by Aly Stiles
“How do you not have ridiculous tan lines?” she asks.
I do get to laugh at that weird question.
“Um.” I shrug. “Lane lets us take our shirts off for most of the jobs when it’s scorching out. Not yours, though.”
Her eyes narrow. “Well, that’s unfortunate. We need to fix that immediately.”
I smile back until her expression turns serious.
She closes the gap between us and lifts her eyes to my face. Closer, I can better read the change in her. The heat from a moment ago is something else now. Something that makes even less sense: awe.
How?!
“Your brother calls you Ash,” she continues softly.
“Yeah, that’s what the people close to me call me.” My voice sounds labored, like words don’t belong in this interaction.
She nods and reaches out to trace her fingers over my skin, same path as before, but completely different now that we’re ready for it, primed for a connection that transcends this strange bond we already seem to have.
“Iris and Ash,” she whispers, staring into my eyes. “How perfect is that?”
Iris and Ash.
She’s the flower, and I’m the debris buried in the soil.
Her caress intensifies as it climbs my neck and locks behind my head. Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging with just enough force to tell me her thoughts are well-beyond this innocent touch.
But she holds back.
Even when her gaze sinks to my lips and she wets hers, she seems hesitant to advance beyond open, unexplored lust. Is this my earlier fears coming true? Her brain finally reminding her that I’m a fantasy? It’s not me in a bathing suit she wanted. It’s me as a frog prince who will suddenly transform into an acceptable suitor if she wishes hard enough—if we pretend and exchange pretty words that don’t mean anything in realities like mine.
Because I’m not a prince. I’m not even a frog. I’m fucking ash, and I’ll be blown into oblivion before she can sign the papers for her trust fund.
My chest hurts as I pull away. A shiver runs through me when the cold air hits the shadow of her warmth.
“We should go check on Braydon,” I say stiffly.
My voice cracks, and I clear it as I step around her toward the door.
“Ash…”
I close my eyes, pain pumping through arteries that burned with fire just seconds ago. Burned me into hollow debris to be discarded and forgotten, while the rest of the world blossoms around me.
I swallow the ache like I have so many times before. Like I will keep doing long after she’s thriving in the radiant spring sunlight where she belongs.
“It’s probably best if you just call me Ashton.”
Chapter Twelve
IRIS
I’m burning down the pool house. It’s obviously haunted or cursed or just so inexplicably awful that it can transform a fantasy into a nightmare. Because when Ashton walked into that building, he was a step away from making this one of the happiest days of my summer. When he walked out, like I said:
I wanted to burn down the pool house.
I watch him now, a smile plastered on his face as he wrestles with his brother in the water, but I can’t muster a pretend one for myself. Is he faking? I can’t even tell. I often can’t tell with him.
“It’s probably best if you just call me Ashton.”
He could have just slapped me. Or punched me. Or burned down the pool house himself with me in it.
“Hey. What’s up? Why the gloom?” Dad asks, dropping beside where I’m perched on the edge of a chaise.
I’ve been sitting board straight, perpendicular to the way you’re supposed to lounge on a chaise lounge, because there’s no lounging after what just happened. I don’t even know what just happened. I thought… I mean… He was right there, literally at my fingertips, and just like that he dissolved into… ash.
I think maybe I’m doing a good job disguising my pain until Dad sighs his it’s-gonna-be-okay sigh. He only sighs that sigh when he knows I’m pretty damn sure it’s not going to be okay.
“What happened?” he asks quietly. By the direction of his attention, he already knows with whom “it” happened.
“Wish I knew,” I mumble before I think better of it.
“He seems to be enjoying himself.”
“Yeah, because Ashton Morgan is the king of seeming. He can seem to be anything he needs to be to survive.”
I wince when I hear those words out loud. Dad doesn’t even have to sigh his think-about-what-you-just-said sigh this time. I got it, thanks.
“What do you think he needs to be around you, Iris? What do you think our world looks like to him?”
I grunt at today’s episode of Sage Wisdom from Kyle Alexander. Just because he’s right all the time doesn’t mean I’m always in the mood to hear it.
I watch Ashton toss Braydon across the pool, both of them laughing when the little boy lands in an awkward splash. My eyes ache from the innocent scene. My heart is cramped and raw. I want him so much it physically hurts not to have him.
“He has no clue how to be around me,” I say weakly. “He doesn’t know what he needs to be, so he’s afraid to be anything.”
Dad’s quiet for a second, and I brace myself for whatever gem is going to gut me next.
“Did you know he was basically a semester away from graduating with an aerospace engineering degree when he had to drop out to take care of his family? Apparently, he was set to graduate with honors, summa cum laude.”
I snap my gaze to Dad. “How did you know that?”
“His boss. Lane. When I talked to him about giving him the day off, I asked about his story. His professors were encouraging him to pursue grad school.”
“Explains why he’s so smart,” I mutter.
“And why maybe he doesn’t know how to let himself accept the things he wants. Can you imagine being that close to something you want and losing it?”
I watch the most incredible guy I know tousle his brother’s hair. “Yeah, I have an idea,” I whisper.
My voice sounds choked, and I clear my throat.
“Apparently, he works another job as well. Evenings and weekends at a restaurant.”
I close my eyes. Irritating tears burn in my chest. He needs to stop.
“Lane also said—”
“Dad, please,” I rasp out, turning on him.
He startles when he sees my face, and I swat at my stupid eyes. Gah, this is so annoying. What is wrong with me?
“Iris…”
I shake my head, pleading with him not to say anything else. “Can you… can you just tell them I’m not feeling well?” I force out.
Dad’s eyes flood with compassion, which is exactly the last thing I need in my quest not to become a blubbering mess. The second Ivy gets home I’m having her tutor me in the art of being shallow and callous. It has to be better than feeling like this.
I don’t wait for an answer as I grab my dress and push up from the chair.
“Did you tell him?”
I freeze, Dad’s words hanging in the stale air around me. I blink back more tears and shake my head. “No,” I say faintly. “It hasn’t come up.”
Dad reaches for my hand and squeezes. When I look down, he’s not watching me. He’s studying Ashton.
“How much do you want him, Iris?” he asks softly.
“More than anything.”
“Then maybe you need to share one of your secrets. Maybe it’s time you learn to fight for something you want.”
I never get to be alone with Ashton again tonight. I don’t run sobbing to my room either, however, and end up doing a pretty good job at hiding the fact that I’m breaking inside. That a piece of my heart snaps off with every look we exchange, every adorable way he interacts with his brother, every sexy movement of his body that I’m not allowed to appreciate anymore.
And he’s so smart. My girl parts practically explode when he engages in heated debates with my dad on everythin
g from politics, to the economy, to anything else my father throws at him. I don’t even think Dad is testing him. I think he’s actually enjoying the thrill of being matched for once.
“What’s up with that fixture?” Ashton asks through a bite of pasta, pointing with his fork to the row of low-hanging pendant lights above us.
We opted for eating our mac and cheese at the island instead of the formal dining room. Also, boxed mac and cheese may be Braydon’s favorite, but there’s no way cheese powder was making its way past the threshold of this house. We ordered in the best mac and cheese from Pearl’s Kitchen instead, along with several other dishes for those of us who aren’t set on basing our survival off one food source.
Dad swipes a napkin over his mouth and grunts. “Yeah, it just started flickering this morning. We’ll have to get the electrician in here.”
“Want me to take a look?”
My dad stares at Ashton in surprise. “You know anything about electrical work?”
“I mean, I’m not going to start installing new panels or anything, but yeah, I know some stuff. It’s probably just a loose wire or something.”
Dad does his throat-clearing-leaning-back-in-his-seat maneuver he does when he’s impressed. I’ve been seeing a lot of that tonight, actually.
“Sure. If you want. But I really don’t mind calling the electrician.”
Ashton waves his hand. “Nah, they’ll charge you a fortune just for coming out and it’s probably nothing. I’ll look at it when we’re finished.” He takes a sip of water and sets the glass back on the counter. “Where are your electrical panels?”
“In the basement. I’ll show you.”
Ashton nods and resumes eating like what just happened is the most normal thing in the world. By Dad’s expression when he lands his gaze on me, Ashton Morgan is very much abnormal. I couldn’t agree more.
With dinner complete and an embarrassing call to the electrician averted (apparently, a bulb wasn’t screwed in tightly), Dad disappears to get some work done before bed, while the rest of us retire to the media room. There was no way that wasn’t going to happen once Braydon learned of the existence of our decked-out home theater.
He bounces on his toes with a look of wide-eyed wonder when he sees the rows of comfortable leather recliners set up just like a miniature movie theater. It’s cute how every new experience is the best one yet for this kid. I wonder if Ashton was like this at his age. It makes my heart hurt to think of all the things that have stripped him of his joy.
True to form, his expression is more reserved than eager when his brother throws himself into a seat in the front row.
“What do you want to watch?” I ask Braydon.
“What do you have?”
I chuckle and grab the tablet with the controls for the room. “It’s probably easier if you just tell me what you want. I bet we can find it.”
Braydon chooses (shouts) a title, and I queue it up.
Ashton is still hovering near the entrance of the theater when I dim the lights and make the giant red curtains open. Of course that’s now the coolest thing Braydon’s ever seen.
“You okay?” I ask, moving beside Ashton once the movie starts. Braydon is bouncing in his seat, riveted to the screen.
“Yeah, fine,” he says tightly. He even adds an annoying fake smile I don’t believe for a second.
“Okaaay,” I draw out. “So are you going to sit or were you planning to watch the whole thing from the doorway?”
He’s quiet for a moment before shaking something off and offering a smile that’s a little better than the previous attempt.
“Right. Yeah.”
He heads toward the front row, and I follow, taking the seat on his other side when he drops to the chair next to Braydon. Strangely, his posture sitting is about as stiff as it was standing. I’ve never seen a person park in a chair so awkwardly.
Twenty minutes into the movie, he finally seems to relax. At least he’s sitting in his seat like a normal person. A few minutes later his arm even rests on the armrest between us.
This seat is designed to be adjustable into a two-person haven for more romantic encounters. With a simple push of a button, the barrier lifts upright and disappears into the gap between the backrests. I’d do anything to do that right now. To rest my head in his lap as he gently combs his fingers through my hair. I’d trace his knee, maybe reach up to grasp his hand and lock it securely against me.
I study his real hand with fascination. My body now aches to take it and hold on. I think back to that brief moment in the driveway when we did. It felt so right. So safe and comforting. If that’s what it’s like to hold his hand, what would it be like to be held by Ashton.
To kiss him.
My pulse picks up.
To undress him.
Crap, my thighs are squeezing together involuntarily as desire surges through me.
I have to curl my fingers into a fist to keep them from reaching out.
When I look up, his eyes are on me, curious and maybe tinged with lust as well. I suck in a breath at the effect, my heart racing. Does he want me to touch him? Did whatever that weirdness was in the pool house pass?
His gaze sinks to my lips. Mine finds his. I sense his arm still resting between us, tempting me, practically emitting magnetic pulses to draw me in.
But just when my hand moves to find long-awaited relief, he pulls his arm back to his lap. Straightens into the statue from earlier, suddenly fixated on a stupid kid’s movie.
Just like that, I’m left with empty space that wasn’t empty before I met him.
It’s no surprise when Ashton declares they need to head home the second the movie ends.
Chapter Thirteen
ASHTON
I can’t get out of Iris’ presence fast enough. I try to stay polite, especially when her father insists on sending us home with the leftovers from dinner. They were both incredibly kind, orchestrating the perfect night for us, which is why I need to run as fast and as far as I can. I have no interest in getting used to things I can’t have.
And Iris Alexander—I can’t have.
Tossing the bag of food beside Braydon in the backseat of the truck, I buckle up and get this vehicle as far away from the danger zone as possible. Seriously? What is wrong with me? It took me all night to finally reconstruct the wall back to where it should be, and with one look it all came crashing down.
All I wanted to do the entire movie was take her in my arms. Strip her and kiss her and enjoy every amazing thing she is. I didn’t even care about the consequences in that moment. Didn’t care that two weeks later she would have dumped my ass back where it belongs.
I knew the theater was a bad idea the second she suggested it. I had enough trouble resisting her in bright sunlight. Iris within arm’s reach in a dark, seductive room was pure torture.
“That was so fun, Ash! When can we go back?” Braydon calls out in direct opposition to my sudden pact with myself to never go back.
“I don’t know, little man. Glad you had a good time.”
“She’s so nice too. I know why she’s your friend.”
My lips press together as I narrow my stare on the road.
“She is,” I force out. So fucking nice. And beautiful. And funny. And compassionate. And every reason I can never put myself in that situation again.
“When we get home it’s right to bed, though. It’s already way past your bedtime.”
“Aww,” he groans. “Just one show?”
“You just watched an entire movie!”
“Please, Ashton?”
I shake my head and grip the wheel. No more giving in to pleas. “Sorry, bud. Not tonight.”
I can hear his grunt from the backseat.
The hallway is quiet at least as we approach our door. Mom’s shift would have ended, so good news for us that we won’t have to deal with Ronny or whoever. I unlock the door, grateful it was locked for once, and push into the apartment. I’m surprised to find it complet
ely dark. Weird. It’s late but not that late. I don’t hear the sound of a TV coming from her room either.
Flipping on the lamp in the living room, I lock the door and send Bray off to brush his teeth. Yeah, this place is definitely empty. Guess she went out again. Fantastic.
My mood is even more sour as I cross to the kitchen to put the leftovers in the fridge. Gotta say, I didn’t hate that the Alexanders forced us to take them home. I don’t think I’ve ever had food this good. They even got Bray to eat something besides mac and cheese.
A slip of paper on the table catches my eye when I straighten from the fridge. I turn on the kitchen light and grab the page to add it to the pile of bills and other crap on the counter.
And then I see it.
My heart seizes in my chest at the familiar handwriting. My stomach clenches as what’s left of my shitty life crashes down around me. I can’t breathe as I read through the message, immediately reviewing it again because it can’t be real. Even she wouldn’t go this far. Emotion burns in my eyes. I can’t tell if it’s sadness, fury, or fear. Probably all of them because how the hell are you supposed to react to something like this?
I crumble the page in my hand and throw it at the wall with a roar. God, how could she?! How is this possible?!
Footsteps sound down the hall, and I swat at my face to remove any evidence. I try to force a smile, but those are long gone, so I settle for a neutral expression.
“What’s wrong?” Bray asks, studying me.
“Nothing, little dude. You brush your teeth?”
He nods, but still looks concerned. Shit. What am I supposed to tell him? How the fuck do you tell an eight-year-old kid his mother abandoned him?
“Okay, get in bed. I’ll be in in a sec to say goodnight.”
He still hesitates, hovering in the doorway like he knows something is wrong. I have to force a smile. Have to fix this for him like I fix everything else.