Ashley
MY EYES FLY open, and Julian’s frozen form greets me.
No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.
I cover my mouth with my hands. “Oh God.” The burning around my ears, face, and neck must be the precursor to going up in flames. What to do? What to do? My brain jumps out of my body and yells at me: Get the hell out of here, Ashley! Right. I spring out of bed and dash to the bathroom, mumbling, “I’m going to be sick.”
Inside, I pace the span of the small space, the cold tile serving as a temporary reprieve from the five-alarm fire scorching the rest of my body. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror. I know what I’ll see there: a woman with a flushed face whose chest is heaving and whose hair is plastered to her neck. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
A soft knock on the door makes me jump like a scared cat.
“Ash, are you okay in there?”
His voice is tender with concern. Or is that pity? I drop my head against the door and groan.
“Ash, talk to me,” he says, his voice now laced with worry. “I’m sorry about . . . interrupting. I didn’t realize what was going on until it was too late.”
“Stop. I don’t think I can ever talk to you again. There’s no recovering from this, Julian. I might as well pack my bags and catch a flight somewhere far away. I hear Iceland’s nice.”
The sound of his chuckle comes through the door clearly.
“It’s not funny, jerk.”
He clears his throat. “Sorry. Can you . . . can you just open the door, so we can talk?”
I suppose I can’t stay in here forever, but I’d like to. I’d really like to. Blowing out a breath that puffs out my cheeks, I swing the door open and face the wall of Julian blocking my way. “We’ll pretend this never happened.”
He steps back and nods. “Okay.”
I raise a finger at him. “No jokes. No comments. No innuendos. Got it?”
He holds up his hands and continues to back away. “Okay, okay. I didn’t see or hear anything.”
I busy myself by fluffing the pillows and straightening the comforter. “Just out of curiosity, what didn’t you see or hear?”
He shakes his head. “What? I just told you I didn’t see or hear anything.”
“But you did see or hear something.”
He places his hands on his hips. “And you told me not to comment about it.”
“Right. Okay.”
I scurry under the comforter and burrow like the woodland creature I’d like to be. The mattress dips, but Julian’s body isn’t anywhere near mine. I throw back a corner of the cover and peer at him. He’s sitting with his back to me, a hand gripping the back of his neck.
“Why’d you come in, anyway? I thought you were going to sleep on the couch. There’s a bathroom out there, so it didn’t occur to me that you’d need to come . . .”
My voice trails off. Good God, Ashley, you’re making it sound as if you planned a night of masturbating to visions of him in your head.
“Lydia,” he says, as if her name alone explains everything.
“Lydia?”
“She found me out there and wondered if we were squabbling. I told her I was reading and must have fallen asleep.”
“Oh.” Okay, sure, it’s not every day your teenage crush finds you calling out his name in the throes of a fantastic self-induced orgasm, but what’s done is done, and I can’t change what happened. Mortifying, yes. World-changing? No. But dammit, my cheeks are still blazing. “I’ll survive.” I laugh nervously. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me come before, right?”
“Would any of this be easier to handle if I told you I’ve done it, too?” he asks over his shoulder.
“Masturbated? You, a man, masturbates. That’s hardly earth-shattering information.”
He twists his body to turn to me, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. “No, I meant I’ve thought about you while I touch myself.”
Oh. Oh God. My belly flutters wildly, and a rush of warmth travels between my legs. I do believe we’ve entered the foreplay stage of these proceedings, and I am here for it. “Yes, that helps. Thanks for sharing.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Thanks for sharing? What is wrong with you today?
He doesn’t respond, but he does jump up and draw in a loud, ragged breath. Now that his hands are gripping the back of his neck, his profile reveals the impressive boner straining against his sweats.
Fuck me.
No, seriously, Julian, fuck me.
But he won’t want to, right? Because the man has willpower the likes of which I’ll never possess. Nevertheless, let’s have a little fun with this, shall we? Anything to help me set aside my own embarrassment. I slide my back up against the headboard and whisper. “Show me.”
He snaps his head in my direction. “Show you what?” His voice is strained, tight because he’s trying to control his arousal and achy because he isn’t succeeding.
“Show me how you think of me and touch yourself. It’s only fair. I showed you mine, now show me yours.”
He rubs at his brows and paces the room, not hiding either the guarded look in his eyes or the hard set of his jaw. “You can’t be serious.” He leans over and swipes up a T-shirt from the open suitcase by the rocking chair. “I’m going to take a walk.”
His hand is on the doorknob when I say, “I really wish you’d stay. Think of it this way. You wouldn’t be touching me, if that’s your concern. You’d be doing what you just admitted you’ve done before. This time it would be in front of me. That’s the only difference.”
He tightens his hold on his shirt and the doorknob. “That’s a big difference.”
“Promises, promises.”
My quip causes him to spin around, and I sag against the headboard when a flicker of a smile passes across his face. He’d never do it, but for a few seconds, it was fun—and arousing—to imagine that he would.
“Jesus, Ashley, you really are something, you know that?”
“I know.” I slide down onto the mattress and stab at my pillow to find my spot. “But seriously, just come back to bed. I can forget about being caught in the act if you can.”
A beat of silence follows, and then he drops his shoulders, his expression dazed and wary. “Okay.”
I turn on my side, hoping to give him a moment to collect himself, and when the mattress dips, I scooch forward to avoid any chance our bodies will brush against each other as he settles in. I don’t detect any movement under the comforter, so I gather he’s decided sleeping on top of the bedding is safer.
“Good night, Julian.” I twist my head and say over my shoulder, “Oh, and if you need to take care of . . . well, you know, I won’t be offended.” Then I turn over and smile into my pillow.
“Shut up, Ash.”
He speaks in a low and gruff voice, his vocal foreplay skills in play. I blow out long, even breaths, both to control my reaction to him and to lull myself to sleep. The slow, insistent ticking of the clock above the dresser helps to relax me, and minutes later my droopy eyelids close. Not long after, Julian lets out a frustrated sigh and shifts. I listen for more signs of his distress, preparing to ask if everything’s okay, when a soft hiss fills the air and the mattress vibrates under me at a steady pace.
Oh my God. Is he . . . is he jerking off? Does he think I’m sleeping? My chest tightens when I consider the possibility that he knows I’m awake and wants me to hear the evidence of his desire for me. I’m tied in knots, unsure what to do. Face him and watch? Pretend I’m unaware? Jump his bones? The odds are low that he’ll continue if I turn around, so I remain still, squeezing my eyes shut and supplying my own images to accompany the sound of Julian’s heavy breathing: His cock is long and thick and pulsing in his hands. The faint hair at the base of his dick hits the underside of his hand each time he strokes himself from root to tip. With parted lips and eyes at half-mast, he rests his free hand on his stomach and massages it, his muscles contracting against his fingertips.
Turned on by my own imagination, I moan and clench my pussy, shifting ever so slightly, which causes my pajama top to scrape against my sensitive nipples.
He freezes, and I press down on my bottom lip, inwardly cursing myself for making noise.
“What . . . what the fuck am I doing?” he whispers. Several strong beats of my heart later, he speaks again. “Ash? You awake?”
With my head still turned away from him, I confess. “Yeah, I’m awake.”
He groans. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Don’t stop touching yourself. It’s okay. I want you to.”
He doesn’t answer, but after the tenth ticktock of the clock, the bed’s vibrations resume and pick up speed, the soft slap of wet skin and his tortured breathing bouncing off the walls as though they’re being broadcast in surround sound.
“Oh shit,” he grunts. This time there’s no hiding the tremors coming from his side of the bed. Then a soft string of words follows. “Yes, that’s it, baby. Right there, Ash. Yes. Yes. Fuck. Aaash.”
The bliss in his voice wraps itself around me, caressing me like strong, confident hands. The throbbing between my legs narrows and settles on my nub, and for a second I wonder if I’m coming, too. Jesus. When the shaking stops, I blink my eyes open and wait. Seconds pass before he eases out of the bed, and then his shadow blankets my side of the room as he creeps to the toilet. The door closes softly. Moments later, water splashes in the sink, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
This is my ghost. Ashley Williamson is dead.
AS FAR AS I am aware, no book provides guidance on how to face a man the morning after he masturbated next to you. “How’s it going, Handsy?” Nah. Too literal. What about “How’d you sleep, Slickster?” A tad crass, I suppose. I’m not sure what to say or whether to acknowledge what happened, but I’m certain that Julian is close to succumbing to my charms. Pushing him over the edge wouldn’t be all that difficult. The more important question is, should I even try?
A woman who wants to protect her heart and who knows Julian’s identity begins and ends with his career would tread carefully here. If Julian were faced with a choice between risking his professional ties to Carter and nurturing a relationship with me, I doubt he’d decide in my favor. But does it need to come to that? I’m not entirely convinced it does. Maybe Julian’s fixation on creating separate spheres of his life is a stroke of serendipity, laying the groundwork for a situation where he can be with me and continue to work with Carter. Or maybe I’m so desperate for him I’m coming up with excuses to justify scaling the invisible wall between us.
I catapult out of the bed when he shuts off the shower, mentally preparing myself to face him. In the meantime, I gather an outfit and clean underwear. With my clothes in my arms and a foot tapping against the floor, I try my hand at a greeting.
“Hey, it’s no big deal,” I could say. “We both had it coming to us.”
Heh. While making light of last night’s debacle probably is the safest option, stoking our tension seems more beneficial to me in the long run.
“Last night was a revelation, and I’d like us to take our relationship to the next level.”
No, too obvious.
Julian peeks out, scattering my thoughts as if they were a thousand feathers flying out of a torn pillow.
Wearing an easy expression and a half smile, he says, “Now we’re even. No jokes. No comments. No innuendos. Got it?”
I’m amused that he’s thrown my admonition back at me, and it’s only fair that I oblige him. “Got it.”
His head and torso disappear inside again, and he shuts the door.
Sure. Got it. But he can’t erase my memory, and we have one more night together. The possibilities, Mr. Hart, are endless.
THE KITCHEN IS already abuzz with activity when Julian and I come in. My father’s marinating meats for this afternoon’s cookout, and Lourdes and Bianca are eating breakfast. I love seeing our two families come together, and I can’t wait to gorge on whatever Dad’s making. To my delight, my aunt Carol is nowhere to be seen.
Carter and Tori are visiting the town clerk, one of my father’s poker buddies, to pick up their marriage license, and although Carter assured Tori they didn’t need a witness, she insisted on bringing Eva along “just in case.”
Kimberly bounds down the stairs with my adorable niece and nephew in tow. “Izzy, make sure your cleats are in your bag.”
My sister rustles around the living room, gathering Izzy’s athletic socks, car keys, and her phone, while Julian and I wait near the front door, watching the storm of activity from a safe place.
She stops her Tasmanian Devil routine long enough to notice we’re there. “Oh, hey. Where are you headed?”
“With you. To Izzy’s game, of course. We’d like to cheer her on, too.”
Kimberly’s eyes go wide. “Oh. Um, okay.” She leans into me. “Just so you know, the team’s in a bit of a Bad News Bears situation, Izzy excepted. This won’t be the World Cup or anything close to it.”
“Yes, I figured, Kimberly.”
“And her coach is—”
“Mom,” Izzy yells from the mudroom. “I can’t find my cleats.” The panic in Izzy’s voice sends Kimberly whirring past us.
“Good morning, everyone,” my mother says at the top of the stairs. “I’ll be down in a sec to prepare coffee. And don’t you dare leave without me.”
“Mom, it’s a Keurig,” I shout up to her. “There’s nothing for you to prepare.”
“Well, shoot. Now I know how cashiers feel about those automated checkout machines at the grocery.”
“Making coffee’s not your job, though,” Julian points out. “It’s not the same.”
“Thank you, Julian. You were always quick to make me think a little deeper. Today’s no different.” They exchange smiles, a look of affection passing between them.
Izzy’s cleats accounted for, Kimberly leads the charge out of the house. “We’ll take my Dodge.”
Julian and I come to an abrupt stop behind her.
“Do we have to?” I ask in a whiny voice.
Kimberly grins. “Get in, brat.”
Julian rounds the minivan and pretends to examine it like it’s a foreign object. He presses a single finger against the windshield. “Is it contagious? If I get in this thing, will I turn into a soccer dad? What’s next? Wearing black socks with sandals?”
Kimberly rolls her eyes. “Jesus, I didn’t know I’d be driving four children to the game. My own kids are enough, thank you.” She stops in front of me and squeezes my wrist. “And you? What have you done to the real Julian? The one who never cracks a joke.”
“I upgraded him for the newest version.” I lean toward her and whisper, “This one feels and laughs.”
“I can hear you,” Julian says, his lips pursed in feigned outrage.
“I know.”
He playfully swats my ass. The move is so unexpected, the sound of it registers like an explosion in my ears. Julian, apparently surprised himself, shuffles back, his eyes wide and his expression grim. “Sorr—”
I cover my mouth with both hands, striking a pinup pose that lifts my ass. “Oh, I wasn’t expecting that.” Then I wink at him. “Do it again.”
“Hey,” Kimberly bellows. “Watch yourselves around my kids.” Then she asks, “Does anyone know if Lydia’s coming?”
Shit, I hope not. “She’s probably still sleeping.” I scramble around to the sliding door and motion for Julian and the kids to get inside like we’ve just committed a bank heist and we’re making our getaway. “Let’s go, people. Let’s go.”
I turn around and watch my mother’s progress. She’s holding the handrail as she descends the steps, her movements slow and careful. Watching her, I feel a fist squeeze my heart, because she’s getting older, and so is my dad. “Mom, everything okay?”
“Yes, dear,” she shouts back. “Your dad and I were a little too spirited in the bedroom last night, if you know what I mean. Hip’s out of whack, I think.”
Kimberly snorts, and my eyes nearly roll out of my head.
“That’s your mother,” Kimberly says as she rounds the van.
Julian and I climb into the second row while Izzy and Donovan take the third. My mother clicks her seat belt into place, claps, and looks at Izzy. “Let’s go kick some butt, sweetie pie.”
Kimberly groans. “Mom, it’s youth soccer. This is about teamwork, growth, personal satisfaction. Winning isn’t everything.”
My mother draws back. “But it is a thing, right? I mean, winning is the goal of the game, isn’t it? That’s why we keep score, yes?”
Kimberly grumbles.
Julian taps Donovan on the knee. “What about you, buddy? No sports for you?”
Donovan pulls his head out of the book he’s reading. “I don’t like to sweat. It’s uncivilized.” He says this with all seriousness, and I struggle to hold in the laugh that’s bubbling up at the base of my throat. This kid is so speaking my language.
Julian and I smile at each other, and I want to swoon at the carefree man who’s taken over his body. A few days away from work has done wonders to relax his typically high-strung disposition.
The soccer field is less than a ten-minute ride away. When we get there, Izzy scrambles over us and exits the car as soon as it stops. Julian gets out and comes around to help my mother out of the van, which only makes me swoon more. Together, we pull out the camp chairs in Kimberly’s trunk. I raise my head at the sound of a vehicle traveling over gravel close by and groan when I see Lydia parking her car.
Wonderful. Just wonderful.
“Hey, guys,” she says in a cheery voice. “Thought I’d join you and watch the game.”
This isn’t a state-of-the-art field by any means. We’ve got grass, two goals, and a bunch of portable chairs along the sidelines. Lydia’s typical scene doesn’t feature sports or dirt, so I’m immediately suspicious of her intentions. “The more the merrier.”
Up ahead, Kimberly chases after Izzy, who stops in front of a tall man and smiles up at him while she shields her eyes from the sun. Bending to Izzy’s eye level, he ruffles her hair, pats her on the shoulder, and consults his clipboard. Something about him triggers a memory, but I can’t place him.
Until my gaze settles on his smile. Max Drummond.
My high school boyfriend.
For three months, we were inseparable. Believing we were in love, I didn’t hesitate to lose my virginity with him. Two weeks of daily sexcapades later, he dropped me and started dating Lydia. It’s the stuff of a John Hughes film—without the kick-ass soundtrack and Molly Ringwald.
I’m so annoyed with myself for caring about this silly episode in my life. Still, I can’t pretend to be unaffected by seeing him again. He’s Izzy’s soccer coach. Blech. If there were any rocks around, I’d kick them. Worse, Lydia made a beeline for him and is chatting him up like they’re old friends.
“Why are you wearing that sour face?” Julian asks.
I jolt at the sound of his voice. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
“Oh, it’s something,” he counters.
Then I remember the reason for this farce. “Ex-boyfriend at twelve o’clock.”
Julian follows the mental hour hand and leans over. “Amicable breakup?”
“Not exactly. He ditched me for Lydia.”
“What a dick,” Julian replies.
“Trust me, there wasn’t much of that going on, either.”
Julian hisses and crooks his fingers to mimic fangs. “Damn, you’re poisonous. I’ll have to remember that.”
I shrug, miffed at the circumstances and irritated by Julian for some inexplicable reason. “I’m guessing I’ll never see your schlong, so you have nothing to worry about.” Oh, that explains my mood. The day’s turned to crap, and I’m sexually frustrated, too.
Julian chokes on a laugh. “Schlong?”
I pat him hard on the back, forcing myself not to be grumpy. “Indeed.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” He straightens and points at Max. “So what’s his deal now?”
“I have no idea, nor do I want to.”
Which isn’t exactly true. I’d love to hear that he regrets ever breaking up with me and dating Lydia instead. I’d love to know that if he had to choose all over again, he’d choose me. I freeze in place, stunned by the direction of my musings. Maybe I’m not as mature as I like to think I am.
“Are you sure you don’t care?” Julian asks.
I turn my head and peer at him, meeting his knowing gaze. “I shouldn’t care, but I do. How juvenile is that?”
“It’s not juvenile at all. He hurt you at a time when you were feeling vulnerable. You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t at least curious about what he’s been doing since then. It’s only unhealthy if you let it consume you.”
I wish I could carry Julian’s wisdom in my pocket and fish it out whenever my insecurities threaten to overwhelm me. Actually, I’d prefer for him to always be available as my sounding board. He’s excellent at it.
Julian taps my mother on the shoulder. “Mama Williamson, what’s the deal with Izzy’s coach?”
She looks up at him from her chair. “Max?”
Julian nods. “Relationship status.”
“Single as far as I know. Dated a teacher at the high school about a year ago, but I think she moved out of town.”
He points his chin in the general direction where Max and Lydia are standing. “And what about those two?”
“They usually avoid each other like the plague,” my mother says. “Not sure what’s different this time.”
“Huh,” Julian says, studying Max and Lydia with a pensive expression. “She’s competing again.”
I tilt my head at him. “Who?”
He thrusts his chin in Lydia and Max’s direction. “Lydia. When it comes to you, everything’s a competition. You have a boyfriend, she steals your boyfriend. You have friends, she ostracizes you to ensure they no longer hang around you. Isn’t that what happened in high school?”
I nod grimly. “Yeah.”
“You get a fun job traveling the country, and her mother makes sure to announce her daughter’s been promoted. She’s jealous of you, baby, and you’ve been dealing with it so long you’ve started to think of everything as a competition, too. It’s even spilled over to your relationship with Carter, hasn’t it?”
I conveniently set aside his observation about my brother and focus on Lydia. “Why would she be jealous of me?”
“Now don’t get me wrong. You’re nothing special.”
I clip him on the shoulder. “Watch it now.”
He snickers as he massages the spot, his eyes squinting in mock pain. “Will you give me a sec? I’m trying to make a point here. The thing is, it’s not about you being different from everyone else. I mean, look at the incredible women at this reunion alone. But for whatever reason, Lydia recognizes all of your great qualities and doesn’t see them in herself.”
“My great qualities, huh? And what are those?”
He purses his lips playfully, aware that I’m fishing for a compliment. “Oh, I don’t know. You’re funny as hell, for starters. And you’re down-to-earth. You care about other people’s happiness more than you care about your own. And . . .”
The things he sees in me will soon render me a puddle of feelings on the ground, and I’m okay with that. But he’s hesitating, too, and I need to know what he doesn’t want to say. “And what? Tell me.”
He threads his fingers through mine and pulls me closer to him. My gaze locks with his, and a shiver runs through me at the look of hunger I see there.
“You’re so fucking sexy I can hardly think straight,” he says. “The more time I spend with you, the more time with you I want.” He raises our clasped hands to his mouth and kisses each of my knuckles, one by one.
We need a room, ASAP.
“Psst,” my mother says out the side of her mouth. “Ex-boyfriend’s staring. But also, remember we’re at a children’s soccer game, okay?”
Julian laughs. “Don’t worry. We can accomplish what we need to and still keep it PG.”
Bummer. That’s so boring.
“Come,” he says. “I think we should say hi to Max before the game starts.”
Hand in hand, we walk over to the Renegades sideline. At first, I hesitate to approach Max, but Julian gives me a gentle nudge.
I paste on a smile born of fake confidence. “Max Drummond, is that you?”
Izzy’s coach adjusts his baseball cap and widens his eyes when he registers that it’s me. The corners of Lydia’s mouth sag when she spots us.
“Ashley?” he says with excitement in his voice. “No friggin’ way.”
“It’s me, all right.”
He directs his charming smile at me, and I forgive myself for being taken in by him at seventeen.
“Well, if it isn’t the one who got away,” he says. “Never thought you’d come back here long enough for me to see you.”
That description throws me, but I laugh to cover my confusion. “Right.”
He swings his gaze between Julian and me, probably trying to gauge the nature of our connection. “Oh, hey. I’m Max.”
Julian gives him a firm handshake. “Ashley’s boyfriend. Good to meet you.”
In so many words, Julian has told Max that’s all he needs to know about him.
“Listen,” Max says to me. “Obviously, I need to coach this game, but I’d love to catch up with you afterward. Just a few minutes of your time?”
I gulp. Do I want to give him any more of my time? I suppose I could. And while I do that, I can also show him I’m living my best life without him. “Sure, sure. I can spare a couple of minutes.”
“Great,” he says. Then he lifts the whistle hanging on a cord around his neck and blows into it. “Let’s go, Renegades. Huddle up.”
The game is entertaining. Izzy is fearless in her defense of the ball, but what makes the day are the few times when her teammates kick the ball into the wrong goal. Max takes it all in stride, encouraging them despite their flubs. A few times, he glances my way as he laughs at a play on the field. In those moments, Julian finds a way to touch me, and it gives me a small thrill to be the subject of his affection, even if it’s aimed at making Max envious.
At halftime, Julian stands behind me and wraps his hands around my waist. I lean back and rest my head against him, enjoying the solid feel of his body against my backside.
“Having a good time?” he asks against my ear.
“I am. It’s great to see Izzy dominate the field. She’s got skills, and she knows it.”
“Your ex-boyfriend appears to be paying more attention to you than the game.”
“That’s your fake boyfriend radar.”
He stiffens, and for a few seconds I wonder if I’ve taken a misstep somehow. But I quickly dismiss the thought when he plants a kiss on my cheek.
Julian holds me tighter. “I understand you might want to make him jealous, but he doesn’t need to know anything about you. He’s your past, and that’s where he should remain. None of these people matter as long as you’re confident in who you are and where you’re headed.”
He’s right—in theory. The problem is, while I may be confident in the person I am today, I’m not confident in where I’m headed, and I wonder if I’ll ever be. “If you think that’s all true, why are you working so hard to make him jealous?”
He pauses before he answers, and I so wish to know what’s going on in his head. Finally, he says, “Because it’s my job and I agreed to the assignment. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that this is busywork.”
A glance at my mother confirms what I suspected. She’s watching us with interest. If I were in her shoes, I’d be watching us with interest, too. And he’s right, of course. I don’t need Julian to pretend to be my boyfriend. That aspect of the plan was fucked from the beginning, but fessing up to our machinations would make us both look bad, and although I can’t look any worse in the eyes of certain members of my family, I do care what they think of Julian. He doesn’t deserve their snide comments, and I don’t want to open him to their criticism.
Besides, I’m enjoying this pretend relationship far too much to put an end to the charade now. I still don’t know what to say to Julian’s observation, though. Thankfully, Max blows his whistle again, signifying the start of the second half. I try to focus instead on Izzy’s game, but my brain keeps processing that to Julian, this is just an assignment. Which shouldn’t be such a terrible thing, but I’m shocked to discover that I’m disappointed.
Twenty minutes of internal angst later, I cheer when Izzy’s team easily wins the game, and then we all rush over to congratulate her. Even her brother gives Izzy a thumbs-up with the hand that isn’t clutching his copy of Dork Diaries.
After speaking with a few parents, Max jogs toward us. And I have the overwhelming urge not to talk with him. What purpose would it serve? Julian’s right. Lydia showed up to remind me that he chose her almost a decade ago, but why should I care? She’s not my competition, no matter how much she wants to be.
I tug on Julian’s sleeve. “I think you’re right. He’s in my past. Quick. Can we just go? Let’s meet everyone at the van.”
Julian smiles and caresses my cheek. “I thought you’d never ask.”
I’m stunned by the intimate gesture, my plan to sprint to the car derailed by the softness of his touch. But I’m robbed of any prolonged enjoyment when Julian bends his knees and scoops me over his shoulder. I yelp at the unexpected action, although I’m secretly delighted that he can lift me with such ease. Goodness, he’s strong.
Max calls out my name. “Hey, Ash. I thought we were going to talk?”
With my ass perilously close to Julian’s face, I raise my head and yell back. “Sorry, Max. There’s been a slight change of plans.”
“Damn skippy,” Julian says as he strides away like he’s carrying a three-pound bag of apples.
But there’s another change in plans that Julian might be less enthusiastic about. Because in that moment, I have an overwhelming desire to make this fake relationship real.