“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
“If my father finds out you’re in this house uninvited, he’ll hurt you.”
Ash ignores what I say, striding right into our open-concept kitchen—that’s what Mom calls it—like he owns the place. “Damn. This kitchen is niiiice.” He looks around, then makes his way to the refrigerator. He opens the doors and peers inside. “You got beer.”
“You can’t have one of my dad’s beers.”
“I won’t drink your dad’s beer, chill.” He pulls a can of Coke out of the fridge and hip checks the door, slamming it shut. “Thanks for the soda.” He cracks the can open, then proceeds to drink at least half of it in a couple of swallows.
God, he’s so irritating. He makes absolutely no sense. He claims he has feelings for me, then wanders off in search of a drink. He goes from one subject to the other so fast, I’m going to end up with whiplash.
Resigned with the fact that he’s going to stick around for a while, I turn on the kitchen lights, illuminating the space to the point of it being almost too bright. “Kill the mood, why don’t you,” he mutters as he takes another swig from his Coke can.
“You’re not even supposed to be here.” I hop up on one of the barstools, resting my arms against the edge of the quartz countertop. “Seriously, Ash. My parents will be home soon, and if they find you in here, we’re both dead.”
“Then I’ll at least die happy.” He cracks a smile, but I just glare at him. “Don’t you have a sense of humor?”
“No, I do not. Not when a boy I don’t like is in my house, acting like he lives here.” I tilt my chin up, hoping he thinks I’m acting like a snobby princess so he’ll leave.
You don’t want him to leave.
Yes, I do. I really, really do.
“A boy you don’t like.” Ash snorts with disbelief. “You’re so full of shit, Callahan. You jumped my ass first in the truck last night. You were rubbing against me like you wanted to get off on my leg, and it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. So don’t tell me you’re not into me. You are fucking dying for me to touch you right now, and you know it.”
His little speech leaves me breathless. With anger. With—oh God—with lust. “You love rubbing my face in my mistakes, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?” He truly appears confused.
“You always have to bring up my most humiliating moments so I end up feeling like an asshole. I hate it.” I’m gripping the edge of the counter, afraid I might lunge toward him and beat him up. I’d love to pummel his pretty face with my fists and leave him bruised and battered.
His words leave me emotionally battered, and it sucks.
“Humiliating moments? What happened last night between us humiliated you?”
“You were so smug, hitting me with an I told you so right in the middle of us—of us—” I can’t say it.
“Grinding on each other?” he finishes for me.
My cheeks go hot with embarrassment. “Yeah. That.”
“I wasn’t trying to hit you with an I told you so. More like I couldn’t believe you were trying to get off on me like that. I mean, I know I said you would end up slobbering on me, but I didn’t mean it. I thought you saved all that for Ben,” he says, mentioning my boyfriend’s name like he’s purposely trying to annoy me.
“You want to know the truth?” Don’t do it. Don’t say it.
“Hell yeah, I do.”
“Ben and I have never done it.”
The second the words leave me, I’m covering my mouth with my hand, trying to stuff the words back inside. It’s no use. They’re out. I said them. I said them out loud. To Ash. He’ll make fun of me now. He’ll tell everyone we messed around behind Ben’s back and I’ll be the laughing stock of the school. Ben will publicly dump me and I’ll turn into the enemy. Talk about humiliation.
Ash laughs. Shakes his head. “No way. You’re lying.”
I just stare at him, crossing my arms again. His gaze drops to my chest and I can feel him trying his best to burn a hole through my shirt with his eyes. My nipples harden, I lift my arms a little to cover them, but it’s no use.
He’s smirking.
I hate him.
“You’re not lying.”
I shake my head.
“You two have to at least be feeling each other up on the daily, right? I saw you at the back to school dance.”
“You were at the back to school dance?” I don’t remember him being there.
“Not that you’d notice. You were too busy dancing and grinding on Ben’s junk.” Ash makes a face. “He probably wouldn’t know what to do with your perfect ass if you handed it to him on a platter.”
How can someone make a compliment sound like an insult? It’s Ash’s particular skill. He’s really good at it. “You are seriously so disgusting.”
“Seriously. Seriously. You use that word all the damn time. Doesn’t Ben get tired of that shit?”
“Will you please stop bringing him into this conversation?” My voice rises. If he keeps this up, I will soon be full-blown shouting.
“You’re the one who told me you two haven’t fucked yet.” He shakes his head, collapsing onto the bar stool next to mine. “I can’t believe it.”
“Would you not call it that please?” I sound weary. I am weary. I’ve spent all day lounging in bed feeling sorry for myself and worrying, that I’m completely exhausted.
“What? Fucking? What do you want me to call it? Making love?” He draws the words out mockingly.
“I would never call it that.” I can barely think the words making love without wanting to giggle.
“Boning. Banging. Doing it. Getting laid. Sex. Fucking. It’s all the same, right?” He shrugs, angling his body toward mine. His gaze roams over me, as if he just realized I’m not wearing much, and my skin starts to burn.
“You’re so crude.”
“I’m sure your boyfriend is never crude.” I open my mouth to chastise him and he points his finger at me, cutting me off. “I didn’t say his name, did I?”
He’s got me there. Sort of. “It would never work between us, you know.”
“You really think so?” He sounds surprised.
“I know so.” I don’t, but it sounds good. “Maybe it’s best if we’re just friends.”
Those dark brows shoot up practically to his hairline. “Really? You just want to be friends with me?”
“Yes.” I nod, warming up to the idea. His earlier confession that I had his heart was nothing but a bunch of lies to try to worm himself into my house, and it worked. But he can only get so far, and he’s hit his limit. “Friends are understanding of each other. When one friend tells the other that it’s time to go home, they leave without arguing.”
I stare straight ahead, trying my best not to look at him. I see the blue light of the oven clock glowing—the time says 8:22. My family won’t be home for a while yet, but he doesn’t know that.
“That’s what you want me to do? You want me to go?” I can feel him watching me, yet I refuse to look at him.
“Yes. That’s what I want.” My voice is firm. It doesn’t waver or shake, and I glance down at my hands to see they’re clutched so tight around the edge of the counter, my knuckles are white.
“Okay. I’ll leave.” He smacks the edge of the counter and rises to his feet, exiting the kitchen with a few long strides.
I chase after him until we’re both in the foyer and he’s got his hand on the door handle, his back to me, when I ask him a question. “How’d you get up here anyway? To the lake?”
“What do you mean?” he says to the door.
“I didn’t see your truck.”
“I hid it. Parked it behind a bush just before you come to the circular drive.” He glances over his shoulder at me, his barely there smile irritatingly adorable. “Didn’t want you to spot it and call the cops on me.”
“I would never call the cops on you.” I really wouldn’t. I’m not tha
t mean. Unless he was threatening me with bodily harm or being really aggressive.
“That’s what they all say.” He faces forward, opening the door, then turns toward me once again. “Do friends give each other hugs? The friends I have do. Sometimes.”
“There is no way I’m hugging you.” I roll my eyes.
“A truce hug then? Come on.” He lets go of the door handle and faces me fully, stretching his arms out in invitation. “I’ll leave you alone after this, okay? I promise.”
I’m not sure if he’s the type who keeps his promises. I’m guessing no.
This could be the last time I hug him. This entire encounter has been weird. Confusing. We’re a mess. We would never work, and us going ’round and ’round in circles tonight just proves that.
So what’s the harm in getting one last hug from Ash? It’s just a hug. A brief moment of bodily contact and then I’ll send him away. He won’t bug me again. He’ll get over his so-called feelings for me. He’ll give his heart to someone else or even better, he’ll discover he actually has one, and he’ll forget all about me. He’ll give it to someone else, and he’ll finally leave me alone forever.
Why does that thought make me feel so empty inside?
Deciding it’s do or die time, I walk right into his hug, my arms sliding around his waist, my head resting on his chest. I can feel the steady thump-thump of his heartbeat and I close my eyes when his arms come around me. Slowly. Enfolding me into his body so that we’re snug tight.
He holds me with a desperation, almost as if he’s afraid to let me go, and when I lift my head, tilting it back so I can stare into his eyes, I find he’s already watching me.
“Friends don’t make each other feel like this,” he says, his voice a gravelly whisper.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. “Feel like what?”
“Like you could be my everything.”
My shoulders sag. “Ash—”
“Stop talking.” He presses two fingers to my lips, silencing me. When he’s seemingly assured I won’t speak, he lightens the pressure, gently caressing my lips. Back and forth. Making me tingle.
Making me want him to do more than touch my mouth.
I want him to kiss me.
“You have the sexiest lips,” he murmurs, and the blush returns, setting my face on fire. No one has referred to me as sexy before. “What we’re doing is fucking crazy. You know this right, Callahan?”
I ignore his question. “How could I be your everything when you told me you don’t know how to feel?”
“The only time I seem to feel is when...” He presses his fingers into the corner of my mouth, so gentle, I could almost think he never actually touched me. “I’m with you.”
“What are you feeling right now?” I have to ask. I might never get this opportunity again.
“Sick to my stomach. Happy. Scared.” He visibly swallows, as if all that honesty was tough to confess. “I want to kiss you.”
Slowly I shake my head, even though everything inside of me is screaming, yes! Please kiss me! “Not a good idea.”
“Nothing we ever do is a good idea,” he says, heavy on the sarcasm.
So very true. “My parents will be home soon.”
“No they won’t. They’re at a football game. And I can guarantee that game is still happening. I’d predict it’s only in the third quarter,” he says.
My mouth pops open. “How do you know?”
“Your dad was posting all over his social media earlier. The tailgate party. Entering the stadium and all his fans losing their shit. Showing off the view from the box seats. ‘Check out this hot dog I’m eating’—he literally said that right before he shoved it in his mouth. Pretty sure I heard your mom laughing while she filmed it.” Ash chuckles. “His Instagram story is popping tonight.”
The joys of having a father who’s also a public figure. Thanks, Dad, for letting Ash Davis know where you are at all times so he’s able to keep tabs. No wonder he was so comfortable showing up here.
“But we’re only being friends right now,” I remind him. “And friends leave when they’re asked, so…”
“You’re the one who’s still holding me,” he points out, and when I glance down, I realize he’s right. His arms are dangling by his sides almost awkwardly. And mine are still firmly wrapped around his waist.
I let go of him as if he’s a poisonous snake. “That’s your cue to leave.”
He takes a few steps backward, his gaze never leaving mine. I rest my hands on my hips, trying to look tough, most likely failing miserably. He examines me with his eyes, my skin burning the longer he stares, and I don’t know why he affects me this way. Leaves me feeling warm and squirmy and completely conflicted.
I shouldn’t like him.
Yet I do.
I think I do.
“You really want me to leave, Callahan?” His voice is quiet. The entire house is quiet. My heart is thundering, and I wonder if he can hear it.
I wonder if I really affect him like he does me. Or if he just says all those sweet things to get in my pants or whatever.
“I’m with someone else,” I remind him. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“And you shouldn’t be with someone else.” He pauses. Swallows hard. Looks down at the floor before he lifts his gaze to mine once again. “You should be with me.”
“I know nothing about you,” I whisper, hating how shaky my voice sounds. It’s true. I don’t know him. I only know of him. His background is a mystery. I’ve never really asked around about him, and no one volunteers any information. Does he have brothers or sisters? I don’t know, I’ve never asked. And what’s up with his mom? Where does he live?
“There’s not much to know,” he says with a shrug, glancing around the foyer once more. “I’m not rich like you, I can tell you that.”
“I’m not—”
He interrupts me. “Don’t bother denying it. You’re definitely rich. Richer than I could ever hope to be.”
I go quiet, because he’s right. I did nothing to have my life. I was just lucky enough to be born to parents who make money.
“I don’t care about money. If a person is rich or poor, I’m not going to judge them,” I say, my voice level, my heart racing. I stare into his eyes. “So don’t try to label me a snob when I’m not.”
He actually grins, the asshole. “I like it when you get mad. It’s cute.”
“I’m not mad,” I deny with a scowl.
“Sure. Whatever.” He comes toward me, his strides quick. Purposeful. I back up, my butt hitting the door, and then his mouth his on mine. Quick and fleeting. The kiss over and done with before it had a chance to start. My lips are still tingling when he pulls away, and my hands itch with the need to grab him.
But I don’t.
“See ya around, Callahan,” he whispers as he reaches around me for the door handle.
I scoot out of his way, watching as he opens the door, then quietly closes it behind him, finally leaving me alone.
I’m lying in my bed hours later, unable to sleep. Replaying every moment between us. Friday night, how I was drawn to him when I shouldn’t have been. The kiss we shared. The slow, tortuous stroke of his tongue around mine, how he held me so tight, his fingers branding my skin. He was right. I was rubbing against him like I was desperate, and I thought I’d embarrassed myself, but he liked it.
He liked it.
He likes me.
Tonight’s conversation was ridiculous. I find it difficult to believe a word he says. Most of it feels like shock value. He doesn’t really care about me.
Does he?
The frustration, the joy, the anger. All three emotions rush over me, even more intense this time around, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with Ash.
It needs to stop, I tell myself.
But I don’t know if it can.
Thirteen
Surprisingly, Ash keeps his mouth shut at school. He doesn’t breathe a word about our interactions o
ver the weekend. Ben texted me late Sunday afternoon to let me know he was back home, and I was so relieved to see his text, to know he’s close and doesn’t hate me, that I almost started to cry.
Or maybe that’s the guilt trying to strangle me alive. I’m not sure.
The week goes by without any issues. Everything is normal. I have cheer practice. I get a B- on my math test. In leadership we’re planning homecoming week, and even though it’s a month away, everyone’s already stressed out. Ben and I go to Starbucks after school on Wednesday and hang out with our friends. He kisses me deep as we’re leaning against his car before we each head home, and I have to admit, I felt that little tingle, stirring deep in my stomach.
Maybe that’s also because I thought of Ash when Ben kissed me, which means I’m most likely going to hell.
I don’t see Ash at all. Not once. We don’t have the same classes, we’re not even on the same track, so that means we don’t really bump into each other in the halls. Our freshman year we hung in the same social circle, even part of our sophomore year, but now we don’t really have the same friends at all. He’s always with his football bros at lunch. Or sneaking off campus to go out to lunch with his senior friends.
At cheer practice on Thursday, our coach Brandy hits us with an announcement. “We’ve been invited last minute to eat dinner tonight with the football team.”
Some of the girls groan, a few of them get excited, but the rest of us remain quiet. That is the absolute last thing I want to do.
“I know, I know, it’s a pain in the ass.” Brandy always keeps it real with us. “But I said yes, because it’s hard to say no to that sweet woman who runs the football boosters club.”
That’s true. Ann Gibson is a first-grade teacher at the local elementary school and no one can refuse her when she makes a request. It doesn’t matter who you are, she speaks in this high-pitched, slow voice like she’s talking to a six-year-old, and the next thing you know, you’re agreeing to whatever she asks you do.
“Some of you probably have plans or can’t get a ride home that late, and I totally understand. This isn’t mandatory. Who can go tonight?” More than half the team raises their hands, including me. Dad will be there, so I sort of have to go. He’d expect me there. “Okay, good. We’ll head over after we’re done.”
Close to Me Page 9