“Lucky for me? Yeah, I’m so lucky that the cocky, arrogant asshole isn’t too scared to talk to the quirky, shy girl.” I start to leave, fuming mad, but then swing back around. “And FYI, I came over here to see if you were okay because I heard about your mom. You looked sad, and I know how hard it is to lose your mom, so I hope you’re okay.” I walk away, waving bye to Zeke before I push out the doors.
“Blayze, wait up!”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath as I stop at the corner and turn around.
Ashford jogs up to me, a little out of breath. When he reaches me, he doesn’t say anything, simply stares at me with those crazy intense eyes of his.
I’m about to leave when he sputters, “I’m sorry.” He massages the back of his neck, seeming baffled. “Huh, I’ve never said that to anyone before. It’s definitely … interesting.”
I zip up my jacket. “Well, you should definitely try it more often. It can be very therapeutic, and I hear, if you say it enough, it can turn you into a nicer person.”
His lips quirk. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“Thank you for apologizing.” I start to walk away, but he catches my arm.
I glance over my shoulder at him, frowning at his hand on my arm, even though the touch makes my stomach go all butterfly crazy.
He slips his hand down my arm and threads his fingers through mine. “Come have a cup of coffee with me.”
I should tell him no, but I catch the slightest glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes and find myself wanting to have a cup of coffee with him, if only to hear his story.
“Only if you say please.”
He presses his lips together. “Please, Blayze, will you have a cup of coffee with me?”
“Okay, Ashford, I’ll have a cup of coffee with you.”
“Call me Ash … please.” The corners of his lips tease up as we start down the sidewalk, holding hands. “You know, I’ve never said please before, either,” he says, strengthening his grip on my hand as I try to pull away.
“I’m not really that surprised,” I tell him as we stop in front of a quaint café.
He opens the door and steps aside for me to walk in first. Slightly shocked by his gentlemanly manners, I step inside.
“Quit looking at me like that,” he says. “I might be a cocky asshole, but my mom taught me to always be a gentleman, even if the girl is being mean to you.”
“I’m not being mean.”
“You’re being challenging.”
“No, I’m just being real.”
He misses a beat.
I take a moment to assess the choices of coffee on the marque.
“Your mom sounds like a nice, caring person, though.”
“She is—was …” He grows silent beside me.
When I look at him, I find him watching me in puzzlement.
“Why’re you looking at me like that?” I ask.
“You’re just so … different from most of the people I’ve met. Usually, people are so fake and agree with everything I say.” He shrugs, facing the cashier as she asks him what she can get him. “It’s kind of refreshing yet frustrating at the same time.”
“It can be just refreshing if you let it.”
He tries not to smile, but as he orders his cappuccino, he’s practically grinning from ear to ear. For some silly reason, it makes me smile, too.
After I order my drink, he pays for them, despite my protests, and then we take a seat at the corner table near the window.
“You said you moved from the States?” he says, fiddling with the sugar tray. “Why’d you decided to move here of all places?”
Nodding, I stare out the window.
“Okay, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
I look at him. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just can’t.”
He moves on. “So, you’re obsessed with music.” It’s not a question, only a simple statement.
“Yeah. I mean, I can’t sing or play anything, but I find music comforting, you know? Like it turns everything off. All that worry and pain and whatever’s bothering you, and it’s just you and a song helping you get through whatever you need to feel.”
“I’ve never really thought about it that way, but I can see your point.”
“Are you a big music fan?”
He lifts a shoulder, giving a half shrug. “I guess you could say that. Although, if you ask anyone else, they’d probably tell you I have an unhealthy obsession with the record store. You’ve heard my story, though, so I’m guessing you’ve probably heard that I spend every day there.”
“I heard a story about you.” I fold my arms on top of the table. “But it doesn’t mean it is your story. Anyone can say anything about anyone. It doesn’t mean it’s true. The only stories I truly believe are the ones I’ve heard from the people who’ve actually lived them.”
“You’re the most fascinating person I know, Blayze,” he says, sounding genuine.
“Thanks. I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Do, please. I almost never hand out any kind of compliments. While it happens rarely, when I compliment someone, I’m always genuine.”
“You should try it more often. People might be less fake around you if you did.”
He leans back in his chair as the waitress brings us our drinks. “I’ll give it some thought.”
I move my arms so she can set down my cup. “You should try genuinely smiling, too. It might make you come off as less of a cocky asshole.”
“I’ll try, but no promises.” He dumps sugar into his coffee and stirs. “You want to hear my story, I’m guessing.”
I gather the mug in my hand and take a sip. “Only if you want to share it with me. After my mom died, people tried to force me to talk about her death because they thought it would make me feel better. But whenever I tried, they always told me something like ‘I’m so sorry you’re going through this’ or ‘it’ll get easier,’ and it never made me feel better. In fact, it made me feel worse because it never got easier … Then again, it’s not really their fault. I mean, half of them had never lost someone so close to them.”
“How long ago did she die? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”
“Almost five months ago.”
“I’m not sure if this is going to make you feel better or not, but those people are kind of right. It does kind of get easier day by day to not think about her death so much. Does it get easier not to miss her so much? Probably not. But it does get easier to deal with getting through the day, not feeling like you’re going to lose it every second of every hour.”
I set my mug down. “Is that how it was for you?”
He nods, adding some creamer to his coffee. “I was with her when she had the heart attack in the store. I held her hand while the ambulance came … She died before they got there.”
Oh, my God, he saw her die! How awful.
“I’m so sorry, Ash. That had to be hard, just losing her so suddenly.”
He wavers about saying anything, as if he’s afraid to open up to me. “Death is death. Losing anyone in any way is always hard.” He stares inside his mug. “How’d your mom die?”
“Cancer. By the time they found it, it was so bad she only lived for a few more months, and those months were really hard, watching her fade away like that … By the time she died, she was in so much pain, just a skeleton of herself …” I swallow hard as a lump swells in my throat. “My dad took it really hard. I think a part of him faded away with her.”
“That’s sad, but I guess it’s kind of a good thing, too.”
“How do you figure?”
He meets my gaze. “My father didn’t even come to my mom’s funeral. They weren’t divorced yet, but I found out he’d been seeing a young woman and was planning to divorce my mom. When I confronted him about it, he told me I shouldn’t be surprised, that my mom was well beyond her prime, and he should’ve divorced her years ago before she start
ed to age.”
“Your dad sounds like an asshole,” I say then add, “sorry.”
He shrugs me off. “No, you don’t need to be sorry. He is an asshole, and everyone knows it, even him.”
I scrunch up my nose. “I think he might be dating my sister right now.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“Hey, that’s two apologies in a day. See? You’re already getting the hang of it.”
He rolls his eyes yet grins. “Don’t get used to it. I’m sure, by tomorrow, I’ll return to my asshole ways.”
I wonder if we’ll even speak to each other tomorrow, if we’ll have as good of a conversation as we just had.
It felt so nice to talk about my mom without worrying about stressing out my father.
We spend the next hour talking about lighter things. I find out he goes to the record store because he actually does like music. He even plays the guitar and the piano.
“I can teach you how to play sometime,” he offers as he walks me up the hillside toward my home.
“I might just take you up on that.” I stare up at the stars. “Although, I should warn you that my mom tried to teach me how to play the piano once, and she got so frustrated with how musically incompetent I am that she had to leave the room and have a mini meltdown.”
“At least she left the room instead of yelling at you like my father would’ve done.” He takes my hand. “Besides, with my talent, you’re sure to succeed.”
“You know talent isn’t contagious, right?”
“Of course, but with as beautiful as you are, you must have some hidden talent.”
I sigh. He has some misconstrued logic.
“You know, just because someone is beautiful, it doesn’t make them perfect. Everyone has flaws. It’s what makes us human, what makes us real.”
“Perhaps.” He doesn’t sound too convinced.
I sigh again as I catch him eyeballing my tiny, rundown house with disgust. I wait for him to say something about it, but he remains quiet.
“Thanks for walking me home.” I start to slip my fingers from his, but he tightens his hold.
“If I were to kiss you now, how would you react?”
“Well, considering I never kiss on a first date—if that’s even what this is—then I’m guessing I’d probably reject you. Normally, I’d feel bad about doing it and maybe let you steal a pity cheek kiss, but I’m guessing your ego can take the ding.”
“You’re very blunt.”
“Funny, since you called me shy only hours ago.”
“Yeah, I know I did.” He stares at my mouth with his lips pressed together. For a moment, I think he’s going to try to kiss me, anyway, but then he steps back and releases my hand. Surprisingly, I’m disappointed.
“I’ll see you at the store tomorrow?” he asks then leaves without waiting for my response.
What a strange, strange day, full of unexpected events. It makes me wonder what’s going to happen tomorrow.
Chapter 4
I spend the rest of the week cooking and cleaning while my dad buries himself in his new job as a craftsman. My sister is beyond gone in Lavish Land, spending every waking hour with Aldman, who showers her with gifts.
When I’m at the record store, I hang out a lot with Zeke, getting tarot card readings and listening to stories of his family, his past, particularly high school. He was teased a lot by Ash and his friends, and part of me wants to stay away from Ash because of it. But I believe that sometimes people deserve a second chance. So, when I’m not chilling with Zeke, I spend time sorting through records with Ash and getting to know him.
I learn in front of section B that, when his mom died, he cried for three days straight then never cried again.
“My father caught me and chewed me out for being so weak,” he explains. “Please don’t ever tell anyone I cried.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” I nudge him in the shoulder. “And thanks for saying please.”
He actually laughs at that, and it makes me happy for some crazy reason.
It’s in front of section E that I discover he does, in fact, get lonely in his big house.
“I’ll admit,” he says, like I’m pulling teeth, “that sometimes I wish I had someone there to share the space with.”
“You could always get a dog,” I tease. “Or a cat. You kind of seem like a cat person.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Only if it’s a badass, flashy cat like a tiger.”
I roll my eyes at him then laugh when he playfully pinches my side.
I laugh a lot when I’m with him and realize that I haven’t laughed very much since my mom died.
“I really miss her,” I admit one day in front of section A. “I even cry sometimes, but only when I’m not around my dad; otherwise, he’ll fall apart.”
“Is that why you were crying in the booth that day?” he asks, wandering toward section U with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans.
I nod, trailing after him. “Listening to music helps me let it out.”
“I’m sorry you were hurting that day.” He reaches out and brushes his finger across my cheek before focusing on the records. My cheek scalds where he touched me. “When I cried for those three days, I blasted music so loudly the neighbors called the police. Told them I was disturbing them.”
“Did they know you were mourning your mom?”
“Sure, but they didn’t care. It’s not like I’m a nice guy everyone cares about.”
“You could be, though. You have potential, anyway … if you could get past your ego.”
“That’ll never happen.”
“You never know. The sky could fall. Hell could freeze over. Ash could become a caring, compassionate person.”
“You’re caring and compassionate enough for the both of us,” he says, like we’re a couple.
I’m unsure how I feel about that. At least, that’s what I tell myself, but the insane butterflies come alive inside my stomach again.
It’s toward the end of the week, when we’re sitting in front of section T with a stack of records surrounding us, I realize that I might really, really like him. I’m noticing more and more that there’s more to Ash than I first thought. It just takes a lot to break through the surface.
“Do you want to get something to eat after we’re done hanging out here?” he asks as he skims the list of songs on the sleeve of a record he plucked from section I. “You can ask your dad to come, too. I know you hate for him to eat alone.”
“He won’t eat at one of those fancy restaurants you like, though,” I tell him.
“That’s okay,” he says.
I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off, placing a hand over my mouth and causing an adrenaline rush to go all mad kinds of crazy inside my body.
“We can eat wherever he wants. And you’re letting me pay. No arguing this time.”
I shut my mouth, deciding to let him win this one, even though I hate letting people buy me things.
It’s on Saturday, the morning before the party, when his generosity gets a bit out of hand.
“Close your eyes and stick out your hand,” he says to me as I’m standing in front of section F.
“Why?” I ask, switching over to section U.
“Just do it, Blayze,” he says with a drop of annoyance.
“Fine, if you’re gonna have a tantrum about it.” I shut my eyes and put my hands out in front of me.
Seconds later, a cold, metal object lands in my palms. As I start to crack my eyelids open, soft lips touch mine. I gasp as a tongue enters my mouth and teeth graze my lips. I then groan, clutching him when my knees just about give out from under me.
The kiss is brief but intense and leaves me breathless.
When he pulls away, I open my eyes then gasp again at the sight of the necklace in my hand. It’s a silver chain that winds around a large black stone trimmed by tiny diamonds.
“It was my mom’s,” he explains.
“Ash, I c
an’t accept this.” I urge him to take it back.
“Of course you can.” He backs away from me, one side of his mouth tugging to a proud grin. “Wear it to the party tonight, okay?”
Before I can say anything, he kisses me again then leaves the store with a skip in his walk.
I stare blankly at section L, unsure what the hell to do with the necklace.
“It’s like he’s branding you,” Zeke says as he strolls up beside me.
“He’s just being nice.”
“Ash is never nice unless he gets something out of it.”
“He’s nicer than you think he is. You just don’t know him like I do.”
“Is that so?” He deliberates something. “Because I’m betting tonight, at the party, when he’s surrounded by his friends, you’ll get to see the Ash I know, the one who thinks everyone is beneath him. Who mocks people who are poor or look different.”
“That’s not who he is anymore. The Ash you told me about, the one who picked on you, he’s nice to you now.”
“You really believe that?” he asks, and I nod. “Well, then, I guess I won’t have to do anything tonight.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, but I leave the store with that same ominous feeling in my stomach that I’ve gotten two times in my life.
Chapter 5
I try to shove my worries of Zeke aside as an older woman greets me at Ash’s front door. The moment I step inside, I realize I’m way underdressed in the flowery dress, leather jacket, and boots I’m wearing. Almost every girl here is wearing a prom-worthy dress, and the guys are wearing ties.
“Don’t worry; you look beautiful,” the woman assures me. “And with how much Ash talks about you, I’m sure he’ll think so, too.”
“He talks about me to you?” I ask loudly enough that she can hear me over the music.
“All the time.” She motions for me to follow her as she heads for the wide stairway. “For the last couple of weeks, everything that’s come out of that boy’s mouth has been Blayze this and Blayze that. I’ve gotta tell you, I didn’t think the boy had it in him to talk about anything other than himself. Sure proves me wrong.”
Fairytale Remix: Blayze & Ash Page 3