Collide (Worlds Collide Book 1)

by Quinn Nolan

  I’m able to pull myself up without much issue, but when I put weight on one side of the tube, the other starts flying upward. Instead of falling backward into the water again, I slip back in through the center. Ashlyn doesn’t quite hide a snort as she paddles herself opposite me and presses down on the side of the tube. I nod a thanks before trying again.

  Easy, it’s not. Graceful, it’s not. But after a half dozen tries, I manage to not fall over or give up halfway through because there’s no way I can contort my body in the way necessary to get both my legs through the opening. Ashlyn’s a champ through it all—holding on even when I splash water right in her face or knock into her with a flailing appendage. By the time I’m successfully seated in the float, she’s laughing so hard she’s gasping for air. And instead of feeling embarrassed, I find I’m smiling, too.

  “Care to tell me what’s so funny?”

  It takes her a few moments to compose herself enough to respond. Still twisted in her seat, holding onto the edge of my tube, she pushes up just enough for me to see her face. “Nothing. It’s just... That was probably the least rock-and-roll thing that has ever happened in the history of rock-and-roll.”

  I offer my most offended look. “Really? The very least rock-and-roll thing? Like, ever?” I shake my head. “I better do something super rock-and-roll to balance things out. Like, smash a guitar or make out with a groupie.”

  I regret the last bit as it leaves my mouth, but Ashlyn just laughs. “Yeah, something like that.”

  She pushes up a few more inches—just enough to give me a great view of her cleavage. Is she doing that on purpose? I’ve experienced these kinds of moves before—girls standing in just the right way to give me a view of something appealing, hoping I’ll make the next move. But behind the smiles of those girls is a kind of cool calculation, like they’re checking off an item on a list. Ashlyn’s different: In her eyes, I only see laughter, amusement. But I also see the flush of her cheeks, the beads of water glinting on her collar bone, the lithe muscles of her arms.

  I want to kiss her. I lean forward. Her face is so, so close...

  Her blue eyes go wide and she leans back, situating herself fully on her float. She hastily grabs the beer from the built-in cup-holder and brings it to her lips, a few drops dribbling down her chin. After gulping down a mouthful, she wipes beneath her lower lip with the back of her hand. “Did you want a beer? You deserve one after all that hard work.” Before I can answer, she has the lid of the floating cooler up and she’s sloshing through the ice for a bottle.

  Shit. What’s wrong with me? Didn’t I get the memo last time I tried to kiss her? What it is about this girl that makes me act like such an ass? “Yeah, a beer’d be great. Dealer’s choice.”

  Some of the tension drains from her shoulders as she selects a bottle and pops the top. When I take it, I’m careful not to touch her fingers, afraid if I do she’ll drop it. Silence stretches between us and I take a long pull from my bottle, just for something to do. She stares off across the water. Even though we didn’t talk much on the way out here, this quiet is different, unsettled. I need to change the subject, get her talking again. The first thing that bubbles to my lips is about the feedback I got from Somer and the label for the songs she heard, but I clamp my jaw to keep from saying anything about that. I don’t think telling her she was wrong about those songs will make the moment any less awkward. Another idea comes to mind and pops out of my mouth before I can filter it: “So, you and Graham went out again yesterday?”

  Her eyebrows pull together and I rub my forehead. Great, now I sound like a stalker. Time for damage control. “I mean—I just noticed his van by the garage yesterday and—”

  She nods, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “Yeah. We went to the beach. It was...” She takes another drink of her beer. “We actually ran into someone I know—well, I used to know.” She shakes her head. “It’s actually kind of embarrassing.”

  “Hey, after watching me struggle to sit in this thing, I think an embarrassing story from you is precisely what we need to even things out again.” I nod encouragingly. This is good. If I can get her back to the easy banter we had before, the rest of this trip won’t be tense and awkward.

  Ashlyn pulls her mouth to the side, like she’s weighing whether or not to tell me. Finally, a smile breaks across her face. “Okay, fair enough. We ran into my ex—like, my one serious boyfriend. And he was with his fiancée, who was tall and gorgeous. And I didn’t want him to know... See, I haven’t exactly dated anyone since we broke up back in college. And there he was, about to be married, and there I was, a girl who threw away her college education and...” She shakes her head. “It was silly. I was trying to impress him and I... I called Graham my boyfriend.”

  I struggle not to choke on my beer and manage to keep the sputtering to a minimum. “Yeah? What did he say? Graham, I mean—not the ex.”

  She bites her lower lip, but it doesn’t keep the corners of her mouth from turning upward. “He didn’t mind. He... He said he actually liked it.”

  My stomach tightens, the sensation both unpleasant and unfamiliar. This is good news for her. While I don’t know her very well, I know enough to be sure she’s someone who deserves something good in her life, something she wants. I try to smile, but it feels forced, unnatural—worse than any face I’ve made while being interviewed or photographed for hours on end. “That’s...great.”

  But it’s not. Not one bit of me thinks this is great.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ashlyn

  By the time we head back to shore, I’m not nearly drunk enough.

  Well, I’m not drunk at all, which is actually the problem. I only had the one beer, knowing that alcohol always hits me harder and quicker on the water, and knowing how inexcusable it would be—on so many levels—to get into an accident on the way back to the house.

  But no matter how much I try to convince myself that’s the only reason, I know it’s not entirely true. For a moment, just after Everett got up onto his inner tube, I was sure he wanted to kiss me. My certainty of this fact is eclipsed by only one thing: How positive I am that I would have kissed him back.

  I pull the boat up next to the dock and tie it off. Everett is unsteady on his feet, like he has been since we got out of the water. I warned him the sun and water somehow amplifies the effects of beer, but he insisted he was a champion drinker, that one had to be as a rock star.

  He grips my arm tightly as I help him off the boat. “I should’ve listened,” he says, his voice almost a moan. When his feet are both firmly on the deck, I release him and he holds his arms out to his sides, like a tight-rope walker. “It’s not even that I’m drunk—not really. I’m just...wibbly-wobbly.”

  I can’t help laughing as I grab the cooler with the remaining beers and food and step out onto the deck myself. “Do you think you can make it to the beach on your own?”

  “I dunno. Do you think you can pull me to shore if I fall in?”

  “Looks like I’m assisting you.” I shift the cooler into my right hand and slip my left arm around his waist. His arm goes around my shoulders immediately and we begin shuffling toward the beach. It’s so natural, like we’ve done it a thousand times before. The way my body fits against his is almost familiar.

  I bite the inside of my cheeks. I need to get a hold of myself. I can’t keep thinking of Everett this way. I’ve made my decision: While I can’t deny I’m drawn to Everett, there’s no future with him. In a few weeks, he’ll be gone and he’ll probably never think about me again. And even if I did take what would invariably be the advice given by Teresa and Reagan and just go for the fling, that would mean giving up on any potential with Graham. And I’m not willing to do that.

  I don’t think.

  When we get to dry land, Everett doesn’t slow his pace, and I take his cue. The deck isn’t too far away, and the beer and food need to go back to the house anyway. Besides, it’s not like it’s not on my way.

 
; “There’s one thing I don’t get,” Everett says, as if continuing a conversation we’ve already begun.

  We’re to the deck and I help him up the steps. “What’s that?”

  He stops so abruptly that I take a step without him. He grabs my hand and tugs it so that I turn back and face him. “I don’t get why you felt like you had to pretend for that ex-boyfriend guy at all. Who cares what he thinks of you?”

  I do. I don’t say that, because I know he’ll ask me why and I’m not sure I can explain. “I just... I’ve changed so much in the two years since we broke up. I was really driven, very goal-oriented. I thought I could take on the world, that I could accomplish anything. You didn’t know me then—”

  “But I know you now. Since I’ve known you, you’ve been the most genuine person I’ve ever met. You’re still willing to do anything to get what you want.” A ghost of a grin flickers across his face. “You shouldn’t ever have to pretend. Not for anyone.”

  For a second, I’m afraid he’s going to try to kiss me again—and then I’m disappointed when it’s clear he’s not. I shake my head. “I’m sure it’s easy for you to say. You’re famous. You get to be whoever you want and people just have to deal with it.”

  A spasm crosses his face and he drops my hand. “I think I got it from here. Thanks for this—not just for getting me to the door, but for the whole day. It was... Thanks.”

  “Of course.” I wait a beat, in case he has more to say, but he just reaches out for the cooler. When I hand it to him, he moves past me, toward the door.

  I fight the urge to watch him go into the house, to look through the wall of glass as he enters the great room and passes to the kitchen. Way too stalkery.

  As I head off the deck and around the side of the house, I try to convince myself it’s for the best. I made my decision and I need to stick with it. Besides, who’s to say that Everett’s even really interested in me? Maybe I was imagining things earlier when I thought he wanted to kiss me. I mean, really, why would he want to?

  It’s the NDA, a voice in the back of my mind whispers. If you sleep with him, it’s not like you can go blab to all the tabloids. You’d lose your job. He knows that. You’re safe—he can get what he wants with no danger of anyone finding out where he is.

  I tamp down the thought. I refuse to believe that’s something Everett would do. Maybe I’m overestimating him, but something like that seems out of character. How could that be the end-game for a guy who’s so sweet, who takes the time to tell me...

  I stop in my tracks. I’m halfway to the garage, but I can’t go any further. My brain’s too full of contradictions. The idea of climbing the stairs to my tiny apartment makes my skin crawl. I need to be out, away, somewhere open. A walk around the grounds will have to do.

  I let my feet lead me. I don’t know why Everett mixes up my mind so much. It’s not the whole famous thing—at least, I don’t think it is. When I met him, he wasn’t Ever Anders, international rock star—he was Everett, the guy who noticed me in a bar full of people and decided he would help me get what I wanted. And he did. Graham never would’ve seen me as a potential romantic interest if not for him.

  A shadowy thought tugs at the corners of my consciousness—one that’s always waiting in the wings when I think of Graham, and one that I’m always pushing back. But now, for the first time, I let the thought in.

  It shouldn’t have taken Everett’s attention to make Graham finally see me. It shouldn’t have taken further intervention to spark his interest. From that first night, Everett saw me—he chose me. With no hidden agenda, he stepped in and rescued me from my funk. Isn’t that what everyone wants? Someone who sees them for who they are?

  What was it Everett just said? I shouldn’t have to pretend? Isn’t that exactly what I’ve been doing with Graham? From the night of his band’s show, I’ve been pretending—pretending I’m with Everett, that I enjoy myself on our dates, that I’m not bothered by the fact he knows next to nothing about me, that he never asks. At the beach yesterday, I pretended he was my boyfriend, that we were more serious than we actually are—and he went along with it. Is he pretending, too?

  I want something real—something that makes me happy. Isn’t that why I quit teaching to begin with? I thought it was what I wanted, but it just made me miserable. It was more work than it was worth, and I had to put on a front like everything was fine. Isn’t that exactly what’s going on with Graham now? I thought he was who I wanted, but now...

  But now, what?

  I’ve been moving on autopilot for several minutes and when I refocus and take in my surroundings, I’m both surprised and relieved to discover I’m back on the deck. The sun has dipped below the property’s trees, so much of the light filters through the windows from the great room. I don’t see Everett. I could knock, but... What would he think? What would I say? I’m just inches from the door, my fist raised, when I exhale, my shoulders sagging. No. Maybe this is a sign. Everett’s not visible in the entirety of the main living areas—maybe he went to lie down. The sun and water can really take it out of a person. It’s probably for the best anyway...

  “Ashlyn?”

  A yelp escapes my lips and I jump, spinning toward the sound of the voice. At the far end of the deck, in a large teak chair overlooking the lake, is Everett. He stands, cocking his head to the side, the corners of his mouth curled up in a smile. “Coming to check on me? I’m feeling a lot better now that everything’s not moving.”

  Heat creeps into my cheeks. Standing there, dark hair outlined by the darkening sky, still shirtless and devastatingly hot with his broad shoulders, muscled arms, hard abs—he’s so entirely out of my league, I can’t believe I’m here. What was I thinking? Oh, that’s right—I wasn’t. I need to get out of here—fast—before I make a complete fool of myself. “I... My...cell phone,” I stammer. “I think left it on the coffee table. I can come back for it tomorrow—”

  But Everett’s already on the move. “Yeah, of course. I totally forgot about it.” He passes me, but not too closely, and I ache, wishing he’d brushed against me. Just one last bit of contact. Because I can’t spend time with him again—not like this. I’ll do something stupid and it’ll get back to Leo and I’ll lose this job—lose my home.

  At the open door, Everett beckons for me to follow him inside. Squaring my shoulders, I do. I have to. If I refuse to go in, not only will I seem rude, but Everett’s bound to ask me what’s wrong. It’s just the way he is.

  I’m struck by the certainty with which I know this. How is it I feel I know him so well?

  He scoops my phone off the coffee table, but doesn’t hold it out to me. “I think I’m ready for another beer. You?”

  I drum my fingers against my leg. It’s a perfectly legitimate reason to stay. But I can’t—I’ll read too much into it, like I’m reading too much into everything. “No, thanks. I should really—”

  He waves away my excuse. “Come on. I saw you eyeing the Mayan Mocha all afternoon. We’re on dry land now.” He holds my phone up. “I’m holding this hostage until you agree.”

  I can’t help smiling. Surely one beer can’t hurt. He wants me to stay. “Okay, fine. One.” I hold my hand out expectantly.

  He reaches forward but pulls his arm back quickly, squinting. After a beat, he holds the phone out to me. “I guess I can trust you not to run off.”

  The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but as he leaves for the kitchen, I can’t say it’s not appealing. Everett’s just easygoing—a guy on vacation. Maybe he is flirting with me—but I can’t read into it. I’ll just end up embarrassing myself. My eyes slide to the back door. No, I can’t leave. How childish is that? I sit down to keep my legs from moving of their own accord. It’s just a drink. Then I’ll go home, take a long shower, and put this day out of my head.

  For distraction, I check my phone. Even though I told Graham I had things to do around the grounds today and that I’d text him if it wasn’t too late when I got done, he’s messaged me three
times—once around two, again around dinner time, and a final time about an hour ago.

  Just checking in.

  Busy? I could bring dinner.

  Thinking about you.

  The messages are all short—sweet, even. Then why does my stomach twist as I read them?

  Everett returns and I place the phone—face down—on the end table. He sits beside me on the couch, holding out a pint glass full of dark brown liquid. The beer in his own glass is the same color, but I don’t know if that means he’s drinking the same thing—most of the beers I stocked in his fridge were darker. It’s oddly gratifying to know he’s enjoying my selections.

  I take a sip of the beer. It’s still too cold to enjoy fully—not all the flavors pop at this temperature. Usually, I’d let it warm a bit, but I don’t know that I can do that tonight. I should just finish it quickly and get back to my apartment. Everett’s sitting close—not close enough to touch me, but close enough for me to want to touch him—to run my hands over his arms, down his back, through his hair. To taste his mouth and wrap my legs around—

  I set my glass on the coffee table and stand so quickly that beer sloshes onto my hand. “I have to go.”

  I’m already heading for the back door and sense, rather than see, Everett stand, too. “Wait—what? Ashlyn—”

  I stop, my hand on the doorknob. He deserves an explanation. “I’m sorry,” I say without turning. “I just—I have to leave before I”—do something I’ll regret. I don’t say the last part because I can’t—it’s not entirely true. And that’s the part that scares me most. If I kiss Everett right now, if I do to him—with him—all the things spinning around in my head, I won’t regret it.

  “Ash?” His hand closes over my shoulder, gently turning me to face him. Even as he does, my resolve weakens. The sound of his voice saying my name—and a nickname at that—sends a tremble through my body. And when he looks at me, it’s the way he looked at me back at the brewpub, when the rest of the world melted away and it was just the two of us. And without weighing the pros and cons, without thinking about all the possible repercussions, I do what I wanted to do that night—what I should have done. Not allowing for an interruption or second thoughts, I pull his face to mine and kiss him.