He was one hundred percent sure that he wasn’t going to like it and that it would involve completely humiliating himself. He was also one hundred percent sure that if it involved getting Ash back and making things right, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
CHAPTER 18
Ash
Exhausted from work, Ash hurried around her apartment, quickly filling Slappy’s bowl so his endless loud meows, tales about how he’d run out while she was away during the day, would cease. She dumped out half a can of tuna onto a plate after she filled up the bowl with cat food, seeing as she knew Slappy would be quicker to forgive her that way. Not that it was really her fault. Sometimes the darn cat ate his whole bowl of food when she was gone. Other days he barely touched a thing.
Cats. They were almost as bad as men.
Ash sighed and leaned against the counter top, trying to summon up the will to open the fridge and make herself something to eat. She was starving, but she was so tired she contemplated heading off straight to bed with a bag of chips.
She knew she’d pay for it in the morning, so she forced herself to move. She grabbed a banana off the counter and devoured it. She felt better after and had enough energy to set a pot on the burner and cook some spaghetti. She added a few frozen meatballs to a different pot and waited for them to finish.
When she set her plate on the table, her mouth was watering and her stomach growled violently.
Of course, because the universe had it in for her, a gentle knock sounded on her door.
Ash set down her fork, aggravated and puzzled. Only her family had a key for the front door. No one called or texted to say they were coming over. Maybe they were worried about her. The work week hadn’t exactly been kind and she was just glad it was over. Tomorrow, Saturday, would be the one-week anniversary of the disastrous reunion and the viral video that had since been viewed over six hundred thousand times.
On Wednesday evening, she’d finally gone in for her long overdue phone upgrade, which included a new number, since it wouldn’t stop blowing up. She’d completely forgotten to inform her parents.
“Shit.” Ash pushed back her chair, mourning the meal she’d spent the most effort making all week getting cold. She rushed to the door. Maybe if she could assure whoever was out there that she was indeed still alive or invite them in, she’d still be able to salvage dinner.
She threw open the door without checking the peephole, since she was pretty darn sure no one was out there to annoy or murder her and stopped dead.
“What the fuck,” she breathed. There, standing in the hallway in front of her door, was not her brother, mother or father. It was Trace. Dressed up in full costume. “Oh, hell no.” She tried to slam the door shut but wasn’t fast enough. Trace wedged one black boot into the frame. Ash pressed harder, ignoring his grunt of pain. “How the hell did you get in here?” she ground out. “Only my family has a key for the front door.”
His costume included a deadly replica of her favorite villain right down to the swirling cape and the helmet. He smiled sheepishly, though the action probably made the sides of the plastic replica dig into his cheeks. “I might have convinced your brother to lend me his key.”
“Jason,” Ash spat. “Remind me to murder him later. How did you find him anyway? You don’t have his number.”
“I- I have ways of getting information.”
“I bet you do.” She skewered him with a malevolent glare. “Seeing as you’re rich you can probably get just about anything.” Her eyes flicked over the costume. She was annoyed at her traitorous body for heating up, for noticing that he filled it out nicely, for roaring to life, for the sick amount of hope and longing that rushed through her. “Like that costume. Bet that wasn’t cheap. Bet it was special ordered.”
“You might be right.” Trace crossed his arms over his chest and his muscles rippled in the tight black leather looking material. His biceps bulged and strained, and the material creaked in protest.
God. Does he have to look so good?
“I know I’m right. I’d bet that set you back five hundred dollars. Which is probably nothing to you. Like finding a lucky penny to anyone else.”
Trace’s smile fell and she hated herself for the barb. “See, this is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”
“No? You couldn’t trust me? You thought I’d what? Try and use you for it? Puh-lease. You seriously don’t know me at all. I might not make a killer living doing what I do, but if you haven’t noticed, my books do sell. They sell well. I’m on my way to making something of myself. I have a job. I’ve looked after myself so far. I don’t need you to do it for me. What I needed was a date, a smoking hot date who made me feel good and had my back. A date so I didn’t appear pathetic in front of all the people who tormented me my entire life. That’s what I needed, Trace, and you failed pretty epically at that. That’s what I cared about. Not your money.”