I hate admitting that.
“Feels good, doesn’t it,” he murmurs with a huskiness in his voice that makes heat blaze through my body.
“Yes,” I hear myself murmur. Wait . . . My eyes fly open to find his trained on my reflection. Dammit, how does he do that! “No!” I snap, wiggling my way free of him and spinning around. I move toward the door, but Ashton’s giant hands land on my waist. He roughly lifts me up and sits me on the counter to face him. “Stop being so f**king stubborn and listen, Irish,” he snaps, his hands squeezing my sides, his thumbs pressing into my hip bones.
It’s his tone that makes me flinch, though. “Connor is my best friend. We’ve known each other for four years. I know him well.” He pauses, his eyes skating over my face. “I know he seems really easygoing, but . . .I can tell you that Connor wouldn’t like knowing that you and I hooked up. Even if it was for one night. Even if we didn’t f**k.” I gasp at his crudeness, but he continues without apology. “So if you want anything to happen with him, you should probably stay quiet.”
I frown. “I don’t get it. I thought he knew—”
“No, he doesn’t,” Ashton confirms with a shake.
“Nothing?”
Ashton’s hands slowly slide from my waist over my hips, down the sides of my legs, squeezing them slightly, to settle on my knees as he steps away. “Nothing.”
A strange heat spikes in my thighs with his touch but I clench my teeth, more focused on answers. “Well, then why am I the famous Irish?”
“Oh.” Dipping his head, he chuckles. When he looks up at me, it’s with a private smile. “Because I’ve never taken a dare before.” Seeing my confused look, he adds, “The tattoo. On my ass.”
I feel my cheeks flush, but my focus quickly moves to my curiosity. “Why did you, then?”
His voice is soft when he speaks again. “I had my reasons.” The way his eyes settle on me then—a hint of a secret behind them—instantly dries my mouth. “And I’m asking you now—again—not to say anything. For Dana. She doesn’t need to get hurt.”
The way he says her name, I immediately sense the reverence there. He does care for her. Maybe he was as drunk as I was . . . “Shouldn’t you tell her, though? I mean, it’s...” My voice drifts off, looking for the right word. Despicable. Evil. Wrong.
“It’s complicated,” he snaps. “And none of your business. And if you don’t want to keep quiet for Dana’s sake, do it for Connor. If you’re planning on hooking up with him.” Unlocking the door, he opens it and steps out. But stops abruptly. “One more thing . . .” He looks over his shoulder at me and my stomach clenches. “Tell Reagan that I’m going to kill her.” With that, he heads down the stairs.
“Not if I don’t kill her first,” I mutter to the reddened face in the mirror.
“I couldn’t tell you!” Reagan whines, pleading with big, wide doe eyes. “You never would have come!”
“That’s not true,” I mutter stubbornly. But she’s right. I wouldn’t have. And then I wouldn’t be sitting out on the back deck, waiting for sweet, unsuspecting Connor to bring me my Jack and Coke. My third one tonight, thanks to my frazzled nerves. “And what about Dana?” I hiss. “You didn’t think I needed a warning about that?”
She cringes. “I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, seeing as your head looked ready to explode from everything else that happened that night. And if you actually liked Ashton, then—”
“I don’t,” I blurt out, a little too quickly.
I see the flicker of a smile touch her lips, but she smooth it over quickly. “Good, because you’re not a f**k-buddy kind of girl and he’s not boyfriend material. Clearly.”
With a sigh, I murmur, “I get why you didn’t tell me last weekend. My head probably would have exploded. But you didn’t think telling me before I walked into this house was a good idea?”
She has the decency to look sheepish as she places her empty cup onto a side table. “Probably . . . I’m sorry. When you told me that you met Connor and wanted to come here today, I hoped you wouldn’t care anymore. Once you saw Ashton, I mean.”
I glare at her. “And what about when I met his girlfriend?”
“She was supposed to be back in Seattle for school already!” Reagan groans, dropping her face into her hands. “I’m sorry! I’m a terrible friend. An awful roommate. I just don’t do well with uncomfortable situations.”
“Me neither. Especially the one I just got thrown into back there.”
“Gidget!” The back door opens and a grinning Grant steps out to hand Reagan her drink. When he sees the morose look on her face, he quickly turns and ducks back inside without a word. I can almost see the guilty tail tucked in between his legs.
“So Grant was in on this too?”
“He won’t say a word. Seriously.” She looks at me with pleading eyes. “Please don’t hate me, Livie.”
Setting my jaw stubbornly, I stare out into the darkness of the expansive backyard as I think through it. None of this is Reagan’s fault. I’m the one who made out with Ashton. I’m the one who met Connor and wanted to come here. I’m the one who’s bitter with Ashton for cheating on his girlfriend. I’m the one who keeps letting fleeting memories of kisses and touches creep into my mind. I need to stop thinking those things about Ashton and start focusing on the gorgeous blond Irish guy who is available. Maybe I can make some new memories and prove Dr. Stayner wrong while I’m at it. “I don’t hate you, Reagan,” I say with a sigh. “I may still kill you in your sleep, but I’ll think of you fondly while I’m doing it.”
She exhales noisily. “Give me fair warning though? I’ve always wanted to eat the tequila worm before I die. Should I do that tonight or wait?”
I half-snort, half-giggle, her joke defusing the tension. “Why does Grant call you ‘Gidget’?”
Shaking her head at the silly nickname, she mutters, “It’s after that character from the fifties and sixties. You know, Gidget Grows Up, Gidget Gets Married. There’s a slew of books and movies on her. Even a television show. Apparently the author came up with the name by mashing girl with midget. And, well,” she gestures to herself, a knowing smirk on her face. “It’s a good thing I don’t have a height complex.”
I giggle softly at her confidence. It’s refreshing. “I have yet to ask Ashton why he’s calling me Irish. I feel like every time I see him, I’m too busy swallowing my tongue to get the question out. Do you think Grant knows?”
Reagan shakes her head. “I asked. He doesn’t. Only Ashton knows.”
There’s a long moment of silence, during which Reagan gulps back her drink. I don’t know how that tiny body can hold so much alcohol. Then she says, “Connor’s into you.”
I flush, glancing over my shoulder and into the kitchen window to see him talking with Grant and a new guy. “He is?”
Her head bobs up and down. “Oh, yeah. I can tell. He can’t take his eyes off you. He’s probably imagining what he’s going to do to you later.”
“Reagan!” I shake my head as she grins. She’s as bad as my sister.