Sixteen
ASH
I watch Calla disappear down the hallway and take a deep breath, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to walk with this stack of bricks between my legs. It takes every bit of my self-control not to follow her—not to explore the curves she’s hiding underneath that towel. I’d spent a long time picking out the smallest bath towel I could find, and now I’m suffering the consequences of my actions. Not only that, but I have a six foot one cock block standing behind me.
Karma’s a fucking bitch.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Cole leans against the dining room table, swirling the glass of wine I had poured for Calla.
He brings the glass up to his lips and pauses, looking proud of himself. “Right now, I’m drinking wine. Then I think I’ll go out and catch some fireflies. Maybe make some s’mores…”
I slap him on the back of his head. “Why are you here, here?”
He tips his head back and chugs the glass like it’s a pint. His expression tightens, and he puts the glass down so hard that it makes a terrible pinging sound against the glass dining room table. “Why do you think?”
Cole smacks me on the chest and then storms into the kitchen. He expects me to follow him. Fucktard doesn’t know me at all. I glance over my shoulder and wonder how Calla would feel if I ran into the bedroom and locked the door behind me. She might be fine with the lock, but I’d have to put a chair against the doorknob so that Cole doesn’t break in. While I rather like the idea of Calla using the chair to act out a strip-tease fantasy of mine, I think Cole banging on the other side of the bedroom door would really dampen the mood. Cock blocks are insistent like that.
I pick up the wine glass and decide that if I have to wait, Cole does too. Leaning against the dining room table, I try to remember what Cole does when he taste tests wine. I know he does a lot of pompous swirling, sniffing, sipping, and licking, but I don’t know in what order to go. Luckily, since I know Cole is waiting for me, I’m in no rush.
I have the glass up to my ear when Cole pops back out, points at me, and then points back to the kitchen. Holding up my finger, I swirl the wine and take a tiny sip. Closing my eyes, I gargle and then gag at the terrible taste. At the same time, someone grabs my ear and drags me away from the table.
My brother throws me into the kitchen by my ear while my body tries to expel the liquefied poop. “What the hell were you thinking?”
My entire body shudders at the aftertaste while my stomach concedes defeat. I push away from him to get some distance between us. “I was thinking of ways to help her. What would you do? Leave her there? Wait until those assholes came back? Wait to see what they did to her before stepping in and offering her sanctuary?”
His brows crowd together. “Did you just use the word sanctuary? You’ve been watching too much Game of Thrones.”
I smack him on the chest harder than I should. “There is no such thing as ‘too much’ Game of Thrones.”
Cole shakes his head and bows his head. “Look. I get it. The girl needs help. She’s involved in some elaborate joke that took on a life of its own. Totally sucks, sure, but you got to stop thinking with your dick on this one and look at the whole picture. How do we know she isn’t involved in all of this? Huh? Isn’t it weird that you two meet and all of a sudden you’re the prince in her next video? It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to exploit our family.”
I step forward pushing down the anger as far as it will go. It doesn’t budge. “How could you say that?”
Cole rubs his hand down his face, looking tired and defeated. “Maybe because the morning after I was named Bachelor of the Year, my ex told me she was pregnant even though she wasn’t. Or how our nanny came forward and said I raped her even though we have never had a nanny. Or when our cousin sold that story about how our mother was a drug addict.”
I try to keep the fury out of my voice as my instinctive temper flares at the memory. “They retracted the story.”
His eyebrows shrug and he picks up the wine glass. “On the twenty-third page at the very bottom in the smallest font they could possibly use.”
I chuckle without an ounce of humor and turn to grab two more wine glasses. I put them down on the granite a bit too hard when I say, “Yeah, well that front page ad you took out was a nice touch.”
“I’m not saying she’s lying. I know the world is full of legit people who have legit issues. All I’m saying is not to think with your dick on this.”
“I’m not!” I argue.
Cole’s lips tighten into a hard line. “She came out in a towel, man.”
I point down the hallway and yell, “Only because I offered to fuck her!”
I’m so frozen by my own idiocy that I don’t move for a moment, hoping to distract him from what I actually said.
Cole throws his arms up as if giving up on this conversation. I love being able to frustrate him into silence. “While I love that she isn’t licking the toe jam out between your toes like your last girlfriend...”
I shrug. “She had a thing for feet.”
My brother shudders. “But your girl in there has more baggage than JFK airport, and you and I aren’t the type to carry our own baggage. We have people always willing to put out our fires or cover up our regrets. What makes you think we have any idea how to help her with this?”
My mouth falls open. “What the hell are you talking about? This is what we do, Cole. We’re always giving away money, helping out friends, Jacob’s non-profit, hell, good musicians on the street. We’ve built the entire Sanders name around helping people. Why the hell shouldn’t we help Calla?”
Instead of arguing or agreeing, Cole looks exhausted. He looks worn down and beat like this conversation took all of his energy and left him with nothing. He stares at me wordlessly, his eyes so full of regret that my stomach tightens like it’s expecting a blow. I step forward, but my movement seems to draw him out of his fugue. He shakes his head and waves his hand, like it’s no big deal that he looked so close to tears.
“What’s going on?”
He blinks like he’s trying to bring me back into focus, and all emotion slips away from his expression when he finally sighs and says, “We’re not the kind of help she needs. We’ll just add more chaos to her already chaotic life. That’s what we do, Ash. The media reports on everything we touch, every move we make. You want to pull Calla into our media shit storm while she’s trying to survive her own hurricane?”
“Exactly,” Calla whispers from the doorway.
I expect to see tears in Calla eyes. I expect her to have a stiff upper lip and scream at my brother. Instead, she shocks the shit out of me—once again—and wraps my brother up in an unexpected hug. He stiffens like he has no idea what to do in a woman’s arms and just pats her on the back.
I won’t say watching her wrap her long, slender arms around my brother doesn’t sting. I will say that the physical punch of envy is as nauseating as that last glass of wine.
Calla releases Cole then walks back to the doorway. Her eyes glaze over with a thin layer of tears while my fist considers punching my brother for putting those tears there. I’m just not sure whether I hate him more for being the first to feel Calla in his arms or for the dick things he said.
From this angle, I can see the full length of the black ball gown I put on her bed and mentally applaud my fashion sense.
Her mouth surrenders to an even deeper frown, and she crosses her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “I am legit though. I don’t know why, but I need you to know that. Sorry the other people in your life haven’t been.”
Cole barks out a harsh laugh and opens the fridge. “You kidding? I thank God they weren’t legit. My ex was a sadistic bitch. Spending a life with her?” He sticks out his tongue, aging himself back by a few years. Closing the door, he picks up my wine glass, smacks me on the chest, and finishes the rest of it. “All right, well, I’ve had two too many glasses of wine so I should probably spend the night. Let me just get showered.” He walks past Calla and looks over his shoulder, “Oh and bro? Pound the chicken really thin. Last time you cooked chicken breasts, they tasted like bologna.”
He walks away whistling while I try to keep the uncertainty from my expression.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve had to apologize for something my brother has said or done. I’m so used to Cole apologizing for me that I’m not entirely sure how to play this. Words don’t seem like enough in this situation.
My eyes drop down to her mouth. If I just slip my tongue right in between the folds of her parted lips, maybe she’ll accept my apology more readily than she would my jumbled words. If not, hell, at least it’ll break the tension both in the room and in my pants.
As if reading my thoughts, she snaps her lips closed.
Access denied.
“My brother isn’t always…” I say at the same time as she says, “Listen, I appreciate…”
I smile and wave for her to continue. “Go ahead. You first.”
She smiles. “No. What were you going to say?”
I stare at her for a moment too long, trying to remember what the hell I wanted to say. My mind has emptied at the sight of her staring up at me. Instead of looking angry or hurt, annoyed or relieved, she looks resigned, and I’m afraid of what that means. For me. For us. For tonight. The initial stirring of desperation inches up my spine, so I dodge and weave through the seriousness to once again bring levity to the situation.
“I was just going to say my brother isn’t always right. I have an entire Excel document I can show you, chronicling his stupidity in just the last year alone.”
Sighing, she runs her hand down her other arm. “Ash, he has every right to want to protect you. People are always looking for a chance to get ahead, and they’re willing to sell out anyone to get there. You can’t believe everything you hear.”
I narrow one eye and curve one brow, my impression of my fifth grade teacher. “Um, I just meant that my chicken breasts didn’t taste like bologna. I mean, they definitely weren’t edible, but they tasted more like Spam.”
Surprise makes her brows crowd together. “You’ve tasted Spam?”
I cross my arms and lean against the counter, tamping down the temper starting to rise. “You thought we ate caviar-encrusted Cheerios growing up?”
She shrugs and picks up a magazine from the counter. “Something like that. Although definitely not Cheerios. Figure you probably only ate vegan, tofu patties with organic everything.”
“Enough.”
At the sound of my harsh tone, her head pops up. “What?”
“You. You’re a snob. Say what you want about me. Say what you want about my brother, no really, please say every negative thing that comes to mind about him, but my parents are off limits. Scratch that. My mother is off limits. Our dad’s a jackass so take as many swings at him as possible. I’ll even give you an aluminum bat. But we weren’t always rich. Dad worked three jobs, sold his soul to the devil countless times and became the devil himself to get to where we are. My mother worked her ass off to counteract his evil tendencies just so we could be standing here, drinking the most disgusting fucking bottle of wine I’ve ever had. What is this shit? Is it liquefied shit?” I squint to read the label.
I pour her a glass. “Here, you taste it.”
She shakes her head like my train of thought is difficult to follow. “You just said it tastes like shit.”
I put her hand around the glass and try not to notice how soft her fingers feel. “I need confirmation.”
Irresponsibly, she takes a sip and then gags, spitting out the wine into the sink. Strangely her dry heaves lower the wattage of my anger.
“There. You accept my apology?”
Shrugging, I put the wine bottle on the table. “We’ll leave it for my brother. He seems to enjoy it.”
“So, um…” She waves her hand in front of her body like she’s showing off her curves.
Since she’s given me permission to ogle, I let my eyes drink in every inch of her in the long black ball gown. I absolutely love how her generous curves strain against the seams. With her hands on her hips, she challenges me to piss her off. Ever the gentleman, I refuse to take the bait.
“You look lovely. That’s not to say you didn’t look equally good in the towel, too.” I offer a stupid wink as confirmation. “If my brother weren’t here, I’d say just sit around in the towel until it’s socially acceptable for me to take it off and throw both you and it on the ground somewhere.”
By the blush tainting her cheeks and her neck, I know the visual warms her about as much as it ignites me. To her credit, she doesn’t look away like some blushing bride. Instead, she holds my stare with the same level of heat. Amazingly, all other thoughts disappear to points unknown when I shoot a quick glance over to the kitchen table. Visions of Calla face-down with her dress up over her shoulders fill every empty spot in my mind, and I reflexively step toward her.
Unfortunately, Cole’s loud whistling followed by his off-key Jimmy Buffet impersonation, is the only hitch in my fucking awesome plan.
Calla narrows her eyes like she’s chastising me for distracting her and then waves her other hand up and down her dress. “The evening wear? Were you making fun of the fact that I had to borrow a gown for the fundraiser?”
A groan explodes from my chest, part anger, and part sexual frustration. Stalking over to her with a heavy foot, I step close. “Telling you right now. I’m not going to stand around and worry about every little thing I say. I’m not going to walk on eggshells, wondering if you’re going to judge me for everything I’ve ever eaten, drank, fucked, sat on, or pissed away. It’s not my fault I have money, Calla, just like it’s not your fault that you don’t have as much.”
I love how often she’s surprised by something I do or say. In my life, I’m usually the visual and comical entertainment of the evening, but I’m never the one taken seriously. But by the way Calla stares up at me with her eyes shining, I realize I like being heard.
My voice softens when I ask, “So can we please come to an understanding? When I tell you something about my life, I’m not bragging. It’s called sharing. You get all self-righteous when you think I’m judging your background. I’d appreciate that same level of respect for mine.”
I’m breathing slightly heavy and can smell the aroma of the foul wine on my breath as it bounces off of her cheeks. I should pull back to give her enough space to breathe in the vanilla scent of the air freshener next to her, but I can’t seem to move.
She licks the middle of her tempting mouth. “If you screwed a goat, I’m probably going to judge.”
My head snaps back. “What?”
She shrugs and stares down at her nails. “You said you don’t want me to judge you for everything you screwed. If you screwed a goat, I’m totally going to judge you.”
Stilling my expression, I counter, “What if it was a mutually-agreed-upon sexcapade?”
She pushes me away and walks over to the table. “Do you have to cross every line? Is there ever a time you just let something go, or do you love it when there’s just a small amount of ick in every conversation?”
I roll my eyes and open the refrigerator. Hiding behind the door, I pull out the waistband of my sweatpants to let the cold air cool down the parts of my body that refuse to return to normal. “Besides, I didn’t just leave you the dress. I left you a few different choices.”
She laughs, but I don’t get the impression she thinks I’m as funny as I think I am. “You left me a ball gown, a bikini, and a garbage bag.”
Shaking my head, I pull out the package of raw chicken breasts and smell it. “Ugh. Still a total snob. I cut out holes for your arms and head.”
Cole walks in and picks up a fishing magazine off of the counter. “Since it doesn’t smell like manure yet, I’m going to assume you haven’t started cooking.”
Calla’s cynical mouth curves into a frown. Sighing, she bends over to take off her shoes and allows me to see straight down the top of her dress. I almost start applauding, but Cole shoots me a “Don’t you dare” look, and I drop my hands. He was the one who told me women appreciate compliments. What better compliment than a standing ovation?
Putting her shoes in the hallway, she starts opening the cabinets. “I’m cooking.”
Cole raises one arm up to the ceiling and sings, “Praise the Lord!”
She pulls out Italian breadcrumbs and gestures at the pantry. “How the heck did you get groceries already?”
“Paulina,” Cole says in a sing-songy, I’m-a-total-dick-wad kind of voice. “Ash calls his girl up, and she runs to stock the house with everything he might need.”
“Shut up,” I mutter because I’m such a wordsmith.
Calla slams the fridge door hard. “Ash, do you have a girl in every port?”
Cole probably cracks a rib with how loud he’s laughing. Idiot won’t let me live down my childhood crush on Paulina. She’s thirty years older than me, but her boobs were the first ones to ever catch my eye. Well, they didn’t catch my eye so much as poke me every time she drew me in for a hug. She also speaks very little English, but every Polish word that slipped out of her mouth sounded like heaven to a pubescent boy.
My ego tells me that Calla’s jealous, and since I rather like that idea, I lean over and whisper, “My North Carolina port is free. You interested?”
“Ha! No.” I love how fiercely she protests with a dramatic eye roll. Except I see the truth in her blush. Someone doesn’t like the visual of me with another girl.
Shaking my head, I back up to the doorway. “Heading down to get some more wine. Special requests?”
Cole has the liquefied shit bottle up to his lips. “I’m good.”
Calla looks over her shoulder. “Something red. Have a red blend?”
“Yep.”
I stare after her a little while longer, watching her putter around the kitchen, humming a song.
Walking past my brother, I whisper, “Be good.”
He smacks me. I smack him back. He smacks me again until we’re swatting at each other’s hands like two rich kids who have never learned to fight. I move away from Cole, but not before smacking him hard on the back of the neck and taking off shrieking down to the wine cellar slash catecombs.