by Aly Stiles
“What? No,” I say, blinking away the offending liquid. “Just dry eyes.”
“From not sleeping?”
“From a lot of things.”
“Shouldn’t you be up at the patio?”
I freeze, studying her. “What do you mean?”
She squints back. “Um… isn’t that your crew up there working on the outdoor kitchen and pool deck?”
“Yeah, but…” My mouth opens but no more words come out. “Iris…” It’s practically a whisper, and by her confusion, I can tell she’s not messing with me. If she isn’t the one responsible for this, who is?
“Iris, someone paid my boss to give me the day off. Double, apparently.”
“Huh?”
I shrug, shaking my head. “Exactly. I went up to work and Lane sent me back home. Said I should take the day off. Orders from the client or whatever.”
She looks how I feel, and my pulse pounds in my veins. What the hell is going on?
“I don’t know, I just…” I press the heels of my palms against my eyes to soothe the ache.
She gasps, drawing my attention back to her. “Oh my gosh. Ashton, he knew!” she whisper-shouts.
Yeah, that doesn’t help. “Who knew? What did he know?”
“My dad! Last night. He must have recognized you. He knew you were one of the landscapers working on the house.”
Blood drains from my face. I feel it shifting all over my body in unfiltered chaos. Her giant grin doesn’t match the storm inside me.
My head starts moving in numb arcs, my nails digging into my palms.
“What’s wrong? Why do you look so sick?”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to process any of this. I’m shell-shocked, literally staring through a window at a world that doesn’t make any sense.
“Ashton? Wait… are you mad about it?”
I close my eyes, not sure. Am I? It feels like I should be. It feels like I should be fighting back, raising hell over something, but I’m so tired. So damn tired.
“No. I mean. Yes. I mean. I don’t know.”
I push my fists against my stinging eyes. I can’t think straight. Can’t sort anything out in my jumbled head. When’s the last time I’ve slept more than a few hours? Had even a fraction of a day to myself? When’s the last time I had the option to just let go enough to take a full damn breath?
I’m startled back to the present with a warm hand on mine. Iris drags it from my face and tucks it firmly in both of hers. I glance at her in surprise but don’t pull away. I should, but I don’t.
Maybe I’m even too tired to fight the things I want.
She squeezes and releases one of her hands to run her finger over my skin. Up one finger, back down to the next. Up and back. Up and back. We watch the path of her touch, mesmerized by the foreign image.
Touch. It feels so fucking good to be touched.
“Where’s your brother today?” she asks quietly.
I keep studying the soothing movement of her finger. “With a friend. He’s safe.”
“That’s good. So you can go home and rest like my dad wanted?”
I release a harsh breath, breaking the spell. “Not exactly. Mom and her new boyfriend are still there.”
She cringes as if she’s the one who can’t go home. Her teeth sink into her lower lip as she glances at the gate. “Then I guess you have to stay here.”
“What?”
“I’ll set you up in one of the guest rooms. We can park your truck in the garage and go in through the front so your coworkers will never know you didn’t leave.”
I laugh darkly. “Right. Sure.”
“I’m serious, Ashton.” She tugs my hand. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“Iris, I’m not going to just sleep in your house all day.”
Her eyes narrow on me. Wait, is she pissed again?
“You take care of everyone else. Maybe it’s time you let someone take care of you for once. I guarantee my dad didn’t do this to insult you. He did it because he’s a good person who cares about other people. So stop being so pigheaded and just let someone be nice to you. Why is that so hard for your intelligent brain to comprehend?”
Her words echo through the cab in a blaring loop. Nothing she said is wrong. Or maybe all of it is. I blow out a long breath and groan, massaging my eyes again.
“Iris…” I draw out, giving her a hard look.
“Ashton…” she says, mimicking my contrary tone and expression.
I can’t help the smile that spreads over my lips. “Smartass.”
“Better a smartass than a stubborn ass-ass.”
I choke on a laugh as she grins and shoves my shoulder.
“Let’s go, jackass. You’re wasting precious minutes.”
Chapter Ten
IRIS
I’ve survived three years of grueling coursework at Brynne University. Twenty-one as the younger sister of Ivy Alexander. And yet, nothing in my life was as difficult as convincing Ashton Morgan to freaking lie down on a bed and relax for five damn minutes.
Seriously, the boy is going to make me scream.
“But what if—”
“Oh my gosh! If you make one more excuse, so help me,” I warn, pointing at him. “Now, lay down on what’s probably the most comfortable mattress you will ever experience and go to sleep.”
I push past him to the window and close the blackout curtains. If not for the lamp on the nightstand, we’d be in total darkness.
He drops to the edge of the bed, massaging his temples as he leans forward. “This is insane,” he mutters.
I cross my arms and lift a brow in challenge.
With a sigh, he finally relaxes his shoulders. “You don’t understand, Iris. I can’t… I mean, I’m not a good sleeper. I can’t just close my eyes and drift off like that.” He snaps his fingers, and I actually do understand.
Anxiety I know. Insomnia I know. It may be stress about different things, but I have plenty of experience lying awake and staring at ceilings.
My stance eases as I study him in the faint light. Maybe we’re going about this all wrong.
“Ashton, when’s the last time you’ve had a massage?”
“You mean like in the pool house the other day?”
I roll my eyes. “No. I mean, a real massage to relax. You know, that thing where you lie down while trained professionals apply pressure to sore muscles?”
He looks at me like I just grew a tail. “Yeah, okay. I’ll just sign up for that after we finish installing the jacuzzi and sauna in the bathroom of my shitty apartment.”
He releases a breath, shaking his head.
“Right. Well, that’s not going to work for me.”
“Excuse me?”
I start toward the vanity and scan the bottles lined up for guests. “Take off your shirt and lie down.”
“What?!”
“Oh my god! Are you going to be difficult about every freaking thing?” I spin around and fire a mock glare at him.
He winces, a slight smile ticking up his lips. “You’re pretty cute when you’re mad. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“And you’re a pain in the ass,” I mumble, turning back to my task.
I catch his smile growing into a grin in my periphery, and a jolt of heat surges through my chest.
You’re pretty freaking cute all the time so…
I pluck a bottle of unscented lotion from the vanity, and return to the edge of the bed.
“Let’s go, hotshot,” I say, waving over his shirt.
His gaze still thinks I’m insane, but he doesn’t comment as he begrudgingly grips the back of his shirt and yanks it over his head. He stares at me with a wary look as I fight hard not to stare at him. He’s already not okay with this. The last thing he needs is me gawking at his amazing body. Like, oh-em-gee amazing. Geez.
I force away the butterflies and twirl my finger with an authoritative air, instructing him to lie down. He continues his defiant stare, cha
llenging me to a silent standoff there’s no way in hell he’s winning at this point. After several long seconds, he finally blows out another breath in exasperation, literally throwing up his hands as he turns and drops to the mattress with a grunt.
I smile to myself and approach slowly, climbing onto the bed with careful movements. Straddling him, I can’t help a short, covetous perusal. Everything in me wants to trace the etched lines of his shoulders and back. Maybe this was a bad idea. Wait, of course it was a bad idea.
There’s also no way I’m not touching his bare skin now that I have the chance.
He tenses when I first make contact. Already taut muscle coils into hard ridges I can barely nudge with my thumbs. His gaze is fixed on the wall in a hard stare, like he’s fighting any sensation that could feel good.
“Relax, Ashton,” I say gently. “It’s okay to let go. Just close your eyes.”
He blinks a couple of times as if testing to see if that’s possible. Finally, he allows them to drift close, and I smile again.
I’m downright smug when he’s asleep two minutes later.
With history’s shortest massage complete, I pull the sheet over Ashton and quietly sneak out of the room. Part of me wants to park by the door just to guarantee no one disturbs him, but it’s unlikely with only me, Spencer, and Charmaine at the house today.
Relocating to the great room, I’m barely two chapters into my boring textbook when a shadow blocks my light.
“What’s up, kiddo?” Dad practically yells, leaning over me. “Did I startle you?” he asks with a knowing grin.
He did that on purpose!
I press my hand to my chest, heart racing. “Um. Yeah. Jerk. What are you doing home?”
“I never left. I have a big lunch with a potential client, so I figured I’d work from home this morning.” He nods toward my tablet. “Doing some exhilarating Concepts of Leadership reading?”
I grunt and switch it off. “Yeah. It’s fascinating. Did you know good leaders surround themselves with smart people who know how to do stuff?”
He smirks. “Really? Huh. I should try that.”
He winks and starts to walk away.
“Hey, Dad, um…”
He turns, waiting as I form my words. Might as well be out with it. “Ashton is asleep in one of the guest rooms.”
His face flickers with surprise before easing into a smile. “Good. Was he mad?”
“A little.”
His shoulders slouch and he returns to lean against the back of the couch.
“He has it rough, Dad. Really rough. Remember all the human shit?”
His eyes fill with compassion as his fingers curl around the edge of the cushion. “I know, kiddo. I could tell.”
“And he’s trying so hard. I don’t know, it’s like… Despite everything he’s still so selfless and a really good person.”
“I sensed that too.”
Emotion burns in my throat as I look up at him. How can Dad be so amazing? It’s like he always knows what I need and what I need to hear. I have no idea what I’d do without him, and it hurts so much to think there’s someone upstairs who doesn’t have this in his life. Who reads Ashton’s mind and tells him what he needs to hear? Who does he lean on when he’s drowning?
I push up from the couch to reach over the back and wrap my arms around my father. He squeezes in return, and I rest my cheek against his chest.
“Thank you for doing that,” I say quietly.
“Thank you for being the kind of person a dad can be proud of.”
I bury my face in his shirt, pretty sure it’s not fair how lucky I am.
It’s just after two when I’m disturbed again. This time the intruder looks lost and confused and a little embarrassed.
Ashton rubs the back of his neck as he stands in the entrance of the great room, his shy look and messy hair begging for my attention.
“Hey, sleepyhead. How do you feel?” I ask, closing the book I was reading. This one was way more fun than Concepts of Leadership textbooks. A poor single father got a second chance to be a rockstar and ended up falling for one of the bandmembers. Yeah, totally ridiculous, but intriguing none-the-less.
“Like shit, actually,” he mumbles, shuffling forward. “How long was I out?”
“About six hours.”
“Damn,” he says, dropping to the couch.
His gaze shoots to the wall behind me, and I wave him off.
“It’s fine. They can’t see you. I made sure the curtains are closed.”
“I feel so guilty,” he mutters, leaning forward to rest his forehead on his fists.
“I’m not surprised. You know who else feels guilty?”
He tilts his head to squint over at me.
“Me. For giving you the most pathetic massage in the history of massages. Matt would be embarrassed.”
“Matt?”
“My massage therapist.”
“Ah.”
He shakes his head, a wry smile slipping over his lips.
“What?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“Nothing.”
“Um, obviously something is amusing you.”
“You say massage therapist like I’d say landlord.”
I scrunch my nose. “You get your massages from your landlord? Weird.”
He laughs and throws a pillow at me. After blocking it with a grin, I adjust to an upright position on the couch.
“Come here,” I say.
“Why?” he asks, eyeing me warily.
“Will you stop being so difficult all the time? Just sit.” I point to the spot in front of me.
His gaze drops to the floor then back to me.
“Come on,” I drag out with a groan, reaching over to grab his sleeve. “I’ll even let you keep your shirt on this time.”
He huffs a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face before finally following instructions.
“This good?” he asks dryly, looking up from the floor.
“Move back just a little,” I say, tugging his collar. “There, yeah.”
He still doesn’t look sure about this when I lean forward and dig my thumbs into his shoulders.
“Geez, kid. Tense much?” I mutter.
He releases a breath. “I tried to warn you.”
“Yeah, so next time Matt stops by, you’re coming over.”
He tosses back an amused look. He thinks I’m joking.
We quiet after that, and eventually he lowers his head and gives in to letting himself relax. I do my best to work out some of the kinks in his tight shoulders and back, but the combination of dense muscle and fierce tension proves to be a worthy opponent for my small hands. Plus, there’s the fact that Ashton is sitting within arm’s reach, allowing me to openly touch him. Try keeping your focus through that.
When my thumbs can’t take any more, I use the heels of my palms to smooth over his shoulders and back, enjoying the feel of him way more than he probably is.
Running my palms up his shirt one last time, I circle to the front and lock my arms around his chest. My chin rests on his shoulder.
“Can I ask you something?” I say softly against his ear.
He sighs, but doesn’t pull away. “You’re going to anyway.”
I smile at the familiar response. He’s not wrong.
But my humor quickly fades as I absorb the rise and fall of his chest. How many moments does he get to just sit and breathe?
I tilt my head so my cheek is resting against the top of his shoulder instead. My fingers play with the collar on the front of his shirt, tracing the fabric, then the warm skin above it. He almost seems to shiver at the contact, and chills run through me as well.
“When’s the last time you’ve been hugged?” I whisper.
He tenses, and I tighten my grip to keep him with me.
“Braydon. Yesterday when I left for my shift.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.” My fingers drift from his chest to his neck where they glide in an airy caress.
> I feel his sharp inhale, and my own skin tingles as it brushes over him. I’ve never felt this before, this rush of longing for the smallest of touches. My lips are inches from his neck, and I imagine myself being free to press them against his skin one day. Breathe him in the way I am now.
Taste him.
Feel him.
Run my hands down his chest in a gluttonous clench of possession and have him respond with a groan of pleasure instead of tensing to run like he is now.
“I don’t know,” he says quietly.
I close my eyes against the burn of those simple words, and my arms cinch tighter around him.
“Now you can say today.”
My voice is barely audible, and my body erupts when he presses a calloused hand around my forearms, gripping them. He holds us there for a second, his version of a thank you, I think.
“I don’t understand any of this,” he says on an exhale. “None of it makes sense.”
His thumb moves over my skin, sending currents of electricity through me. Somehow I know what he means.
“I know. I don’t understand it either,” I whisper back. “But it is.”
He releases a heavy breath, making me shiver at the achingly beautiful pain of it. The next few seconds feel stolen as we hold on to the dying embers of this moment.
“I should get going,” he says finally, but maybe there’s regret in his voice this time. My stomach twists into knots as I cling to it.
“Or you could stay,” I breathe out.
He stiffens, and my sweet stomach knots turn sour when I know I’ve lost him.
“I can’t. I have to get my brother.” He drops his hand in a definitive end to whatever this is.
With a hard sigh, I release my arms and straighten.
I watch in silence as he pushes himself up from the floor, cringing from the chill of not having him against me. This isn’t right. Allowing him to return to his dark world while I’m stuck here in the light without him.
“Do you work tonight?” I ask as he adjusts his crooked clothing.
He glances over. “No, but I have to watch Bray.”
“Bray is your brother?”
“Braydon, yeah.”
“How old is he?”
“Eight.”
I nod. “Bring him over for dinner. We can go in the pool.”