CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ashton
Ashton Carmichael could go all the way!
Music blasted around me as I took my third shot…third? I thought it was my third. Maybe it was my fourth. Who the fuck was counting.
The music made my brain thump, which was sort of welcoming. It helped drown out my thoughts…of Beau…of what I’d said to him last time I saw him…of the feel of his hair and the glint in his eyes and the way he licked his lips and fuck. “One more, please,” I told the bartender, who nodded at me.
Stupid fucking brain. Why couldn’t I make these thoughts go away? Most of the time, I was good at ignoring them, good at pretending they didn’t exist, good at reminding myself that they were just thoughts, not actions. I mean, I liked sex. My brain and libido just got sort of twisted up sometimes.
Liar…such a fucking liar.
My eyes were drawn back to Instagram, to Lincoln’s page, which I’d psychotically memorized when we met at the grocery store. Saw the pictures, the videos of Beau and his friends as they danced and drank. Why the fuck did Beau mess with my head so much? It was so much easier to pretend when he wasn’t around—no, not pretend, because these fleeting moments weren’t real. That wasn’t really who I was.
The past week had been better. I’d been fine…lonely but fine. It also gave me a chance to work through what had happened the other night. It was the emotions of having him back in my life. Beau might not have felt the same, but he’d always been who I considered my best friend. That and the beer, and poof, overly affectionate Ash had made an appearance.
When I refreshed the app, I saw that Lincoln had added to his story.
Don’t do it. Don’t do it.
Of course I was going to fucking do it.
I clicked on the story, saw Lincoln dancing, laughing. The club was mostly men, which duh, I should have thought about the fact that they went to a gay club, and what the hell was Saturgay anyway? That didn’t sound like Beau.
As Lincoln panned the phone around in a circle, I saw him, a flash of Beau, his arms around someone, their bodies moving together as they danced before—“Go back. Turn the phone the other way!” I told video-Lincoln as though he could hear me.
I shook my head, rubbed a hand over my face. When the bartender set the drink in front of me, I swallowed it all, then hit the glass too hard on the counter.
My vision blurred slightly—from alcohol or whatever the fuck was going on in my head, I didn’t know.
“Hey, sexy,” a soft, confident, very female voice said from beside me.
“Hi.” Yes, this was exactly what I needed. I lowered the hat—Beau’s hat, which I crazily still wore—but in my head, I already knew it was too late.
“Um…I noticed you from across the room. My friend didn’t believe me, but you’re Ashton Carmichael, aren’t you?”
No, I wanted to say. Because she was standing beside me because of who I was. Most people did. It wasn’t about me, it was about football, but still, I knew this was what I needed. This always worked. When I started to feel these things, it had helped in the past. “I sure am, honey,” I replied.
She smiled. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“You wanna get out of here with me instead?” I asked. It was bold, but I was Ashton Carmichael, and hopefully that would help. Bile rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down.
“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”
I closed my tab, and we were out the door, kissing and stumbling down the sidewalk. When we got to an alley, she tugged my hand, so I followed her down it. “Eager little thing, aren’t you?” I asked, ignoring the twist in my gut.
“I can’t believe I’m with you right now. You’re so fucking hot,” the brunette said. “I don’t want to wait, but I can go more than once—here and then wherever we make it next?”
No! I nodded, unable to make words come out. I didn’t need to, though. Her mouth was on me again, and we were kissing, her tongue probing me and mine her. We fell against the wall, my hand going down to her ass. Beau’s comment from the other night flashed in my head, so I slid my hands up her back, twined them in her long hair, which of course reminded me of my fingers in his short, soft strands and the way they’d been sticking up all over the place.
Get the fuck out of my head!
I kissed her harder. She groaned into my mouth, ran her hand down my chest, my stomach, into my pants.
Come on, come on, come on, I mentally begged my dick to get hard.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get you there,” she replied, rubbing my soft cock with the palm of her hand. I hated myself in that moment, for what I was doing, for what I couldn’t do, for being weak, and for the thoughts that had plagued me my whole damn life.
Please just let me get hard.
She kissed her way down my throat, lowered herself, worked my button, and fucking Beau was there again—his laugh and that goddamned smiley face on his bicep.
I looked down at her, tried to see her, but Beau kept being there, the feel of him when we wrestled in the pool.
She pulled me out, this woman who just wanted to pleasure me. Maybe not because of me, more because of who I was, but still, it didn’t seem fair to do this to her, to use her the way I’d done too many times. I hoped she could make me feel something else…anything. I just needed to feel.
“I can’t,” I said, and she immediately stopped.
“What?” She looked up at me.
“I’m sorry. It’s not you. I had a lot to drink…there’s a lot on my mind, and I just… I can’t.” I pulled away, tucked my soft cock back in, buttoned and zipped my pants. My head was spinning, my stomach turning.
She began straightening out her dress, looking away.
“I’m sorry. It’s not you,” I said again. “I’m trying to clean up my image,” I lied, and she flinched. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. Let me walk you back to the bar.”
“I’m just going to go home.”
“I’m sorry,” I told her again.
“I just kissed Ashton Carmichael. I’ll be okay.” She winked, then turned and walked toward the street. She rounded the corner just as I let go, clutching my stomach as I vomited all over the dirty alley.
I wiped my mouth, then walked the opposite direction until I hit the next main street. I heard music and noticed another bar on the corner. It was a small building, country music playing inside, a totally different atmosphere from where I’d just been. My shot came quickly, and I swallowed it down, ordered another and drank that one too.
I couldn’t get hard. There had only been a couple of times in my life that had happened, but usually I was at least able to get myself hard.
In that moment, I hated Beau. I’d spent my whole life never truly sure if he hated me or not, but I hated him. It was his fault. I was able to ignore it when he wasn’t around. Every time I couldn’t hold it back, every time I fucked up and gave in, it was because of him.
I fumbled with my phone, trying to pull it out of my pocket. It dropped to the ground. I almost vomited again when I picked it up. I tossed money on the bar and made my way out again, listening to it ring. When the voice mail picked up, I hung up and called again.
I just made my way into the humid air when I heard, “Ash?” mixed with the thumping bass and a pop song.
“Fuck you!” I screamed at Beau. “Fuck you,” I said again, softly, my voice breaking. I turned a corner, kept walking, without any idea where I was going.
“Where are you, Ash?” he asked, his voice filled with kindness…with pity.
“Fuck you,” I said again and again and again, and he let me. “I tried, Campbell, I fucking tried. Why can’t I make it go away?”
“Because it’s who you are,” he replied, and I realized it was quiet then, that Beau must have left the club.
“No.” I shook my head, leaning against a brick building.
“Where are you?” he asked again.
“Going to come and save me? That’s what you do, right? You’re a hero.”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“Funny you should mention dick, because mine’s broken. I couldn’t even get hard tonight. She wasn’t impressed.”
“Not broken, Ash. Maybe it’s just fixed now. Maybe it knows what it wants.”
“This is weird. We need to stop talking about my cock like this.” Fucking Beau. It was always him making me feel comfortable enough to say stupid-ass shit like my dick is broken.
“Yeah, well, I just walked out on someone who was quite interested in my cock too, so do me a favor and tell me where you are so I can take you and your weird ass home.”
“I thought we were talking about dick?” I asked, unable to believe I was joking at a time like this.
“You said we couldn’t talk about it anymore, and stop trying to be funny. It’s okay to just be you. You don’t always have to try so hard. Not with me.”
I didn’t, did I? Not with Beau. He was too good a man for that, too honest and real. He always had been, which was why my over-the-top antics had always annoyed him so much. “I don’t really know where I am,” I admitted. “I’m a little drunk.”
“No way! I couldn’t tell,” he teased.
I looked up at the streetlight. The green light was fuzzy, but I saw a sign I managed to make out. “Against a brick wall by a light on Bishop Street. There’s a furniture store on the corner.”
“I know where you are. I’ll be right there.”
“Wait,” jumped out of my mouth before he hung up.
“Yeah?”
“You were with someone? When I called?”
“Yeah, but I’m not anymore. I’ll be right there, Ash.”
“Okay.” I hung up and waited, knowing Beau would come…knowing everything was about to change.