“Who knew weed made West Morettinice? I would’ve been sharing my stash for years had I known,” she teased.
I adjusted myself in my sweatpants. “That’s not the only thing it does. Although this is mostly due to you.”
Ashtyn bit her lower lip and stared at the outline in my pants. I was about to fucking explode.
“I should get to bed before I do something I’ll regret in the morning.” Ashtyn smiled slightly but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“I guess I deserved that. I'm sorry, I just needed...needed something. To forget for a minute.” She probably thought I was being a little dramatic considering I didn't tell her about Mom barging back into our lives.
"I know the feeling," she laughed lightly. "When I get swept up in things and let my mind go to a dark place, that's when I need to forget. And that's when I do something a little impulsive."
She was talking about me. About that night. Again. I wish I could make her forget about it all. I wish I could make her forget how I hurt her.
“Goodnight West,” she interrupted my thoughts.
I began walking back to my deck, not ready to go inside yet. My mind raced, a constant pull between being pissed off at Dad, disappointed with my lack of self-control, and turned on by Ashtyn.
“Thanks for the smoke, princess.”
OnceIwenttobed and got a full night’s sleep–and had a jerkoff session or three–my mind cleared, and my thoughts gathered. I realized kissing Ashtyn was a mistake.
A mistake that felt right, but that was beside the point.
Just like the only other time we kissed, the whole thing filled me with dread once I had time to think about it. I didn’t want to hurt her, yet that felt inevitable in this situation. I wasn’t the guy for her. She was a lover, an optimist. She was obsessed with Fleetwood Mac. She was a dreamer, full of hope and romanticism. God only knew why considering how she grew up.
Her parents divorced when she was ten or eleven. They certainly didn’t have a good relationship up until that point, with her mom being an alcoholic and her dad being part of a biker gang, running guns and drugs through Gilchrist Point. It said something to consider Randall Hawthorne was the responsible parent.
Ashtyn had every excuse to be pessimistic about life and love and relationships, yet she wasn’t. At least, she hadn’t been before we had sex two years ago. Truthfully, I didn’t know Ashtyn anymore, but she still had that optimism in her bones. I knew because she gave me another chance. She wasn’t avoiding me anymore. She was seeking me out, both at school and at home, which meant I needed to be more careful with our interactions.
I needed to keep my distance because I obviously couldn’t control my dick.
It wasn’t just my dick that wanted her. I felt a physical pull to her. I wanted to hold her and protect her. No one ever protected Ashtyn. She suffered greatly at the hands of her own family, and they didn’t give two shits about it, yet she still did whatever she could for them.
I had to decide if I wanted to listen to the logical part of my brain–the part that said I was playing with fire–or the part that craved the girl next door.
Ashtynwasalmostdonewith her painting assignment. Reynolds told her once she was finished, she could go around and help anyone else lagging. We were supposed to be done with the painting by Friday, so it was crunch time considering it was already Tuesday.
I decided to paint a bird–which was supposed to be a crow, but it looked more like a black blob. Art wasn’t my best subject.
I battled with thoughts from the weekend on top of it all. On Sunday, Dad sat down with Bronx and told him about Mom’s visit. Bronx thought we should meet Mom and give her a chance to explain herself. I got pissed and stormed out of the house. I spent the next thirty minutes trashing the garage, and two hours after that cleaning it up.
“You’re staring,” Ashtyn said as she put the finishing touches on her painting.
“Just trying to use your hair for inspiration.”
“My hair…” She eyed me suspiciously. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail, and she wore jeans and a black Journey t-shirt. She looked comfortable, much unlike how she looked last week, wearing skimpy outfits just to fuck with me.
“With the pieces going all over,” I moved my hands and pointed around. “I'm working on feathers.”
“Seriously, West. You’re a dick.”
“I second that,” Cade said. He was in the middle of painting a Christmas tree, deciding that the holiday held his favorite memories of when he was a kid. I didn’t know the sap had it in him.
Ashtyn smiled as she dabbed with her paintbrush. I caught a glimpse of her painting, which looked like a beach scene, rife with blues and pinks and yellows. The only beach in the area was Fremont Beach which was a two-hour drive south of Gilchrist Point.
Reynolds made his way to our table and crossed his arms. He changed up his wardrobe–he wore a black waistcoat and gray button-up shirt–along with black dress pants. Howinformalof him.
“This is great, Ash. Beautiful.” He stared at Ashtyn as she inspected the painting.