else or even better, he’ll discover he actually has one, and he’ll forget all about me. He’ll give it to someone else, and he’ll finally leave me alone forever.
Why does that thought make me feel so empty inside?
Deciding it’s do or die time, I walk right into his hug, my arms sliding around his waist, my head resting on his chest. I can feel the steady thump-thump of his heartbeat and I close my eyes when his arms come around me. Slowly. Enfolding me into his body so that we’re snug tight.
He holds me with a desperation, almost as if he’s afraid to let me go, and when I lift my head, tilting it back so I can stare into his eyes, I find he’s already watching me.
“Friends don’t make each other feel like this,” he says, his voice a gravelly whisper.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. “Feel like what?”
“Like you could be my everything.”
My shoulders sag. “Ash—”
“Stop talking.” He presses two fingers to my lips, silencing me. When he’s seemingly assured I won’t speak, he lightens the pressure, gently caressing my lips. Back and forth. Making me tingle.
Making me want him to do more than touch my mouth.
I want him to kiss me.
“You have the sexiest lips,” he murmurs, and the blush returns, setting my face on fire. No one has referred to me as sexy before. “What we’re doing is fucking crazy. You know this right, Callahan?”
I ignore his question. “How could I be your everything when you told me you don’t know how to feel?”
“The only time I seem to feel is when...” He presses his fingers into the corner of my mouth, so gentle, I could almost think he never actually touched me. “I’m with you.”
“What are you feeling right now?” I have to ask. I might never get this opportunity again.
“Sick to my stomach. Happy. Scared.” He visibly swallows, as if all that honesty was tough to confess. “I want to kiss you.”
Slowly I shake my head, even though everything inside of me is screaming, yes! Please kiss me! “Not a good idea.”
“Nothing we ever do is a good idea,” he says, heavy on the sarcasm.
So very true. “My parents will be home soon.”
“No they won’t. They’re at a football game. And I can guarantee that game is still happening. I’d predict it’s only in the third quarter,” he says.
My mouth pops open. “How do you know?”
“Your dad was posting all over his social media earlier. The tailgate party. Entering the stadium and all his fans losing their shit. Showing off the view from the box seats. ‘Check out this hot dog I’m eating’—he literally said that right before he shoved it in his mouth. Pretty sure I heard your mom laughing while she filmed it.” Ash chuckles. “His Instagram story is popping tonight.”
The joys of having a father who’s also a public figure. Thanks, Dad, for letting Ash Davis know where you are at all times so he’s able to keep tabs. No wonder he was so comfortable showing up here.
“But we’re only being friends right now,” I remind him. “And friends leave when they’re asked, so…”
“You’re the one who’s still holding me,” he points out, and when I glance down, I realize he’s right. His arms are dangling by his sides almost awkwardly. And mine are still firmly wrapped around his waist.
I let go of him as if he’s a poisonous snake. “That’s your cue to leave.”
He takes a few steps backward, his gaze never leaving mine. I rest my hands on my hips, trying to look tough, most likely failing miserably. He examines me with his eyes, my skin burning the longer he stares, and I don’t know why he affects me this way. Leaves me feeling warm and squirmy and completely conflicted.
I shouldn’t like him.
Yet I do.