Kenny smirked. “Entertainment.”
“You’re sick, man.”
“What about a dunk tank?”
Interest finally lit in Killian’s eyes, but it dimmed quickly. “That wouldn’t be cheap.”
The more Kenny thought about it, the more excited it made him. Sure, it would be freezing and uncomfortable but also kind of fun. He needed that. He needed fun. “Don’t worry about the cost. I’ll take care of it.”
Killian scowled. “I can pay my own way.”
“Don’t worry about it. Come on, this will be great.”
“There are a lot of people at this school who would do just about anything to knock Kenny Montgomery into a freezing pool of water.”
“What about you? I’m not doing this alone.”
“Fine. Dunk tank it is.”
Kenny rubbed his hands together. This was going to be just the distraction he needed.
10
Asher
Asher stared at the stupid boxing emoji. It just sat there, mocking him. And the blank screen below the emoji was even worse. Kenny had started to respond but never sent the message. Asher couldn’t blame him. It didn’t mean anything, but he couldn’t take it back now.
Nicky: Why didn’t you just delete the text?
Ash: Sure, that would have been the logical thing to do but that’s asking too much from the universe. He saw it right away so it’s not like that would have helped anyway.
Nicky: Well, it’s not that bad.
Ash: It’s bad.
Nicky: I’m trying here.
Ash: It’s not working.
Nicky: It will blow over. He’ll forget about it. Unless…
Nicky: Do you want him to forget about?
Asher wasn’t sure how to answer that. Kenny was such an asshole, and he’d hurt Asher at a time when he’d really needed his best friend. There was no reason he should care. But he did.
Ash: I don’t know.
Nicky: You have noticed he’s hot, right?
Ash: Um, yeah, I have eyes, but what’s the point?
Ash: And he’s such a dick.
Nicky: It’s his armor, Ash. He acts like that to keep people away.
Ash: It doesn’t matter. He hates ‘the gays’ so IDK why I’m even stressing about that stupid text.
Nicky: Ash, I don’t think you know him as well as you think you do. Maybe there’s another side to him you aren’t seeing. Just… don’t write him off quite yet. You might find it’s worth repairing your friendship with him at least.
Ash: Why are you always right?
Nicky: Becks would like to know the answer to that question too.
Ash: I have to go figure out how to explain I don’t actually want to punch him. Not sure I’d even know how to punch him, much less come out of it without getting killed. He’s huge. Love you guys. TTYL.
“Nice digs, Valor,” Ethan said as Asher led the way up the main staircase to his suite on the third floor. He was already second-guessing his decision to invite his art group to work together at the White House. To him it was just home, the only one he really knew. He often forgot how others viewed “the residence.”
“We can work in here.” Asher ignored Ethan’s biting sarcasm. “This used to be a sitting room adjoining my bedroom, but several years ago, we transformed it to an art studio.”
“It’s a great room, Ash,” Nichole said, barely glancing around the room. “It’s kind of a pain in the ass to come here though.” She made herself at home at the white marble table at the center of the room, eyeing the huge iMac at Asher’s desk under the windows overlooking the promenade deck.
“Sorry about that, I just thought—”
“Just thought it was a good chance to show off?” Ethan grabbed a seat next to Nichole. “We got that, bro.”
“Shut your face,” Harper growled. “Asher’s the least pretentious person at our school.”
“Whatever, Harper. It’s fine.” Asher sighed, taking a seat at the table beside her. “Let’s just get to work. We only have a few weeks left on this project.” Together, they had to create a branding identity for a real client. She was a high-end furniture designer who created textiles and furnishings with natural materials. If she liked what they presented, there was a chance she’d actually use it, which would be incredible for their portfolios. But that meant they really had to work together to create a cohesive design for a logo, letterhead, business cards, and a social media branding kit, complete with a custom designed font, a poster ad, and a mock-up of the boutique storefront. They’d already worked with the client to choose the location for her new boutique, but they’d agreed on little else.
“We should really decide on a logo today,” Nichole said.
“And then we can each take a component of the branding kit and run with it based on the logo design,” Asher agreed. Everyone spread their logo sketches on the long table.
“Let’s pick one from each of our mock-ups and then do a pinup,” Asher said. It took them longer than necessary, but they finally agreed on four of the eight possible designs.
“Now what, boss man?” Ethan rolled his eyes at the way Asher took the lead.
Asher didn’t care at this point; he just wanted to get somewhere with the project. Asher didn’t respond. He crossed the room to a sleek white wall strung with a gallery wire. He clipped each design to the wire so they could get a good look at them. He liked to do that with his own artwork so he could live with it for a while before making any major decisions.
“You know, these two have potential to merge.” Nichole pointed to Asher’s logo and one other he thought might be hers. Both were of a circle design.
“You’re right, we could try layering them together.”
“I’ll boot up my laptop. Just send me your file, and I’ll layer them together,” she said.
“Let’s try it this way first before you go to all that trouble.” Asher carefully placed her logo over his and pinned them together before he hung them back on the wall.
“I can’t really see—”
Asher flipped the switch on the white wall to backlight their drawings.
“Oh, that’s nice.” Nichole took a step forward to examine the drawings on transparent paper.
“That’s kind of amazing,” Harper said. “But it still needs something.”
“Let’s stay focused on the shape for now,” Nichole said, “But you’re right, it does need something to give it an extra punch. Something that shows the earthy, green-living aspect of what she does.”
“What about this?” Ethan said from across the room. “Did you do these, Asher?” He pointed at a series of silk-screen images he did last year.
“Yeah.” Asher’s cheeks warmed at the impressed tone in Ethan’s voice.
“This is silk screen, yeah?” Ethan took a closer look. “These are badass, man.” He sounded like that was the last thing in the world he wanted to admit. “This sort of crackled, organic, leafy texture to the background would be amazing for the logo and it would bring in that earthy vibe we need without overworking the design. Do you have access to silk-screening equipment?”
As the president’s son, he had access to anything he wanted, but he didn’t want to tell Ethan that. “I’m sure I could find what we need.”
“Silk-screening would definitely take it to the next level,” Nichole agreed, staring in awe at Asher’s work. “Who’s the model? She’s gorgeous.”
“Harper,” Asher said, scratching the back of his neck, embarrassed at the attention.
“Nice,” Ethan murmured, casting Harper an appreciative glance that made her blush. “No doubt about it, Ash, you’ve got skills.”
Coming from Ethan, that was probably the highest praise he’d ever received. The most honest too.
“You really think so?” Asher asked before he could stop himself.
“Well, I’m not going to kiss your ass about it, so don’t push it. Just take the compliment, dude.”
“Sorry.” Asher sank
back down to his seat. “When you live in the White House, you never know when people are honest or full of shit. My default is to assume everyone is full of shit, especially when it comes to my art.”
“You know how it is, guys,” Harper said. “We’re all paranoid about our artwork, worrying if we’re really good enough. Self-doubt is just the nature of what we do. It has to be ten times harder when you have absolutely no reason to believe anyone is being honest with you.”
“Well, I’ll be honest with you, Ash.” Ethan said, sitting back with a shit-eating grin on his face. “I don’t particularly like you, but that right there” He—he pointed at Asher’s silk-screen prints—“that is gallery-worthy work.”
“Thanks, man.” Asher nodded. “So, um, back to our project. I think we’ve got the makings of a great logo. Nichole, why don’t you take my sketches and my design file and keep working on it. I can give you some silk-screen backgrounds I haven’t used yet, just to see if we really like that look for the logo.”
“I’ll have it ready in a few days,” Nichole said.
“I’d like to play around with some of your silk-screen patterns and see what I can come up with for the business cards. I have an idea I want to run with,” Ethan said.
“I’ll set up a shared folder with some silk-screen stuff so feel free to use any of it for this project.” Asher still had another silk-screen project he wanted to do, but he had tons of scraps the others could use for inspiration purposes.
“I’ve been working on some font sketches,” Harper said, taking out a sheaf of tracing paper. “Typography is kind of my jam, so I’d like to run with one of these if you guys see anything you like.”
“I love this one.” Nichole pulled one of the sketches toward her. “The organic script style here would be perfect with our logo.”
“I’d like to work on a mock-up of our poster,” Asher said. “Just a general layout we can have ready to plug these items in as we finish them.”
“Sounds good.” Ethan stood. “We all have stuff to work on so I’m going to head out early.”
“Sounds like I almost missed your meeting.” Asher’s mom stepped into the room.
Almost made it without a POTUS sighting. Asher’s shoulders fell. “We were just finishing up, Mom.” Ethan and Nichole shot out of their seats when they realized the president was in the room.
“Ma’am…er, Madam President, it’s wonderful to meet you,” Nichole said in a rush.
“Now, we’ll have none of that in private. You can call me Mrs. Brooks when you’re here in the residence. I hope you all had a good planning session.” She eyed the room scattered with drawings and pencils.
Ethan scrambled to clean up the mess in front of him. “Sorry for the mess, ma’am.”
“Oh, no worries, Asher will clean it up.”
“What, no maid service for the First Kid?” Ethan snorted.
“Clearly, you’ve not met my parents,” Asher said. “They’re quick to point out they were elected to the presidency, not me. So I don’t get all the perks that come with the job.”
“Oh, don’t think I don’t know about your deal with Jenny, son. She does your laundry, and you let her daughter use your computer while she works.”
“That’s not...let’s talk about that later.” He gave his mom an indulgent smile.
“Yes, later, once I’ve forgotten again.” She nudged Asher with her elbow. “I hope you kids had a productive meeting. I just wanted to stop by and make a mom appearance to make sure you have everything you need. Please feel free to come back anytime.”
“We’re good, Mom. You can go back to running the country now.” Asher steered her toward the door.
“Oh, am I embarrassing you, Asher? Then my job here is done, bye.” His mom waved as she left the room.
“Your mom is so cool,” Nichole said with a dreamy expression on her face. Most girls worshiped his mother for the way she shattered the glass ceiling for women everywhere.
“Okay, so…do you guys want to meet here again in a few days?” Asher asked.
“Yeah, this room has everything we could possibly need for this project,” Ethan said. “I’m a little jealous.” His smile seemed more genuine and his tone had lost its asshole edge. They’d never be friends, but it seemed like Ethan had lost the chip on his shoulder. At least for now.
“Same time on Thursday, then.”
“Do it, Ash.” Harper insisted, staring over his shoulder at the invitation. “If you don’t do it, I’m going to dress up like you and do it for you.” She leaned over his shoulder and snatched the invitation out of his grasp.
“Harper. You know they’re only inviting me to show my work because of who I am. They don’t really care if I’m good or not.”
“The Long View Gallery doesn’t give a shit who your parents are, and even if they do, who cares?”
“I do.”
“Why?” she demanded, turning her defiant eyes on him. “What does it matter what they think?”
“Because everyone will know I only got the opportunity because I’m Asher Brooks.” He snatched the invitation back from her.
“So, that’s what people will think at first. Then you do the show and wow them with your work and no one will ever question if you deserved the opportunity or not.”
“I just...I want to make it own my own merit.”
“News flash. You will always be Asher Brooks. People are always going to assume anything you achieve for yourself will be because of who you are. That’s never going to go away. It’s up to you to prove them wrong. So, you may as well start now. Do the show, Ash. The Long View is perfect for you. It’s a real gallery, but it’s not part of the political scene in this town.”
“It will be if I show there,” he muttered, wondering if that was why the gallery offered him a show. A way to increase their own prestige. But Harper was right; it was always going to be that way so why did it matter? The simple answer was it didn’t. Not to anyone but him.
Asher stared at the three silk-screen prints on the wall in his bedroom. They were like the ones he’d done of Harper in his studio, but these included a male figure in shadow. He had several others that were part of the same collection. And several more were still in progress. He had enough for a show. Ethan’s begrudging words rang in his mind: “That is gallery-worthy work.” Ethan had no reason to pay him such a compliment. He could trust that. And an art show was just the distraction he needed.
“All right. I’ll do it.”
11
Kenny
Yep, it was official. Kenny Montgomery and Killian James were idiots.
The fall festival began on Friday night—in November, only two weeks before Thanksgiving. The dunk tank was a great idea.
For anyone who didn’t have to get into it.
But there stood Kenny. For once, being a senator’s son couldn’t save him. Having the popularity that came with hockey was no use.
He scanned the surrounding booths. His teammates barely put any effort into it. Some had crappy little games. Killian stepped up next to Kenny and pointed to where Will set up his baked goods table. Kenny didn’t bother holding back his laughter.
The Twin Rivers High kids kept their distance like there was some invisible line in the middle of the festival. They’d had months to work on their booths so they put the academy ones to shame. Stands sold everything from caramel apples to cotton candy to corn dogs. In the center of the festival, a white gazebo housed a quartet of musicians.
Twin Rivers spared no expense. They never did. This festival did for Twin Rivers what the summer music festival did for the larger Cincinnati. It brought the people together. The late afternoon sun reflected off the river that provided the backdrop to the evening.
“Should we get started?” Killian lowered his hands to the belt of the terrycloth robe he wore over his swimsuit.
“You’re up first, man.” Kenny patted him on the back and took a step away.
Killian slid the robe down his arms,
and Kenny almost doubled over laughing at the Speedo he wore. A crowd formed around the tank as people cheered for the enigmatic goaltender. He climbed onto the board hovering over the tank, his lithe frame making the act more graceful than Kenny would be.
Sun glinted off his pale skin as he pushed hair out of his face.
Diego appeared next to Kenny. “I-I can’t believe he wore that.”
“The guy is comfortable in his own skin, I guess.” Kenny looked down at his long swim trunks that covered his muscular legs. “Who’s up first?” A group of girls approached, giggling as their eyes flicked to Killian. He gave them a small wave.
For all the brooding Kenny knew him for, the guy sure knew how to play to the crowd. They’d have the most popular booth at the festival. A girl handed him her ticket and took the two balls. She hurled each at the lever, missing both times, and walked away with a slight slump to her shoulders.
“You good in there, Killer?” Kenny flashed him a grin.
Killian only flipped him off. Kids and adults they didn’t recognize drifted by, some stopping for ill-fated attempts at knocking one of the elite academy boys into the freezing water.
“Can I give it a shot?” Diego asked.
Kenny only lifted a brow and extended the balls to him. Diego stepped up to the line, turning himself almost as if he was about to pitch to a hitter. He cranked his arm back and released. The ball hit the target, and all they heard was Killian’s curse before he submerged into the water.
“Diego.” Kenny put a hand on his shoulder. “You are my new favorite person. But you’re also not allowed to throw when I’m in there.”
Dating Him: The Series Page 32
