“Not really.”
“You’d rather I call you by your first name?”
I long to hear him say my name, not that I’d ever admit it. “I don’t care what you call me.”
“So I can call you fuck buddy and you’d be good with it?” His expression is one of pure innocence.
“Only if I can call you major asshole,” I say sweetly.
And with that, I turn on my heel and make my way back to my table. I hear a few guys laughing, telling Ash that I got him good, and pride suffuses me. I know I shouldn’t be happy that I insulted him so well, but I have to take my victories where I can. Most of the time, he has me so confused, I can barely speak.
A local former Division One college football player starts giving an inspirational speech once everyone has grabbed dessert, and I try my best to focus on what he’s saying, but I can feel the vibration of my phone blowing up. At first, I think it might be Ben, but when I see that now familiar number that has no name attached to it on my screen, I know exactly who it is.
My friends think you’re funny, Callahan.
And they’re not just saying that because you’re the coach’s daughter either.
They have mad respect for you.
That you stood up to me.
You’re kind of a badass.
His texts shouldn’t make me feel better, but they do.
But then I start to panic, and worry over what exactly he might’ve shared with them about what happened between us.
You haven’t told them anything, have you?
He responds quickly. Told them anything about what?
About us.
That we’re friends? Yeah, they know we’re friends.
Do they know anything else? I ask.
Like what? You talking about the night you were grinding on my dick? Yeah, they definitely DON’T know about that.
I hate him so, so much.
If you mention that to anyone, I’ll…
What would I do?
You’ll what? Send big, bad Ben after me?
Huh. I don’t know who’d win in that fight. They’re both pretty equally sized.
I would never send my boyfriend after you.
Yeah cuz he’d dump your ass if he ever found out what we did.
Glancing up from my phone, I spot Ash staring right at me. His expression is completely neutral, but I see the glimmer in his eyes. He’s enjoying this.
Far too much.
Frustrated, I whisper to my coach that I need to use the restroom and I bail out of there, unable to take it any longer. The droning voice of the speaker, the watchful eye of my father. The even more watchful eye of stupid Ash Davis. I’m tempted to leave. Send Brandy a text that I’m not feeling well and I went home. She wouldn’t be mad. She’d probably be jealous.
I stand in the lobby of the church where the team dinner’s held, debating what I should do next, when I hear the door behind me quietly click shut. I turn to find Ash standing there, all by himself, a smug look on his handsome face.
“You need to leave me alone,” I whisper hiss at him.
The innocent look on his face is pure bullshit. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re following me.”
He rests a hand on his chest. “I would never follow you.”
“Liar.” I spin on my heel and march right for the double doors, pushing my way outside. Ash is right behind me, so I keep talking to him. “I’m sick of you harassing me, Ash.”
“I’m sick of you pretending you’re hot for your boyfriend when we both know who you’re really hot for,” he retorts, his eyes flaring.
I gape at him, my surprise rendering me silent. “Why do you always have to make everything sound so dirty?”
“It’s a particular skill I have.” A strong breeze comes up, making all the leaves in the trees surrounding us rattle, and I wrap my arms around myself. The wind isn’t that cold, but I’m chilled just the same.
By the look in Ash’s eyes.
By the harsh tone of his voice.
“Isn’t it exhausting, pretending all the time?” he asks when I still haven’t said anything. “Pretending that you’re someone you’re not?”
I lift my chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You act like you’re better than me. You act like you and Ben are the perfect couple, when we know it’s bullshit. And when I say we, I mean you and me.” His lips thin as he contemplates me. “I could go back inside right now and tell everyone what we did. That would totally ruin the illusion you’ve so carefully built.”
Panic rises in my throat, nearly choking me. “You wouldn’t.”
“I’m tempted.”
“You can’t.” I take a step toward him. Then another. Glancing around, I make sure nobody is around before I whisper, “My father is in there.”
“Yeah, and he’ll probably shit his pants when I tell him his little princess isn’t quite as perfect as he thinks.”
Tears sting the corner of my eyes and I shake my head, fighting them off. Willing them to stop. I refuse to cry in front of this asshole. “Why are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“You act like you’re obsessed with me and then you turn around and insult me.” It’s so true. He’s mean. He’s nice. He’s mean.
I hate it.
“I don’t know why,” he says, looking down at the ground and kicking at a rock. He sends it skittering across the sidewalk just as the leaves start rattling again from the wind. “You make me crazy.”
“You make me crazy too.” And not in a good way. “You need to leave me alone.”
“We can’t be friends?” He sounds genuinely sad, and I know that has to be complete bullshit.
“There is no way we can be friends,” I tell him, my voice firm. “This would never work. Right?”
He’s quiet, shoving his hands in his front pockets, watching me like he does. A minute ticks by, or maybe it’s only thirty seconds, I don’t know. When he finally nods, I exhale shakily. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath.
“I’ll leave you alone if you leave me alone,” he says.
Relief floods me. “Deal.”
“Shake on it?” Ash extends his hand toward me.
I take it, trying my best to ignore the currents of electricity that travel through my veins when our palms make contact.
Fourteen
Ash
I open the door of our apartment and walk inside, holding my breath when the smell hits me. Stale air, tinged with a hint of cigarette smoke and rotting food.
Guess someone forgot to take out the trash.
The only light in the tiny living room comes from the TV on the wall, flickering and blue. It may be a flat screen, but it’s old. And I’m pretty sure Don stole it from someone.
Don. My mom’s boyfriend. The asshole who tries to tell me what to do, like he’s my dad or something. I hate that guy.
I miss my dad.
“You bring me anything to eat?” Mom’s scratchy voice startles me, and my backpack slips from my fingers, falling with a loud thud onto the floor. “Shh, you’ll wake him up!” she whisper-screeches at me. I can only assume she’s talking about Don.
“I didn’t bring you anything,” I tell her as I grab my backpack and sling it over my shoulder. “It was team dinner night.”
Sometimes if I’m feeling generous or guilty, I’ll bring Mom home half my Subway sandwich or nuggets from McDonald’s. I can’t remember the last time she cooked a meal. She doesn’t take care of herself. She doesn’t take care of me either. There’s never any food in the kitchen, and Mom doesn’t have a consistent job, so there’s never any money either. I used to work odd jobs here and there, helping people in the neighborhood, mowing lawns or cleaning out garages, but the money wasn’t good enough.
Now, at least a couple of times a month, I sell Mom’s prescription pills to my friends at school. I make good money doing it, even though it’s a risk. If I get caught, they’ll kick me out. My life will be fucked.
It’s fucked already, so most of the time it’s worth the risk. Besides, Mom doesn’t even miss them. She has so many painkiller prescriptions, I don’t think she notices when I swipe a few pills here and there.