9 years ago
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” I heard the rage brimming in his voice, desperate to spill into a physical fight.
I couldn’t believe she fucking did that in front of everyone. Especially Ash.
I opened the door into his house and stalked inside.
“Zach!” A hard grip dug into my bicep as he whipped me around to face him just as the screen door slammed shut. I’d been trying to get us as far away from the crowd as possible before we had this discussion. “What. The. Fuck. Was. That.” Ash was one of those that had a long fuse but a very big bomb at the end of it, especially when it came to anything involving Blake.
“Does it look like I have any fucking clue?” I met his stare, daring him to contradict me. “You think I would actually know she planned on singing a damn song to me?” I asked harshly as I yanked my arm from his grip and headed down the hall into the kitchen—and farther away from all the guests outside.
At least that part was true. I had no idea she was going to go and do this. Then again, the second she took the stage clutching her damn guitar, I had a feeling it wasn’t going to end well. I did have an idea why she’d written the song; a small idea that might have to do with the way I’d encouraged her to ride my leg the other night. My dick twitched remembering the way she came and the wet mark that remained stained on my pants after I’d forced her to leave.
Guilt had been slowly gnawing at me since then. No, that was a fucking lie, too. Guilt had been gnawing at me from the second that I started seeing Blake as anything but a little girl and my best friend’s little sister. Guilt for how my eyes lingered too long as she sauntered around me when Ash wasn’t looking. (Her tight little shorts and sad excuses for shirts hadn’t helped either; they made me horny and that made me irritable.) Guilt for how I closed my eyes at night and her sunshine hair lit up my mind, her porcelain skin glimmering underneath my imagined touch, and her pink pouty lips. Guilt for how my favorite hobby became recalling every blush I’d caused her in embarrassment and every moan that slipped from those lips when she tasted her favorite cookies, meshing memories together to form my own little movie as I let my hand grip my dick and fist myself until I came hard and gasping underneath my sheets.
I wasn’t the type of person who had this problem. I was the kid who, when I was told not to do something, not to touch something, I listened and didn’t question or complain. (Ash was the complete opposite and I was forever making amends for his breaking the rules.) But with Blake, I couldn’t listen and all my body did was complain.
It turned me into a cold and curt person that I didn’t recognize but it was my only recourse—it was the only thing I could do to make me feel like I wasn’t betraying my longest friendship.
But then the treehouse had happened.
That was the night I could no longer talk myself into believing that I was only attracted to her because she kept trying to flirt with me. No. I wanted Blake Tyler like fire wants kindling and like lightening searches for water. I wanted her because I needed her to ignite me.
I’d avoided her at all costs since that night to the point where I was even starting to get curious looks from Ash as to why I never wanted to hang at his house.
“Well it sure as shit sounded like you should have an idea,” he growled at me, eyes glinting.
I clenched my teeth, pulling my cap off my head and slamming it on my parent’s kitchen countertop—the momentary safe haven.
Blake was reckless; I should have anticipated that she would do something like this. Maybe if I hadn’t been so cold. Maybe if I had just talked to her and explained instead of lashing out in unfulfilled sexual frustration… maybe she wouldn’t have turned this into a show. But how did I explain something like this? How did I explain something to her when I couldn’t even wrap my own fucking head around it?
Time slowed as my mind raced, choosing my next words carefully. “I knew she had a crush on me. But you fucking knew that, too.”
It was pretty damn obvious the way she was flirting all the time.
“Of course, I knew about the damn crush. God, the way she stares at you sometimes is laughable and disgusting at the same time.”
I twitched, hating how he was talking about Blake—hating that my body hummed every time she looked at me like that.
He swore underneath his breath. “You don’t fucking write and perform a song about a crush, Zach.” He pounded his fist into the counter before stepping just inches from my face. “I swear to God, if there’s something going on between you and my sister—”
I knew he’d kill me right there and then if I told him what had happened and I can’t say that I would blame him. I wasn’t a bad guy. I wasn’t a player. But that kind of shit didn’t matter to Ash. Loyalty mattered to Ash. Family mattered to Ash. I was like a brother to him and ‘Thou shalt not touch my sister’ was a commandment written in stone. The truth about Blake and me would have betrayed them both. So, I cut him off before he said something that would force me to lie.
“The only thing going on between Blake and me is the fact that I’ve been trying to avoid her.”
His eyes narrowed, inspecting my words, looking for the faintest hint of something—anything—that might suggest that there was more to the story.
“Well, that is true,” he begrudgingly admitted through clenched teeth.
It was true. Why it was true though…
A second later, he stepped back and I could breathe again. Running a hand through the bleach-blonde hair that he shared with Blake, he paced a few steps before turning to me again.
“Zach.” His eyes were still sharp, searching for any sign of weakness in my story. “I swear, if you ever touch Blake—if you ever even look at her like she’s been looking at you, we are done. Fucking. Done. Touching her will end this friendship and then I will end you.”
It wasn’t so much of a nod as it was a way for me to get away from his stare that I was afraid could see right into the darkest part of my heart that wanted to touch and take every inch of her, regardless of his threat.
“Do you understand me?” He pressed with a low voice.
“Yeah, man,” I answered sharply, starting to walk past him. “We should get back outside before this becomes more of a shit show.”
Again, his grip dug into my arm. “I want your word.”
It doesn’t matter, I told myself. I was going to be leaving for college. She was young. By the time I came back she probably wouldn’t even remember me, let alone still want me. And by then, hopefully I would feel the same.
Still, the next words that came out of my mouth felt like lies in the making. But what choice did I have except hope that they never had the chance to bloom?
“I swear I won’t touch her, Ash,” I spat as though I was offended that he’d forced me to say the words. Really, I was pissed at myself because even though there was no proof, no evidence, and no indication, there was a single silent thread of doubt that tied the two of us together.
For Ash, doubt that I was telling the truth.
For me, doubt that I could keep my promise.