“You’re not allowed within a foot of her, dude. Marcy will have me by the fucking balls.”
“What? Fuck! No! I’m not interested in her.”
“You better keep it that way. The women in that family are hard to resist.”
“I’m gonna kick your ass in Fortnite,” I say, slapping his shoulder, needing to change the subject, and put some distance between me and the thoughts watching Ash conjure up. We walk to the door, and I can’t help but chance a look back. Her eyes meet mine across the space between us, and I frown involuntarily. I shouldn’t find her beautiful or alluring. I shouldn’t want to go over there and ask her to keep playing whatever the fuck she’s playing or care why the tune is so sad. I’m grateful when she lifts her hand and flips me the bird. Now, that is an Ash I can handle. I smirk and do the same, maddened that I don’t even mean it.
ChapterFive
ASH
Porter Gates sets a small potted plant on my desk. A sunflower protrudes from the dirt. I smile up at him, a bit taken aback that he just put my favorite flower in front of me.
“For our newest junior writer. We are honored to have you at the Rothwell Academy Times.”
“Thank you, but you really didn’t have to. How’d you know these are my favorite?”
“Lucky guess,” he flashes me a smirk that makes my cheeks heat. “Actually, I might have asked Marcella.”
“Ah…now that makes sense.”
“So…I was wondering if you’d like to go with me to this thing. An art exhibition this Friday. I mean…if you’re free.”
Porter is handsome, and the fact that he is a nice guy with brains is a bonus. Sure, he doesn’t make my stomach flutter, and I am not interested in anything more than friendship. Still, the way he’s standing there, scratching the back of his neck nervously, is sweet.
“Friday? Yeah…sure. That sounds like fun.”
“Really? ‘Because I understand if it’s short notice.”
“It isn’t. Seeing as I don’t really have plans. That must sound lame, but it’s the truth.” I shrug.
“Well, if I didn’t have a piece on display, I probably wouldn’t have got an invitation,” he smirks.
Beats being home and having Marcy drag me to yet another party where I sit in a corner, avoiding everyone and wishing to be anywhere else.
“It’s a date then.”
“Pick you up at seven?”
“Seven’s good.” He backs away, looking pleased with himself, and I focus on my story. I write morbid short stories that the senior editor finds entertaining. My latest protagonist, a cheerleader, has just realized she’s a ghost. Escaping reality is what I do best. After snapping the rubber band on my wrist a few times to remind myself that I need to focus on the present, I resume typing.
* * *
Porter arrives five minutes early, and I’m already waiting on the porch to avoid Marcy and, God forbid, Felicity, making a huge deal of nothing.
“Wow, you look pretty,” Porter says when I meet him at his car, eyeing me from head to toe. “Like, how is this girl going out with a loser like me, pretty.”
I feel the heat creep up my cheeks but remind myself to keep it cool. “You’re not too bad yourself.”
The gallery is downtown and wall-to-wall with people when we arrive. “It’s mainly the Rothwell art department, but they get a few local artists to show their pieces,” Porter tells me as he leads me by the hand through the crowd. He lifts his camera, taking a few pictures of the crowd.
A stunning brunette with legs for days approaches, and her face breaks into a smile when she spots us. Well, my date, to be precise. Porter takes a picture of her, and she practically swoons. “Porter, stop it.” She throws her arms around him. Stepping back, she eyes me from head to toe. “And you brought a friend. Haven’t seen you here before. I’m Lucia.”
“I’m Asher,” I smile. “Just moved to Rothwell. Thanks for having me.”
“Lucia’s a local artist. You should see some of her work. It’s phenomenal.”
“I’d love to.”