by Bailey B
“I’m not pouting,” I declare, raking my gaze back to him.
“Oh, you totally are.” He chuckles.
I sigh and let my guard down. Asher is supposed to be my boyfriend but what I need right now is a friend. I feel abandoned by Liam. Rejected. And it sucks. “It’s just… look at them.” I hold my hand out to where Liam and Corah are going at it. “It’s not fair.”
Asher wrinkles his nose. I guess he doesn’t like watching those two get it on either. “What’s not?”
“I’m drunk and horny and he’s over there making a C-rated porn.” I pause to glance up at Asher. I hate that I have tears in my eyes. I hate that Liam turned what was probably the most fun night of my life into a horrible experience. I might have considered coming to a party again if they were all like this, but now all I want to do is curl into a ball and cry. “Why can’t Liam look at me like that?”
“Like a fucking steak?” Asher growls. He sounds angry, but I don’t have it in me to care why. My emotions are tumbling faster than a deck of cards and there’s nothing I can do to stop them.
“No, like something he wants.” I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling.
“Well, then let’s make him want you.” Asher sits on the couch beside me. He cups my cheek with his hand, turning my face towards his, and presses his lips against mine. For a full heartbeat, we’re both stiff. But then his tongue traces the seam of my lips and I melt into him. I tilt my head and open my mouth and his tongue slides against mine.
Asher wraps his arms around me and I slide onto his lap. My hands glide across his shoulders and to his neck. This feels too good. I’ve wanted to do this longer than I’ll let my sober self admit. A crush on a guy in middle school isn’t supposed to create deep-rooted feelings. I buried all thoughts of Asher in the trenches of hell when he went from sweet to jerk. Those feelings must have been lying dormant, because kissing Asher is better than anything I could have ever imagined.
Our mouths tangle, tongues dancing in unison. I vaguely remember we are in the living room of a strange house. An even further thought is Liam and what he might think. I don’t care. I’m going to kiss the hell out of this man because we feel right together.
Gradually, Asher pulls away. We stare at each other for a long moment, foreheads touching. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I reply breathlessly.
“Awesome. Let’s get out of here.” Asher takes my hand and hugs me close. We pause in front of Liam and I notice his eyes are open, he was watching us while making out with Corah.
Asher smirks as we pass them and says, “Get a room.”
I force my eyes open when the overhead light in my car turns on. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but at some point on the drive to Asher’s house, I must have. I rub my eyes, clearing the fog from them as I’m cloaked in darkness again. I like the dark. It doesn’t make my head hurt, but then the light comes on again and I wince at the brightness.
“Come on, beautiful. Let’s get you inside.” Asher leans across me and unclicks my seatbelt.
I smile at him like a doe-eyed pre-teen, too drunk to care if I look stupid. Asher has a nice face. I should tell him.
“Youuve gawt a naish faysssss.”
Asher looks at me funny. Maybe right now isn't the best time to tell him. My words aren’t cooperating as they should. My legs feel like Jell-o when Asher takes my hands and pulls me onto my feet. I’m not sure if I’m the one moving or if the world is doing it on its own, but the trees behind Asher are swaying.
Asher hooks his arm around my waist and I hang onto him. Pretty sure I’d be on my ass if he wasn’t by my side. He was right, I should not have taken those shots.
“Watch your step,” he instructs as we climb the four wooden steps to the door of his double-wide.
I’ve always known Asher lived on the sketchy side of town, but I’ve never been here. With our parents being on the outs, there was no reason for me to come over and Mom never brought me for a play date when we were little. I turn my head to look around the neighborhood while Asher fishes for his keys in his pocket. My vision is a little blurry, but from what I can tell we are on some sort of cul de sac. Three, no four, double wides sit around a giant concrete circle, with a singular yellow street light illuminating the shadows. It’s not as scary as I expected, but it isn’t home, either.
Asher’s front door squeaks when he pushes it open. The sound isn't loud, but it hurts my ears nonetheless. “Mom is working and Clint should be gone until sometime tomorrow afternoon. It’s just us tonight.”
“Okay.” I’m not sure if I said that right. My voice sounds funny to my ears, slow and garbled. I don’t think I like drinking anymore. At first, everything felt great, but now the world moves too fast.
“Careful,” Asher says, moving us a foot to the right. “Don’t step there.”
I let him lead us through the dark to what I’m assuming will be his room. I can’t see anything but shadows, but he knows where he’s going. I close my eyes and lean my head against Asher’s shoulder, listening to him ramble and letting my feet carry me.
“That’s a bad spot too.” His voice is soothing. I could fall asleep to it, but I force my brain to focus on what he’s saying because this feels important. Asher may bring girls here all the time, but he's sharing a piece of himself with me.
“When I was a kid,” he says, almost nervously, “I used to try and avoid the soft spots by playing the game ‘the floor is lava’. I hated that spongy feeling under my toes. Now, it’s a miracle when I step on a firm section. Mom and I have been in this trailer for as long as I can remember. We need a new floor. And a roof. And air conditioning.” Asher shakes his head, and his whole body moves. Or maybe I’m swaying. It’s hard to tell at this point. “The list goes on, but the money to fix the problems doesn’t exist.”
We stop walking. I try to lift my head and open my eyes, but they are too heavy. Asher’s keys jingle again. It almost sounds like he’s unlocking another door, but that’s silly. People don't put those kinds of locks on bedroom doors.
We’re moving again, and then a bright light shines past my eyelids. Something in my brain clicks to life, because I’m able to lift them open again. It takes a second for the world to come into focus but when it does, I realize we are in Asher’s room.
He leads me to the bed, where I sit down and he turns back to the door. He turns a deadbolt, slides a chain, and then for good measure twists the lock on the door handle.
“That’s a lot of locks,” I try to say. It sounds like thafs awat ov lawks, but at least it’s close.
Asher chuckles and pulls the rolling chair from his desk in front of me. He takes a seat, then lifts my foot into his lap. I watch him untie the laces of my red Converse sneaker, then pull my sock off and tuck it inside my shoe. He sets my foot on the ground, then takes the other and does the same. “Do you want to sleep in that or borrow something of mine?”
“Yours.” I grasp the end of my shirt and lift to pull it over my head. My arms don’t work as they should because my shirt gets caught, both on my earrings and my ponytail. Asher chuckles again at my pathetic attempt to free myself. I wiggle and pull, but it becomes apparent that I’m not getting out of this by myself. “I think I’m stuck.”
“Mmm-hhmm,” is all he says.
I wait a few seconds, hoping he’ll pick up on the not so subtle hint that I want him to get me out of the mess I’ve gotten myself into, but like most men, he needs me to spell it out for him. I try to wiggle and pull myself free again but it’s no use. “Can you help me?”
“I don’t know.” The bed dips beside me, but Asher doesn’t touch my shirt or my arms. My skin pricks with anticipation. I can’t see anything, but I can feel the heat bouncing off his body. “I kind of like the view.”
“Asher!” I scold, but it comes out breathy and weak. Something is happening inside me. Excited flutters spring to life. I’m exposed, in nothing but a lace bra, and I think he likes what he sees.
&nbs
p; Asher chuckles again. This time I feel his fingers fumbling with my earrings. As soon as they are free, he maneuvers my arms and pulls my shirt off. I fall back onto the bed, thoroughly exhausted from my entanglement.
“You good?” Asher trails his finger from the band of my bra down my side.
I shudder as a jolt of need zings through my body. Each feather light touch feeds the desire growing within me. I blame the alcohol. Under normal circumstances, I’d never relish the way Asher’s hand feels on my body or relive our kiss in my mind. That kiss was nothing like I’ve ever had before. I close my eyes and smile. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Asher stands and the bed shifts. I open my eyes and push onto my elbows. I bite my lip to keep the turndown of a frown hidden. I want him to come back and keep touching me, but I can’t say any of that. I can’t explain what I’m feeling, but if this is one-sided, I’ll be humiliated.
Asher crosses the room to his dresser and pulls out a shirt and a pair of gym shorts. He turns around, smirks then hands them to me. “Here.”
I sit up and take the outstretched clothes. Asher turns around and faces the wall. He still has his jeans and shirt on from earlier in the night. My gaze falls to his ass, and how the denim hugs it just perfectly. Feeling brave, I ask, “You don’t want to watch?”
Asher peeks over his shoulder, a flash of purple meets my gaze before darting to my chest. “Do you want me to?”
I reach back, unclasping my bra, and let it fall to my feet. I’m not sure how much of me Asher can see, but I hope he likes this view better than the last. I shimmy out of my jeans and stand there in my matching lace panties. I crave the feel of Asher’s hands. I want him to hold me and let that fire that comes from his hands spread throughout my body. “I don’t know. Aren’t you supposed to want to see your girlfriend naked?”
He’s quiet for a long minute, then finally says, “Fake girlfriend.”
“Oh.” I'm gutted. It dawns on me that what I’m feeling is one-sided and everything that happened between Asher and me tonight was for show. I guess I can say we’ve officially crossed the line into friendship, but aren’t going any further. Friend Zoned. “Right.”
I pull Asher’s shirt over my head and slip my arms through the holes. It smells like what I assume he smells like first thing in the morning, before sweat and deodorant changes his scent, not that that's a bad fragrance. This shirt smells like fresh laundry detergent and a hint of spicy cologne. I take a second to sniff it again, then pull his gym shorts over my hips. They hang loose, so I roll the waistband a few times to keep them from falling off. “Done.”
Asher turns around. He stares at me, eyes trailing over my body, down to my toes, then up to my face again. I’ve slipped into Liam’s shirt a few times after sex. He’d always get the same goofy expression Asher has, one that says he likes what he sees. I smirk, then step backward until I feel the edge of his bed behind my knees.
“I’ll… uh,” Asher stammers as a flush of pink colors his cheeks. I bite my bottom lip to keep from grinning. I’ve never seen Asher like this before. He seems nervous, which is crazy, because I know he’s been with other women. Besides, it’s not like we’re about to have sex. He wouldn’t even look at me when I gave him the chance. “I’ll take the floor. You can have the bed.”
I scoot across the mattress, closer to the wall, then cross my legs in a sitting position. “It’s a big bed. You don’t have to sleep down there.”
Asher sighs and rubs the back of his neck. He looks pained and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. “I told you I’d keep my hands to myself tonight. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep that promise sleeping next to you.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” Ellie queries.
I run my hand across my jaw and groan. I’ve never brought a girl home. I’m not embarrassed about where I live. A house, even if it is falling apart, is still a house. If some bitch is going to dump me because I live on the shit side of the tracks in a crappy trailer, then she can go fuck herself. No, the reason I’ve never brought anyone around is because of that Thing of a stepfather I have. He’s a piece of shit and I don’t trust him. Ellie will be safe though because he’s a long-distance truck driver and out on a job until late tomorrow.
Ellie tugs the edge of the blanket back and pats the mattress. I want to curl up beside her, drape my arm over her waist, and back her up until her ass is pressed against my thighs. I’ve wanted this girl since we were kids. Back then, I thought teasing a girl was how you showed them you were interested. Where I got that fucked up idea, I don’t know, but I inadvertently made Ellie’s life miserable throughout middle school. In my mind, how often I poked at her equated to how much I liked her. Turns out, girls don't like to be made fun of. All I did was drive a wedge between us I’ve never been able to budge. Until now.
I don’t know how I did it, but I convinced Ellie to be my fake girlfriend. Not exactly what I want, but I hope that if I do a good job, she’ll realize that Liam was never the guy for her. It’s always been me. My piece of shit half-brother has never cared about Ellie. He used her, let people talk shit about her, and never once thought about how his other relationships were breaking her heart.
Every time he laid claim to a new girl at school, I watched Ellie fall apart.
When Liam and that chick would break up, because he has never wanted to keep a girl longer than a few weeks lest they get attached, he’d run back to Ellie and she would glow. I may hate seeing those two together, but for those few days, Ellie being filled with such joy was worth the knot in my stomach.
“Are you scared, Asher?” she taunts.
Yes, I want to say—I’m fucking terrified. I’ve hooked up with girls but never slept beside them. That’s a level of intimacy I only want with Ellie. Now, we’re here with her stupid over the clothes rule and I’m scared I’m going to fuck it up in my sleep and lose the girl of my dreams before I’ve really got her.
I take a tentative step forward, my jeans feeling too tight, and stop at the edge of my bed. I force a chuckle to let Ellie know the idea of being scared is ridiculous, then stare her down. “You should be the one who's scared.”
“You ain’t shit, Anderson.” She huffs. “I’m more scared of a butterfly than I am of you.”
Ellie loves butterflies. Monarchs to be precise. In the second grade, we had a life cycle unit where we grew the damn things from a worm. Ellie was fascinated.
Back then, I used to go over to her house after school. She would grab her tablet and we’d look at pictures for hours, talking about the different wing colors and patterns. She said once I must have been a butterfly in a past life because my eyes are so unique. I laughed and shoved her shoulder because that’s what kids do.
Eight years later, on my sixteenth birthday, I got a butterfly tattooed on my arm. It’s interwoven within the half sleeve I’m working to turn into a full, so if you weren’t looking you’d miss it, but it’s there.
I reach for the button on my jeans and Ellie’s eyes widen. I fight back a laugh as I unbutton and step out of them. I watch her, taking in every micro reaction, committing it to memory, because If I fuck things up tonight, at least I’ll have the image of her in my bed, wearing my shirt, for the rest of my life. I pull my shirt over my head and toss it by my feet.
“I usually sleep nude.” That’s a lie. I like to sleep in the shorts she’s wearing, just in case I have to run out of my room in the middle of the night, but I love seeing Ellie’s cheeks flush pink. “But I’ll keep my boxers on tonight.”
“Well, aren’t you a gentleman.” She rolls her eyes but chews her bottom lip as I crawl under the covers.
I turn my back to her and face the other side of the room. I hear Ellie shift to do the same. My bed isn’t big. It’s a full, which means there’s enough room for two, but only just. Her butt presses against my backside. I hold my breath for as long as I can stand it and think about everything but her. Cars. My new work schedule. The money I owe Bane McCarron for running my nei
ghbor's piece of shit stepbrother out of town. Statistics.
I try everything not to notice Ellie’s shallow breathing. Or how she smells sweet like candy but also a little like beer. I do my best not to let myself get hard because that would make tonight awkward as fuck.
“Asher?” The mattress squeaks as she shifts. Her warm body molds against mine and we fit together like a fucking puzzle piece. I always knew we would. Even in this reverse spoon position, we were made for each other.
“El?” I look over my shoulder then decide to turn. I face her and drape my arm over her waist.
She wiggles closer until her stomach presses against mine. That bottom lip of hers slips between her teeth as she looks up at me. I can’t read her face but wish I could, because I know she can feel my hardness pressed against her. I can't help it. I’m a guy.
“How difficult would it be for you to pretend I’m one of those girls?” she whispers. That lip of hers slips between her teeth again. She’s nervous. I am too, but I have a feeling it's for a different reason.
“What girls?”
Ellie closes her eyes and sucks in a breath. I wait, feeling my heart ravage my rib cage, and wonder if she can feel it too. If she can tell how excited I am to finally have her in my arms. When she opens her eyes again, that bottom lip is quivering. “The girls you bring home. Could you pretend I’m one of them and…” She lets out a shaky breath. “And touch me?”
I clench my teeth and exhale through my nose. This girl, she’s trying to kill me. My restraint can only last so long, but instead of being as tormented as I anticipated, my stomach twists. Liam must have fucked with Ellie’s head hard if she thinks I would choose another girl over her. She’s beautiful. I just wish she knew that.
I push her honey-colored locks back from her face. I want to see her eyes. I want her to look into mine, and find the truth of my words. “I don’t have to pretend, Ellie.”
She looks at me through hooded eyes and grins. “Really?”