by Bailey B
“Ellie,” I cup her cheek with my hand. Tomorrow is going to suck. Tomorrow I have to live knowing what those lips taste like. I didn’t think twice about claiming them at the party. People were around, so I could easily chalk up our embrace as a performance. Here, though, it's just me and her. There is no excuse I could make up to justify how much I want to taste her mouth again. “You’re gorgeous. I would choose you over any other girl in the world every day of the week.”
Ellie gasps. Her beautiful brown eyes search mine, probably for a sign that I’m lying or doing what guys do. You know, saying what they think girls want to hear to get them into bed.
I refuse to blink. I want her to know I mean every word. My eyes burn with the need to close them but I don’t.
Ellie smiles again and presses her mouth to mine. I let my eyes drift closed and fall into her lips. I could kiss this girl for hours and never come up for air. I move my hand from her cheek to the base of her neck and thread my fingers through her hair. She moans and shifts on top of me.
I rest my hands on her hips. Ellie sits up and flips her hair. Her back arches, hips rocking over mine, and I grunt. Jesus, this girl feels good.
Ellie leans down to kiss me again. She shifts her hips and rubs herself along my hard length. My fingers dig into her skin, guiding her, knowing at some point I need to put a stop to this. I’m not breaking her rule. We are over the clothes, but I don’t want Ellie to do anything she’ll regret in the morning.
Even with the thin cotton barriers between us, the friction is intense. Pressure builds in my balls. If I don’t end this now, I’m going to come in my pants like a fucking twelve-year-old.
Ellie’s body shakes with pleasure and she groans into my mouth. “Holy shit.”
I swallow hard as she pulls back and gaze into her hooded eyes. This is the defining moment. She has this look, like a feral cat in heat ready to pounce. I’m going to have the worst case of blue balls, but I can’t sleep with her. Not yet. Not like this.
Ellie scoots down my thigh and reaches for the band of my boxers. I take her wrist between my fingers. She looks down at me, head slightly cocked to the side. “Not tonight.”
“But…” She pouts, not bothering to finish her sentence. Her bottom lip quivers as tears pool behind her eyes. She thinks I don’t want her, but she couldn’t be more wrong.
I sit up and wrap my arms around her waist. I look into her eyes and hope to God she’s not so drunk she can’t understand why I’m saying this. “Ask me tomorrow, when you’re sober. That way I know this is what you want.”
“But I want you.” Ellie cups her hands behind my head. My skin vibrates with need. I want her more than I’ve wanted anything in my life, but it would be wrong to take her like this.
“Good. Then we’re going to have a great day tomorrow.” I tilt my head to taste Ellie’s lips again. This kiss is short and to the point. A goodnight kiss.
I roll her onto the mattress and hold her body against mine. She curls into me, molding to fit. I close my eyes, knowing I’ll dream of her face. Every night my mind torments me with what could have been if I wasn't an idiot all those years ago, and every day I wake knowing it was just a dream.
Tonight is different.
Tonight, the girl I’ve loved since before I understood what this feeling was is in my arms, and it’s better than anything I could have imagined.
I groan and pull the covers over my face. There’s a pounding at the door. Or maybe it’s in my head. Either way, it sucks.
Asher’s arm is across my waist. It’s warm and heavy and, as soon as I realize it’s there, nervous flutters consume me. He pulls me tight against his body and grunts. I think he’s still asleep so I don’t move to wake him. This used to be my favorite part about mornings, waking up in Liam’s arms. Being here with Asher is like a twisted deja vu. It’s almost comforting, even with his morning wood pressing against my thigh.
Someone bangs against the door again. This time, there's no denying the sound isn't in my head. “Get your fucking slut out of my house, Asher.”
Asher’s fists curl around the fabric of my shirt. His shirt. He releases me and pushes out of bed.
“Stay here,” he warns without so much as looking at me. Asher’s fingers unlock his door with precision. The slide of the chain and flick of the lock on the doorknob takes less than a second. I was too drunk last night to question all the locks, but I think I understand. That man outside the door, the one banging against it like he’s trying to break it down, must be Asher’s stepdad. From the looks of things, I don’t think they like each other much.
I slip out of Asher’s shorts and pull on my jeans, listening to the conversation in the hallway. I don’t bother changing my shirt. The only reason I’m fussing with my bottoms is so the gym shorts don’t fall off when I stand up.
“Get your slut out of my house, boy,” Asher’s stepdad says. I think Asher said his name was Clint. Whatever it is, the man sounds drunk, which I shouldn’t judge, because the way my head is spinning, I think I might still be too.
“Ellie is not a slut,” Asher scolds. “And I’m not your boy.”
I search the cream-colored carpet for my socks and find them tucked into my shoes by the foot of the bed. I grab them and hurry to put them on because things sound like they are heating up in the living room.
“Thank god for that. You’re a piece of shit.”
My breath catches in my chest. Did Clint really say that? His blatant dislike for Asher tears me up inside. Asher is a good man, with a kind heart. He doesn’t deserve to be talked to like this, let alone woken up this way. I hope this isn’t an everyday thing for him.
“Whatever.” Asher huffs. “We’ll be out of your hair in five minutes.”
“You owe me this week's rent,” Clint demands.
My ears prick, curiosity spiked. Why does Asher have to pay rent in his mother’s home? Is he choosing to stay in this falling down trailer and abusive environment? Something about their conversation feels off. I hurry to finish tying the laces of my Converse.
“I don’t have it yet.”
Clint chuckles darkly. “I’m not opposed to other forms of payment. I’m sure we can work something out with that slut of yours.”
There’s a scuffling and then something made of glass shatters. I run out of Asher’s room, almost twisting my ankle on a soft spot when the floor dips. Clint has Asher pinned to the ground in the kitchen with the edge of a broken beer bottle against his neck.
“Hey!” I yell, storming across the double-wide. The kitchen, dining room, and living room are all one area, separated by the change from carpet to linoleum tile. “Get the hell off him!”
Clint ignores me and presses the edge of the broken glass harder against Asher’s neck. A trickle of blood leaks, staining his pristine skin red. Clint laughs at the sight while Asher is chillingly still. Fueled by rage, I kick the man in the side.
Clint grunts and turns his attention to me. “You’re a stupid little bitch.”
He stands and drops the beer bottle to the floor. His sweat-stained tank top barely covers his stomach. Blue jeans streaked black hang off his hips. His breath stinks from a mix of not brushing his teeth and alcohol. I absorb all of this in a fraction of a second, while he grabs me by the hair and pulls my face to his until we’re nose to nose.
From my peripheral vision, I see Asher scurry to his feet, but I keep my eyes trained on Clint. I’m not scared. I know without a doubt that Asher won’t let anything happen to me.
The distinct sound of metal sliding against metal as a bullet is chambered into a gun causes Clint to flinch. He lets my hair go, dropping me to the ground, and turns around.
Asher stands a foot away, one leg behind the other, pointing a small black gun at Clint. “Get your things, Ellie. We’re leaving.”
I scramble to my feet then run into Asher’s room. I grab my shirt, keys, and phone, then reach for Asher’s shoes. I dart out of his room and to the front door. The scene in the k
itchen hasn’t changed. Clint is staring at Asher like he wants to murder him, but he seems to have enough sense not to push Asher’s buttons this morning.
“I’m ready.” I pull the front door open and press the unlock button on my wireless key fob. The lights of my sedan blink, letting me know that everything is open.
Asher steps towards me, never taking his gaze off of Clint. His gun stays trained on the man who literally had me in his grasp minutes ago. When Asher reaches the front door he says, “Get in the car, Ellie. I’m not moving until you do.”
I race down the front steps to my car and whip the door open. I start the engine and park as close to the porch steps as possible. Asher pulls the front door shut then takes the steps two at a time. He hops in and I peel out of his driveway before the passenger door is closed. Dust kicks up behind my tires. There’s no point in looking in the rearview mirror. I can’t see anything. But I feel Clint’s eyes watching us as we speed away.
Asher opens my glove box and shoves his pistol inside. I want to ask him how long he’s had a gun, where it came from, and if he’s ever used it before, but I’m scared of the answers. That side of the tracks is like a world of its own. Everyone knows the cops there are dirty. I wouldn’t say we have a mob, because this isn’t the nineteen-twenties, but there are some scary guys over there who control what happens.
Dad talks about it all the time. Being a prosecuting lawyer, it’s his job to make sure the bad guys are put behind bars and stay there. He doesn’t get into details at home, but two names always light dad up: McCarron and Michlovich. Whoever those guys are, they are big players in everything that happens over here.
“We’re supposed to meet Maggie and Russell at the beach in ten minutes,” Asher says, breaking the silence once I cross over the railroad tracks that separate the good side of town from the bad.
“Wait? What?” I pull up to a stoplight and peer over at Asher. He stares out the window, his hands clasped together in his lap. We need to talk about what happened this morning but I have a feeling now isn't the time. “I don't have a bathing suit.”
“I’m sure Maggie has one you can borrow,” Asher replies, his face expressionless. I can’t tell if this was the first time he’s pulled a gun on his stepdad or if things like this happen all the time. Whatever the case, Asher is deep in his thoughts and that frightens me.
He's shaking, likely from coming down from the adrenaline rush. I need to keep him talking, to get him out of his head. “Wait, both Maggie and Russell are going? How much did I miss last night?”
“A lot.” Asher finally looks at me. Too bad I can’t stare back for more than a quick second because the light turns green. I bring my gaze back to the road and he looks out the window again. "Maggie called after you fell asleep on the ride home. I answered because I was worried Liam ratted to your mom about how you got wasted.”
“Oh, okay.” I vaguely remember Asher texting Mom last night. If he hadn’t, she would be blowing up my phone, wondering where I am. I need to look through my text messages later to see what he said and get my story straight.
“I guess Russell went over to Maggie’s house after the party.”
I sit straighter in my seat. Russell and Maggie are perfect together. Her breaking up with him was stupid. But if Russell went over there last night and she tried to call me, I hope that means they decided to work things out. “And?”
“And she’s going to Berkley now with him, so they can be together.”
What? Oh, my gosh! Oh, my gosh! Oh, my gosh! This is amazing! “Wait, Maggie didn’t apply to Berkley. That’s why they broke up to begin with.”
Asher reclines the passenger seat back and closes his eyes. “You’ll have to ask Maggie to give you all the details. I hung up the call when I realized the conversation wasn’t about you and shut your phone off. That way you could tell your mom it died.”
Maggie is already at the beach, reclined under an umbrella, by the time we arrive. Asher looks ready to relax, without a shirt and in a pair of shorts he grabbed from the gas station. I never paid attention to the tourist section each one has, but apparently, they sell bathing suits, flip-flops, and shirts with bikini bottoms painted on. Unlike him, though, I look and feel one hundred percent out of place in my jeans and an oversized shirt.
“You’re functioning better than I did after my first time being drunk,” Maggie teases.
I ignore her dig and wave at Russell, who tosses a football with a few guys I recognize but don’t know. “It’s been a morning.”
“I see this.” Maggie wiggles her eyebrows, probably referring to the fact that I am still wearing Asher’s shirt. I shoot her a look that says hell no and she giggles.
“Come on.” Maggie stands and grabs her oversized beach bag. “Let’s get you changed. We have some catching up to do.”
"Yeah we do!" I insist. "Berkley?"
"He applied for me and I got in. Can you believe it?" Maggie squeals with excitement as she gathers her bag that's filled to the brim with odds and ends. She lifts it onto her shoulder then places a hat on her head.
“We’ll be back soon,” I yell to Asher. He waves at me then jumps into a volleyball game like this morning never happened. How often does he do that? Push his shitty mornings to the back burner and pretend like life is great in front of his peers?
Maggie links her arm with mine once we’re up the stairs and safely on the boardwalk. Everyone has her faults, and Maggie, she has two left feet. It's a wonder how that woman can play the trombone and march at the same time. “All right, sweetie, I need all of the dirty details. What happened last night?”
“I need breakfast. I’m starving,” I deflect. Just because I can remember every painful, humiliating detail about last night's party doesn’t mean I want to relive it. “Can we talk about this after we eat?”
“Nuh-uh. We can walk over to the Red Onion and grab some brunch after you get changed. I want to know everything, like yesterday.”
I fill Maggie in on the party, and how I opened myself up to Asher by practically stripping only to be shot down, but I leave out what happened this morning. I don’t think Asher would want anyone to know how much of a jerk his stepdad is. Besides, there’s still the matter of the gun in my glove box.
“I don’t have anything to say about last night; everything seems different when you’re drunk,” Maggie replies from the other side of the stall in the bathroom. “But going off of how he acted on your couch before the party, it sounds like Asher might like you, sweetie.”
I switch my Converse sneakers with a pair of pink flip-flops Maggie brought, then slide the lock on my stall and step out. “I don’t know. He was pretty adamant last night that I was just his fake girlfriend.”
Maggie pulls a hair tie off her wrist and hands it to me. I usually have one on my wrist too, but there's no telling where it disappeared to. Her lips purse together as I twist my long strands into a braid. When I’m done she says, “Maybe he was trying to be nice. I mean, you were pretty wasted last night.”
“How would you know?” I raise my eyebrows at her. Just because I’ve only ever had one beer before last night and a few sips of champagne doesn’t mean I was a babbling idiot. I think I held my own pretty well, all things considered. Okay… that's a lie, but she doesn't need to know it. “You weren’t there.”
Maggie smirks and unzips a pocket on her beach bag. She pulls out her phone and shows me a video message I sent her last night, sometime between Asher’s texts and the ride home. I cringe watching myself tell her how amazing Russell was for ignoring Tabitha’s advances. I press the side button, darkening the screen, not needing to see more, and hand the phone back.
“See. Wasted.” Maggie snickers then slips her phone back into its hiding spot. “Let’s drop this off at your car. Then we can grab some brunch.”
When we get back from the Red Onion, Asher and Russell are playing against Liam and this guy named Kevin in a volleyball game. My stomach knots at the sight of Liam. I feel guilty
for throwing myself at Asher like I did last night. I have to remind myself that Liam and I aren’t together anymore, and he was all over Corah. I didn’t do anything wrong because, in Liam’s eyes, Asher is my boyfriend. If he doesn’t like what he saw, he should break up with Corah and do something about it.
“I didn’t invite them.” Maggie grimaces. Even if she does think Asher’s and my relationship is real, I’m sure she understands how hard it is to be around Liam. “I swear.”
“It’s fine.” I take a sip of my soda. I can do this. I can be loving and sweet on Asher if I have to. I just hope Liam and Corah don’t put on as much of a show this morning as they did yesterday. “I should have expected to see them. It is, after all, Saturday.”
“You’re right. It will be fine, because you have hunky Asher to distract you from Liam’s shenanigans.” Maggie hooks her arm through mine and we trek across the sand together. My steps falter when I realize Corah has set up her umbrella next to ours, but Maggie pulls me forward.
“Lainey.” Corah tilts her sunglasses down and greets me with a fake smile. She reaches across and sets her hand on my arm. “How are you feeling, love? You looked a little rough last night.”
“I’m fine.” I pull my arm free of Corah’s grasp. Just her skin on mine makes me want to throw up, but I’m not a bitch. It’s not Corah’s fault I hate her, it’s Liam’s. So, I mask the movement by pretending to need something out of Maggie’s beach bag. I grab a can of sunscreen and spray my legs. “How are you?”
“Oh, I’m great.” Corah giggles. “You know I can’t drink anymore.”
Maggie and I exchange a look, not having any clue what Corah is talking about. I rack my brain to recall the details of last night. She’s right. She didn’t drink a drop during our game of beer pong. But why?
“Oh!” Corah says with a titter. “Liam didn’t tell you?” She waits for Maggie and me to respond. When we don’t she rests her hand on her stomach and says, “We’re expecting.”