What I remembered most was the silence, how quiet our house got. Where before it had always been filled with the noisy chatter and play of four kids plus mom and sometimes dad, after he moved out it was like all the lights and sound got turned down real low. She always had a migraine. We always had to whisper. She leaned on Colton the most.
“Anyway.” I pulled myself out of the pain, remembering I was supposed to be talking to Ana about it.
“You don’t have to tell me if it’s too painful.” She placed a comforting hand my wrist.
“No, I want to. So, my father left, my mother fell apart and the four of us were packed off to my grandmother’s in England. I was 12 when I got sent off to boarding school and I sucked at everything.”
“Not everything.” Ana shook her head.
“Yeah, everything. I couldn’t sit still in school. I could barely read.”
“You’re dyslexic,” she protested on my behalf.
“Yeah.” I laughed without humor. “That wasn’t so much something British schoolmasters cared about back then.”
“Well, I think they suck.”
I kissed her on the head, grateful for her indignation on my behalf. “I absolutely agree. But, back then, I sucked at school. I sucked at sports. I looked like a praying mantis.”
“Ash,” Ana chided me, thinking I was being too hard on myself.
“It’s true,” I insisted. “I hated everyone. Everyone hated me. And then I met Connor. He played bass and one day he invited me along to this storage shed at the back of campus where he had a couple of amps and a spare guitar.” I shook my head, remembering that day. It had felt as if, after a lifetime of being surrounded by people speaking a different language, I’d finally found the right words.
“And the rest is history,” Ana supplied for me.
“The rest is history.” I wrapped my arms around her tight.
“I’m so sorry you ever felt so worthless.” She circled her arms around mine and turned to kiss me on the shoulder. “You’re so amazing.”
I rested my head next to hers, at a loss for words. Until I decided that she owed me.
“OK, your turn.”
“What?” She looked up at me.
“Your turn to tell me something no one knows.”
“Hmmm.” She brought her hand to her chin. “OK. But it’s not really as dramatic as yours.”
“That’s all right.”
“It’s pretty nerdy.” She hesitated.
“I just explained to you that deep down I’m a huge nerd.”
“Well,” she began hesitantly. “When I was in high school, I used to lie to my parents.”
“That’s unacceptable,” I teased her, shaking my head.
“Ash.” She swatted my knee.
“No, I’m sorry,” I continued. “Everyone has their limit and that’s mine, lying to your parents. You just crossed it.”
“OK, shut up.”
“All right.” I happily agreed.
“So, Wednesday afternoons in high school I would tell them I was going to this literature club at school.”
“Yup, sounds believable.”
“I said we read Russian classics. Tolstoy, Lermontov, Dostoevsky.”
“But you weren’t really doing that, were you?” I had a feeling I might like this story. Naughty Anika.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Are you blushing?” I twisted and leaned forward to look at her face. It was hard to tell in the warm water of the tub, but she looked flushed.
“Maybe,” she consented.
“I’m so intrigued. What did naughty teenage Anika do when she told her parents she was reading Russian literature? Smoking in the girls’ room?”
“No.”
“Trying on slutty clothes at your slutty girlfriend’s house? And sometimes, when it was just the two of you—”
“Sorry, Ash,” she cut me off. “No girl-on-girl action in this story.”
“Damn it.”
She laughed. I loved how her breasts jiggled when she did it. I felt my cock stir, so I shifted to the side. I wanted to hear her story.
“Don’t tell me you had a se
cret boyfriend who took you riding on his motorcycle?” I asked, not liking the idea one bit.
“No.”
“Good. I’d have to beat the crap out of him.”
“I was too scared of those kinds of guys.”
“Until you dated me and completely wrapped me around your little finger.” I picked her hand up out of the water and kissed her pinky. Then her palm. But, wait, I wanted to hear her story. “So what were you doing instead of literature club?”
“Right, so,” She shook her head, as if my kisses had distracted and clouded her thinking as well. I loved how easily we revved each other up, so quick to spark. “I told my parents I was reading great literary works from our Russian heritage. But really I’d sneak to the town library and go down to the basement and read romance novels.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’d even wear a baseball cap when I snuck into the library so no one would know it was me.”
“Did that work?”
“No, I’m totally sure the librarians knew it was me. I was there every Wednesday and we had a town of a few thousand total. But it added to the clandestine drama.”
“I don’t know what clandestine means.”
“Secret. Hidden.”
“Right.”
“Oh, Ash, it’s such a gorgeous library. It’s the fourth oldest in the state of New York!” Man, I had fallen for such a nerd, and I loved it so much.
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You lied that you were in a book club so you could go read books.”
“Yeah, but not good books. Trashy books.”
“You’re so naughty,” I whispered down into her ear. “Tell me about these kinds of books you liked.”
“I liked naughty kinds.” She laughed, sounding slightly nervous.
“Hmm. Now I like this story more.”
“I loved historical romances with pirates and warriors.”
“Shirtless pirates and warriors,” I confirmed, thinking of the classic dime store romance novels I’d seen growing up. I pictured that long-haired model on the cover. Was his name Fabio?
“Absolutely. You wouldn’t put a shirt on these men. It would be a crime.”
“I don’t wear shirts.” What, was I feeling jealous of romance novel heroes?