Before I can answer, Ash’s arm darts out and jerks him back into the house by his T-shirt, Adrian’s laughter trailing behind them.
“So, we’re going to act like this isn’t a thing?” Nat asks, looking at me from beneath her sunglasses.
“Yep.”
“Just checking.”
Chapter 4
Briar
Saturday morning comes fast, and I haven’t seen Ash since the day at the pool. He’s been making himself scarce lately, and I don’t know what to make of it. Last night when Dash and I had our usual birthday celebration, it took all I had in me not to press for answers. Answers to where he’s been and what he’s been up to. I have three years of questions I need answered. But, I managed to keep my mouth shut, not even mentioning him once. We video chatted with the parental units—well, with my mom, as Dad was too busy on a business call—watched movies, and ordered from his favorite pizza joint, before I finally called it a night.
I told myself to put Asher out of my mind. Things are different now, but somehow not different at all. Because even though I’m older, we still can’t be together. And on top of that, he now hates me, for some unknown reason. But, turning my feelings off is easier said than done, so I caved to my desire to touch myself to thoughts of Asher. I imagined him sneaking into my room and slipping inside me. Only he wouldn’t be sweet like Jackson was. It would hurt—because everything with Ash hurts—and I’d beg him not to stop. I couldn’t even hate myself for it afterward because I was finally able drift off to sleep, blissfully sated.
This morning, however, is another story. The moment I opened my eyes, at six A.M. for some god-awful reason, a sense of dread blanketed my mood, like a dark cloud hanging over my head. I didn’t know why, but I was pretty sure Asher had something to do with it.
Now, I’m standing in the kitchen in an old white T-shirt that reaches mid-thigh, making breakfast burritos for the hungry men who will be infiltrating my kitchen soon on the griddle of the restaurant-style range. I look at the clock on the microwave—seven thirty. I have a good hour before everyone wakes up and shows up, but the food can be reheated. And I can guarantee the drinking will start before ten A.M., so these assholes will need sustenance.
The silence is too much, so I grab my earbuds and hit shuffle on my playlist. An acoustic version of “Hoodie” by Hey Violet filters through my headphones. Jesus, I’m pathetic because everything always comes back to Asher. This song included.
I’m sprinkling shredded cheese onto the potatoes, swaying and singing, when I feel a hand brush across my neck before clamping down. I whip around, wielding the spatula in front of me like a weapon, only to see Asher standing there, looking highly unimpressed.
He has on a thin, black tank top with the sides cut out and gray board shorts. His hair is wet and slicked back, as if he just got out of the shower, and I can’t help but wonder if he used my conditioner again. Now my heart is racing for another reason entirely.
“Jesus, Asher!” I whisper-yell. He tugs on the white cord, ripping the bud from my ear with a wicked smirk plastered to his face.
“I said your name. Multiple times.” He shrugs, like that gives him an excuse to scare the life out of me.
“Where have you been?” I ask, without meaning to, turning back to switch the griddle off and scoop everything onto plates.
“Don’t tell me you’ve missed me, Sugar Plum,” he whispers, still crowding my space, and I feel his breath on the back of my neck.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why no—” Asher starts, but stops, and I twist around to look at him expectantly. The playfulness is gone, and his expression is back to being stone-cold.
“What?” I ask with a nervous laugh. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Is that my shirt?” he asks, jerking his chin toward the tattered, blood-speckled tee. The one he left behind in my brother’s room the night he left. The one I snatched after he crawled back out the window, and sniffed in the privacy of my room for weeks afterward, until his scent was gone just like him. The one I don’t even think of as being his anymore.
“It’s mine,” I say firmly, chin thrust forward. My ears are burning with embarrassment and I feel my face heat, but I don’t show it.
“Funny, I bled on a shirt just like that.”
“Well, even if it was yours, I think the statute of limitations would be up by now.”
He laughs, more of a single huff, really, before scrubbing a hand over his face. “Why’d you keep it, Briar?”
I have two choices. I can either play dumb or tell the truth. The truth is awkward and uncomfortable, but I decide to go with it. Maybe if I give him a little morsel of honesty, he’ll open up about why he left the way he did, leaving all thoughts of college and Dash and me behind. Or maybe I’m just a glutton for disappointment.
“Because I was sad. Because you left me, and I had—no—have no idea why. Because the only friend I had after you disappeared was my own brother and I missed you so much that it physically hurt. And because this stupid shirt was the only thing that made me feel closer to you.”
Asher doesn’t speak, just stands there with his mouth pressed in a flat line. His eyebrows pull together as if he’s trying to work something out in his head. He opens his mouth to say something, but before I can get my hopes up, he snaps it shut.
Asher steps toward me, and I suck in a breath. He hooks a finger under my chin, and I have to tilt my head up to make eye contact when he’s this close. My hands that are braced on the oven handle behind me start to feel clammy, and I’m afraid to breathe, afraid to do anything to ruin this moment. His dark, mismatched eyes search my blues, for what, I don’t know.
But it all comes crashing down when I hear the last voice I expect to hear. Here. In my house.
“Uh, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Whitley says, each word dripping with disdain.
Asher snaps out of his trance, and the mask of indifference is firmly back in place.
“What the hell are you doing in my house?” I didn’t even hear her come in. I haven’t so much as laid eyes on her since the party where she bragged about hooking up with Asher, and if I never see her again, it would be too soon.
“Aw, didn’t Asher tell you? I’m his date for your brother’s party. Thanks for keeping him entertained ’til I got here.”
I look at him, my eyebrows clear up to my hairline, unable to comprehend the fact that he invited her, here, of all people. Of all places. That’s a new level of low, even for him.
“You’re not my fucking date,” Ash spits with more venom than he’s ever directed at me.
Before anyone can say another word, the front door swings open and Adrian, two thirty-packs of beer under each arm, and a couple of other people I don’t recognize make their way toward the kitchen.
Asher’s jaw hardens and he shoots a look to my bare legs, and it’s only then that I realize I’m still standing here…without pants.
“Breakfast burritos are ready,” I supply, keeping myself hidden behind the countertop.
Adrian notices Whitley being here and looks at me with an eyebrow cocked in question. I shoot him a look that says tell me about it. No one really likes her. I’m not sure why she sticks around, or why they allow it.
“You’re too good to me, baby,” he says, clutching his chest and making his way toward the food. He fixes his plate and is already inhaling it in three seconds flat. If you want to win Adrian’s heart, food is the fastest way to it. Hands down.
“Damn, girl,” he says through a mouthful, as everyone else starts helping themselves, “shit is the bomb.”
“Briar,” Asher says, his voice cold and hard. Just like him.
“What?” I snap at him. I’m not ready to play nice yet.
“Clothes,” he says in a threatening voice. “Now.”
Adrian stands up from the barstool at the counter and peers over at me, giving me a thorough once-over. Asher plants him back down with a firm ha
nd to the shoulder as I walk away, fighting the urge to cover myself.
“I’d straight-up suck a fart out of that ass,” I hear Adrian say, followed by, “Ow, motherfucker!”
I’d laugh if I weren’t fuming. I’m not even mad at Whitley. This is what she does. But Asher? He knows how she’s always treated me. He knows how I feel about her. And still, she’s here. Smugger than Simon Cowell.
I quickly pull on my white bikini and some cut-off jean shorts and head back to the kitchen. Dash is awake now, already eating, and stands when he sees me. Asher is sitting on the arm of the couch, and Whitley is perched between his spread legs.
“Thanks for breakfast, Bry,” Dash says, hooking an arm around my neck and giving me a quick peck to the top of my head.
“Surprise,” I say half-heartedly, my eyes still locked on the man version of the boy I used to love.
Asher stands abruptly, causing Whitley to stumble. “Going to take a piss.” He walks by me, not looking even a little sorry.
“I’m going to go grab some towels. Be ready to leave in five?” I ask. Everyone mumbles their agreement.
Once I round the corner, I pause at the bathroom door to make sure no one else is around, and before I can talk myself out of it, I’m barging in. Asher’s standing in front of the toilet, peeing, perpetually unfazed.
“This gonna be our thing? Meeting up in the bathroom? Not exactly the most sanitary place, but I guess it will do.”
“Why’d you do it?” I seethe, too angry to be mesmerized by the glint of silver as he shakes himself once he finishes, before tucking himself back into his shorts.
“Do what?” he says with a sigh, as if he’s exasperated by my antics.
“Why would you invite her? You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“I’m not your fucking boyfriend, Briar.” He wields words like a weapon, and they hit their intended target, like a punch straight to my gut.
Of course, he isn’t my boyfriend. Even if we were together, words like boyfriend and girlfriend would seem too trivial a label for us. But it’s about respect. And intent. He intended to hurt me, and that is what stings the most.
“I’m done, Ash. With whatever this is.” I wave a hand between us.
“Like I said, I’m not your boyfriend. So save the breakup speech.”
I drop my gaze, hating how I can want him and detest him simultaneously.
“Are you going to fuck her?”
A shrug. “Probably.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“It’s about time you realized it.”
I leave the bathroom first, grab my stuff from my room, and shoot off a text to Nat telling her how much I hate her for not being able to come today, while the boys load up the trucks with beer and snacks.
I ride with my brother and Adrian, while Whitley hops in with Asher—shocker—and the other guys. The lake is a good forty-five minutes away, and somewhere along the way, I decide I’m going to have fun with my brother and our friends, regardless of Asher and Whitley’s presence. Adrian cracks jokes and keeps the conversation flowing, and by the time we pull up to the lake, I’m feeling lighter. Happier.
Ignoring the pain from walking barefoot on the rocky beach, I go straight for the water. It’s a scorcher at one hundred fourteen degrees today, so I don’t waste any time.
An arm is slung over my shoulder, and I’m tugged into Adrian’s warm, tan side. Arms still crossed, I look up and offer him a big smile. Asher was my crush, but Adrian was always like another brother to me. Albeit, a perverted brother, but a brother nonetheless.
“Hey.”
“Why do you look like you’re about to off yourself?”
“Shut up, I do not.” I laugh, throwing an elbow into his side. “I’m just thinking.”
“Thinking about…?” he hedges.
“Just stuff.”
“Stuff like the fact that Whitley is here and hanging all over Kelley like he holds the key to all the blow in the entire state?”
I cringe, not only at that visual, but also because, apparently, I’m so transparent that even Adrian can see through me.
“He doesn’t want her, sweetheart,” he says, ducking his head close to mine.
Giving up the charade, I ask, “How do you know?”
Adrian looks backward, a cocky grin plastered to his face.
“Because if he wanted anything to do with her, he wouldn’t be staring over here, looking like he’s about to commit murder right after he pisses on you to mark his territory.”
Trying to appear as casual as possible, I glance behind me to see Asher sitting on the tailgate of his truck, white knuckling his beer bottle. Clenched jaw. Spine ramrod straight. Yeah, he’s pissed. Meanwhile, Whitley is oblivious, prancing around in her hot pink bikini that barely covers her crotch and half a nipple, making every effort to be noticed by Ash—and every other guy at the lake.
“Then, maybe he should do something about it,” I say, suddenly feeling so fed up with this game we’re playing.
“Give him a minute.” He chuckles. “Kelley doesn’t catch feelings for anyone. Not once in all the years that I’ve known him has he had a legitimate relationship. Figures the first girl he falls for ends up being his best friend’s little sister.”
The first girl he falls for…
I don’t know if what Adrian is saying holds any truth—Asher is a very different person than he was before he left—but those words dull my anger, just a little. Sweet, vulnerable Asher doesn’t know how to love anyone. Doesn’t know how to let anyone love him. I could’ve loved him enough for the both of us if he let me.
“Let’s go!” Dash yells, and I look over to see him standing on Adrian’s dad’s pontoon that they’ve already managed to unload into the water. “Who’s taking the Jet Skis?” he asks, holding two keys attached to bracelets.
Slipping out from under Adrian’s side, I run up and snatch one of the keys from him. I love these things, plus the more distance between Whitley and me, the better.
“You sure?” Dash asks, concern etched into his features.
“I’ll be careful, Dad,” I tease, giving a reassuring smile. Dash tosses me a life jacket, and I strap it on over my chest. I unbutton my shorts and let them fall to my ankles before tossing them onto the pontoon.
“All right, who else?”
Adrian starts toward us, but Asher hops off the tailgate, tosses his empty bottle into the bed of his truck, and then claims the other set of keys without a word. Adrian shoots me a knowing look.
Lovely.
“Stay close to Kelley. I’ll see you out there.”
Everyone piles onto the boat while Ash and I make our way toward the Jet Skis.
“You know how to drive one of these things?” Asher asks, shrugging on his own life jacket—looking put out that he’s not above the law and has to wear one—as I swing a leg over and hop on.
“Yep.”
“Of course, you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Not a damn thing. Ready?”
Instead of answering, I stick the key in and hit the start button. Asher gets behind me, and we both coast, unspeaking, until we pass the no-wake zone. As soon as we hit the buoys giving us the green light, Asher speeds off ahead of me.
Dick.
I squeeze the throttle on the handlebar and manage to catch up to him. His head swivels over to me, and I see a dark brow lift in amusement behind his black sunglasses. He ups his speed, daring me to keep up, and I don’t plan to back down. My hair whips in every direction, and I’m laughing like a lunatic, but I don’t care. It’s not like he can hear me, anyway. I can resume my anger once I’m done having fun.
We’re in the pontoon’s wake, and I hear Dash and Adrian hollering at us. They’re holding up something that I can’t make out… Is that a beer bong? Yup. It’s definitely a beer bong.
Asher stands on his Jet Ski, hands still on the handlebars, and cuts out of the wake, hitting several waves that
send him flying through the air. But, he doesn’t lose control for even a second. He’s always loved the water, and it loves him right back. His dark gray board shorts cling to him like a second skin and hang low enough to expose the defined crease between two toned ass cheeks. That, combined with the vibration between my thighs, has me feeling more than a little squirmy.
Instead of staying with the boat, I veer off and follow Asher. He glances over his shoulder, and I swear I see a hint of a smirk on those gorgeous, pouty lips of his. If I thought we were going fast before, we’re flying now. I check the speed. Thirty-eight miles per hour. Okay, so maybe it’s not that fast. But it feels a lot faster on water.
Every time we hit a wave, he checks back on me, and some stupid, naïve part of me equates that as caring about me—at least in some capacity. Baby steps.
After playing around in the water a little more, Ash leads the way back to Dash and everyone. We’re parallel to the pontoon, but this time, I’m in front of him. I look back at Dash for a split second before I hear Asher yell.
“Briar!”
My head snaps to my right, and I see another Jet Ski coming straight for me. Fear takes hold and I’m frozen, unsure of what to do. If I hit the off button at this speed, I’ll be ejected. I can’t go left, because the pontoon is there. My only option is to pull out the key and take a sharp right.
I just narrowly avoid being hit, water splashes onto my face, and the two guys on the Jet Ski look back, oblivious to the fact that they almost took me out. I’m still trying to calm my racing heart when Asher’s suddenly at my side.
“You okay?” he barks out, his eyebrows cinched together.
“Yeah, I—” Before I can finish my sentence, he takes off after them.
“Asher! Don’t!”
But there’s no stopping him. He’s off like a rocket, chasing them across the lake. He has to be going at least sixty miles per hour to catch up to them. This is the old Asher. The hothead, always looking for a fight.
“Bry!” Dash yells out to me, panic lacing his voice.
“I’m good!” I shout back, climbing back on and giving a thumbs-up.
Bad Habit (Bad Love Book 1) Page 7
