About Time (The Avenue Book 1)

by B. Cranford

  “I’d like to pet you, Kitten.” His tone was casual as he stood from the table, stopping in the kitchen to place his empty mug in the sink. “Does the invitation still stand?”

  Ashton froze, unsure of how to answer, unsure if he was just toying with her or telling her that he wanted her.

  Please let him want me.

  Words formed and fell apart in her mind. Answers. Invitations. Flirty comments and cool responses. But nothing made it past her lips. She held his eyes with her own, willing her brain and mouth to come together to create something, some kind of response, until he walked over to her, placed a chaste wisp of a kiss on her forehead and left the apartment.

  The sound of the door closing behind her rocketed through the haze that had developed when he’d talked about petting her.

  Shit. She’d missed her chance. This time. She’d missed her chance this time.

  Despite all the turmoil, she wasn’t going to miss it again. Despite the fact her brother was still not impressed with her skipping the family vacation, the messages she received daily from her parents asking why she didn’t come, the calls with her younger brother who just wanted to know that she and A were okay, Ashton made a pledge.

  Dunk wanted to pet her.

  And she was going to let him.

  “Tickling.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Ashton asked, looking over at Duncan, who merely smiled at her over the breakfast table on the sixth day, as if he hadn’t just said “tickling” out of nowhere.

  “Tickling. Does that count as petting? Like, I’d be stroking you with the tips of my fingers . . . kinda.” He shrugged and spooned another mouthful of cereal into his mouth.

  Lucky Charms. I’d like to be his lucky charm. Or find the pot of gold at the end of his rainbow. Or . . .

  She tried to wipe the useless innuendo from her mind—considering it wasn’t even that clever, it shouldn’t have been as hard as it was. Except then her mind stuttered over the word hard, and suddenly, she realized there was nothing but silence in the kitchen.

  Silence in the entire apartment, actually.

  Aaron was gone for the morning, having left early to meet up with his boyfriend, a cute guy named Simon, who Ashton already loved, so it was just her and Duncan.

  Sitting at the kitchen table. Talking about tickling, of all things.

  “Well?” he asked, the grin on his face making him look like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

  I’d melt in his mouth. “I hate being tickled,” she choked out, trying not to think of his mouth on her body. On any part of her body.

  “I don’t think you’d hate it if it was me, Kitten.”

  She nodded, then, realizing that she was agreeing with him, shook her head instead. Because she wasn’t. Agreeing with him. Or, she shouldn’t be. She definitely shouldn’t be thinking about being tickled, and how those exploring fingers might move from her stomach, up to graze the underside of her breasts, or lower, to taunt her pussy with their nearness.

  I need a cold, cold shower.

  “Want company?”

  “I-what?”

  “You said you needed a shower, I asked if you needed company. Keep up, Ashton. Unless . . . am I distracting you?” He stood, and walked around the table to where she sat, crouching down so they were about eye level with one another.

  She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. It had only been a few days since she’d arrived at the apartment to spend some time with Aaron and, already, she was in over her head with this boy.

  This man.

  I’d like to pet you, Kitten. Does the invitation still stand?

  The sound of knocking on the door of the apartment broke the moment and Duncan moved to answer it, but not before twirling a strand of her blonde hair around his finger, giving it a little tug. “Another time. That’s my ride to work, since your brother took my car this morning.”

  “Oh.” She closed her eyes—not just because of the way his finger felt playing with her hair, but because she was horrified that all she had managed to add was “Oh”. Clearly, she was out of her element.

  Which probably explained what happened next.

  “Oh, yeah, he, ah, he-he said that he was going to visit with Simon, and I really like Simon. I feel like that’s going to last, you know? Better than his relationship with our parents lasted, that’s for sure, right?”

  All she’d wanted was to add something more than a two-letter expression of whatever “oh” meant, and instead she’d made a tasteless joke in the midst of a run-on sentence.

  He cleared his throat, a sad kind of look on his face—no doubt thinking about what Aaron was dealing with—and nodded. Then headed out of the apartment, leaving Ashton red-faced, alone and worked up in more ways than one.

  It was late by the time Duncan arrived back at the apartment. Ashton was already in her pajamas, ready for bed and wondering where he’d been that had kept him out so late.

  Not that she had any right to that information. She just wanted it.

  “He—hey.” She cringed at her own opening line, wondering what had happened to her ability to form coherent sentences.

  It was either one word stuttered and stumbled over, or breathless sentences that left her feeling a little light-headed and dizzy—and not because Duncan got a look on his face.

  She felt the weight of his stare as he took in her nighttime attire—tiny panties hidden beneath the hem of a too-big T-shirt.

  One that said Pet Me, I’m Irish on the front.

  One that she’d selected with great care. After all, she hadn’t forgotten his expression of interest in petting her . . .

  “Is Aaron home yet?” Dunk’s question came out in a rush, the cool he seemed to naturally exude slipping away as she watched him realize she was wearing her invitation.

  “Yeah, for a while now. He’s in his room.” She’d selfishly hoped that he’d stay out, spend some more time with friends, his boyfriend. Except with that hope came the guilt that she wanted him gone.

  Just like their parents had.

  No, no, it’s different.

  Duncan’s lower lip was caught between his teeth, pressing down in a way so delicious, she wanted to replace his teeth with her own. “Pity,” he said, releasing his lip but maintaining eye contact that, if she was honest, felt like a thorough eye-fucking.

  Not that she was complaining.

  “Hey, man, was wondering when you’d be back.” Aaron walked into the room, his presence like a needle to an overinflated balloon. The tension burst, and Dunk turned his attention to his friend.

  “Late shift,” was his reply, leaving Ashton to question how well she really knew this man she was asking to pet her. Clearly, he had a job somewhere, but where? And how did she not know? Probably a symptom of too much staring and talking about nothing, and not enough asking pertinent questions and getting involved in actual adult conversations.

  She wanted to ask then, but was afraid to betray too much interest in front of Aaron, terrified that her intentions would be obvious to both of the men in the room with her. “Did you eat?” she asked instead, hoping her voice didn’t sound as strained to them as it did to her. “We have leftovers.”

  She stood, gesturing between Aaron and herself, as if Duncan could possibly be wondering who the “we” was.

  There’s only the two of you here, dumbass, she chided herself, wishing she was better at flirting. Dammit, wishing she was better at talking. So, she tried again.

  “We ordered Chinese, you know. Noodles. Pork buns. Delicious food, it’s my new favorite place to eat—Aaron’s suggestion. It was so good, I ate way too much but there’s still, like, tons left over for you if you want it, it’s yours, it’s okay to just, you know, take it.”

  Oh God, I just said take it, like it was something sexual.

  Like I wanted him to take me.

  “Jesus, Little, you okay over there?” her brother asked, amusement clear in both the tone of his voice and the look on his face.

 
; Duncan, on the other hand, didn’t look amused. He looked . . . intense. “I ate at work, but thanks.” His face formed into a smile that was friendly, wiping away any charge that had passed between the two of them, clearing the air of the tension that had appeared with his homecoming. “Wanna watch a movie? I’m not really tired yet.”

  “I’m out, dude. I’m wiped.” Aaron lifted his chin at Ashton and she acknowledged it with a small smile. She needed to get him alone, and soon. In just a few days she was getting picked up by her friend, Bianca, and she didn’t want to miss her chance to have the conversation that was the very catalyst for her tagging along on his trip back to school. “Night.”

  “G’night, A,” she replied softly, not daring to look over at Duncan to see if the offer was being extended to her, too, or if it had just been for her brother.

  “What about you, Kitten? You up for a movie?”

  She startled, his voice closer than she’d anticipated, his question one she’d wanted to hear but hadn’t expected. She turned her head to look back at him over her shoulder, only to find his face right there.

  Right next to her.

  Close enough to kiss.

  Hot enough to melt her to her very core.

  “Su–sure.” She played off her stutter with a flick of her wrist, hoping that wild gesticulation would serve as a distraction.

  It didn’t work.

  “Do I make you stutter?” His eyes flashed with wicked mischief.

  Yes, and talk endlessly, she thought, not brave enough to actually say the words. Ashton felt a laugh begin to form in her throat and, though she tried to fight it off, it escaped with a breathiness that laid bare her nervousness and her desire.

  “It’s okay if I do. In fact, it’s only fair.” He rested his hand on the front of his jeans, where Ashton could see his cock straining against the unforgiving material. “Since you make me hard.”

  If anyone had asked her to give a recap of the movie they’d watched that night, Ashton wouldn’t have had a clue what to say. She couldn’t even remember the title.

  But she could remember the way Duncan’s body felt beside hers, the warmth radiating from it and the weight of him dipping the mattress, making it impossible for her to keep from touching him.

  Not that she tried all that hard.

  She wouldn’t have been able to name the actors starring in the movie or tell you if it was a romantic comedy, a horror movie or some kind of explosion-heavy action film. But she would be able to tell you about the way his hand settled on her thigh within minutes of sitting down on the folded out sofa with her and the way his jaw tightened whenever she breathed deeply in a vain attempt to intake some air.

  And she’d definitely be able to tell you about the strangely delicious mix of popcorn, butter and chocolate magic shell that she’d forever associate with him.

  “Ash, are you there?” Austin sounded impatient, his voice coming down the line with a crackle, telling Ashton that he was likely at the cabin they’d visited every year as a family for as long as she could remember.

  Until this year, when their parents had chosen their outdated beliefs over time with their eldest son.

  Turning her attention away from thoughts of the night before and back to the phone call with her youngest brother, she replied, “Yeah, sorry, I was thinking about all the stuff I need to do before I head back.” Like Duncan, she silently added, knowing that she could never tell her brother that.

  “Mom and Dad aren’t speaking. Hardly at all. To each other, to me. And it’s freaking me the hell out.” Aussie’s voice pitched slightly, before he continued, a sure sign that he was more worried that he was willing to admit. “It’s just . . . it’s weird as hell to be here alone with them.”

  That got Ashton’s attention. Her parents, not speaking. Austin, seemingly struggling with everything going on. Like Ashton, he had known that Aaron wasn’t going to be bringing a girl home to meet the parents—ever.

  And though they might try to deny it, Ashton was certain their parents had known the same. Which made their decision all the more upsetting.

  “I’m sorry.” She was, and the more she thought about her time with Aaron, with Duncan, the more the guilt piled up. She hadn’t done what she came here to do: take care of her brother and make sure he knew that their parents didn’t speak for all of them.

  She’d been too busy trying to get his dark-haired roommate to pet her.

  “You’re talking to Aussie?” Aaron walked into the lounge room, where Ashton was still sitting on her folded-out bed. “Lemme say hi.” He reached over and plucked the phone from her hand before she could protest. Not that she would have.

  Ashton bounced on the bed as Aaron fell down to stretch out beside her, laughing at the way he called Austin “Tiny.”

  As the oldest, he’d said it was his obligation to dole out the nicknames and to always remind them who the boss was, even if Aussie’s protests at being called Tiny were becoming more and more vocal with every passing year.

  “I’m sorry, Austin.” Aaron repeated an echo of Ashton’s apology for leaving their brother alone to deal with their parents, and Ashton turned her head to catch the pained look on his face.

  She waited patiently for her brothers to wrap up their call, all the while thinking about what she could say to make it all better. Aaron and Austin both might claim to be fine, but the lines of strain around Aaron’s eyes and the worry evident in Austin’s voice told another story.

  Her brothers, the ones who always looked out for her, protected her and trusted her, were hurting. And she was, too.

  She just didn’t know what to do about it.

  “He said he was done talking to you,” Aaron said, holding out the phone, the call already disconnected. Ashton nodded mutely, watching as his face seemed to clear, then take on a much happier, lighter expression.

  An act. He was putting on an act.

  “I love you, A.”

  “Love you too, Little, but what’s with the sentiment? You dying?” He tried to play it off; she could tell he didn’t want to talk to her. But she was determined.

  “No, I just think you should know.” And he should. He should never doubt it. She’d seen enough sibling relationships in her life to know that the one she shared with Aaron and Austin was special, and something to hold on to.

  “I’m okay, Ash. I promise.” His smile was warm, his eyes open. But Ashton sensed something wrong, unable to put a name on it.

  “If you’re not, will you tell me?” She wanted to make him promise. Swear a blood oath, if that’s what it took. Her gut was telling her to press on, though her brain knew that she couldn’t force him to open up.

  “’Course I will,” he reassured her, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe she even had to ask. And then, he said the words she’d been waiting for since they’d both buckled themselves into Dunk’s car seven days earlier. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.”

  “But perhaps you could stop trying to get into Dunk’s pants?” His words were playful, said with a smirk and a wink, and just like that, the deeper, darker tone turned light.

  “I am not!” she exclaimed, knowing that denying it wouldn’t save her if he truly did know that she was hot for his best friend.

  “Sure you’re not. And I’m as straight as an arrow.” He rolled to his side, facing her properly for the first time since he’d practically swan dived into the bed beside her, damn near sending her into the wall like she’d been locked into a catapult.

  “I–I’m. It’s not that. No.”

  “And you’re an English major?” He teased her with his question, his face suddenly free of all stresses. “Good luck snagging a passing grade.”

  “Oh, shut up.” She didn’t know what else to say, didn’t have a ready defense. She did want to get into Duncan’s pants. And she wanted him to get into hers. “Hey, what’s his name?” She’d told herself she wasn’t going to ask Aaron for the answer, that she’d get it from him
herself or not at all, but she couldn’t resist.

  She needed to know. So that when he appeared in her dreams, she knew what to call him. What to call out. What to scream.

  “You don’t know?” Aaron’s head tilted in question, trying to understand how she’d lived with them for several days without getting the guy’s name.

  “I asked. He wouldn’t tell me.”

  Aaron broke into a throaty laugh, a laugh so all-encompassing that it made the mattress shake beneath them. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

  “Are you going to tell me? Why does he go by Duncan anyway?” She’d been wondering for days. Maybe it was just a boy thing, or maybe there was some other reason. She didn’t care; she just wanted to know.

  Aaron shrugged. “Family thing, I guess. But he introduced himself as Duncan during freshman orientation, I shortened it to Dunk, and it’s just what I’ve called him since.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but still Ashton wanted the answer.

  “So, are you going to tell me?” she asked again, her curiosity yet to be satisfied.

  Speaking of things that aren’t satisfied . . .

  “Nope. I’ll let you play Rumpelstiltskin—”

  “Rumpelstiltskin, that’s his name,” Ashton exclaimed, waving a don’t worry, I’ve lost my mind hand at Aaron when he gave her a questioning look. “Sorry, I was thinking about that fairytale the other day.” And thinking about babies with Duncan, no biggie.

  “Anyway, I’ll leave that game for you. I’ll play something else with him instead.” He wiggled his eyebrows comically at Ashton, but she barely noticed.

  I’ll play something else with him instead.

  Her mind was stuck on her brother’s words. She’d never, not once, considered that by flirting with Dunk, inviting him to play with her, she might be stepping on Aaron’s toes.