My prayers aren’t answered, though, and soon I’m left with nothing but burning cheeks as I listen to Ty bellow with thunderous laughter, turning half of the bar our way. Even Grant and Reagan can’t keep a straight face as they wipe my drink off themselves. I can’t meet Connor’s eyes. He hasn’t said a word. What if he believes it?
With teeth gritted so tightly that I think they may crack, I turn toward Ashton, intent on stabbing him with my glare. He’s not even looking at me, though. He’s busy reading the menu. And smiling, clearly proud of himself.
I don’t know what I expected from him tonight, but a comment like that wasn’t it. If I don’t leave right now, Connor will witness me turn into a female version of Tarzan and leap onto his best friend’s back. Through a clenched jaw and to no one in particular, I say, “Be back in as sec.” My chair makes a loud screeching sound as I push it back and escape to the restroom.
Once there and safely locked inside my stall, I lean my forehead against the cool door, thumping against it a few times. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? How am I going to deal with him? I’m used to being teased by my sister and Trent and Dan and . . . well, all of them, really. They get a kick out of making me blush because I’ve always been so uncomfortable when it comes to this stuff. Why, then, does it make my blood boil when Ashton does it?
Maybe he wants me to lose my cool in front of Connor. If the note is true and he’s jealous of his best friend, then convincing Connor that I’m a nut job would effectively scare him away. No . . . that just seems like too much work for a guy who has a girlfriend and one-night stands waiting in the wings. Dammit! I’m thinking too much about this. I’m analyzing and overanalyzing, moving on to obsessing. This is why I’ve avoided guys up until now. They make you crazy.
And this is also why I need to stop thinking about Ashton and focus on “slow and easy” Connor.
My eyes sting as I dig my phone out of my purse to I text my sister:
Ashton is an ass.
Her response comes almost immediately:
A giant ass.
I quickly text back, playing the game we’ve played since we were young—still childish, only now more colorful:
A giant leprous ass
A giant leprous ass that plays his penis like a banjo
I giggle with the visual in my head as I type:
A giant leprous ass who plays his penis like a banjo while singing “Old McDonald.”
The responding text is a picture—one of Ashton leaning over in the tattoo artist’s chair, the man with the ink gun at work. Ashton’s face is twisted into a hideous, exaggerated wince.
I burst out in a fit of giggles, the tension sliding off my shoulders. Kacey always knows how to make things better for me. I’m still giggling, typing out a response to her, when a door squeaks open. I clamp my hand over my mouth.
“Did you see who’s here?” a nasally female voice asks.
“If you’re talking about Ashton, then . . . how could anyone miss him,” another voice drawls as the sound of water rushing from a tap fills the room.
My ears perk up. I hit “Send” on my text to Kacey, telling her that I love her. Then I set my phone on silent.
“He’s sitting at a table with two girls, though,” the second voice continues.
That’s when I know for sure. They’re talking about my Ashton. I mean . . . not my Ashton, but . . . My cheeks heat. I probably shouldn’t be listening to this. But it’s too late; I can’t leave now. I’m one of those girls.
“So what? He was here with a girl the last time I was here and I still went home with him,” the first voice murmurs haughtily, and I picture her leaning forward to apply lipstick in the mirror. She moans. “God, that was such a great night.”
Now I’m downright uncomfortable. The last thing I want to hear are details about Ashton’s dirty exploits. I wonder if he chased this one into a classroom and defaced her books with hearts and his number, too.
Either she hasn’t noticed that there’s someone in the stall or she doesn’t care, because she continues. “We did it out on the back deck. Out in the open. Anyone could have seen us!” she whispers excitedly. “And you know me . . . I’m pretty respectable . . .” I roll my eyes and decide that Ashton likely didn’t have to do much chasing at all. “But with him . . . Oh my God, Keira. I did things I never thought I’d do.”
Sure thing, whore.
My hand flies over my mouth as the words register in my head, shocking myself with my viciousness. For a second, I’m afraid that I might have said it out loud.
I guess I didn’t, because the nasally voice adds, “I don’t care who he’s here with. He’s leaving with me tonight.”
I close my eyes and hug my arms to my body, afraid to sneeze or cough or shuffle my feet too loudly because they’ll know I was listening, and then they’ll see me sitting with him when I go back out there. And they’ll know I was eavesdropping.
Thankfully, they’re only there to reapply their makeup and fawn over Ashton’s earth-shattering sex skills so they vacate the bathroom shortly, leaving me to escape the stall and wash my hands. And wonder if this mystery girl will succeed. Probably. My gut tightens at the prospect.
“There you are.” Reagan plows in through the door. With a deep sigh, she pats my back. “He’s never going to let up if you react like that. You need to start dishing it back.”
“I know, Reagan. I know. You’re right. I’m just not good at that.” It’s surprising, given that I grew up with the queen of comebacks. But if I don’t learn to handle him, “slow and easy” Connor is going to run “fast and hard” away from me.
“Just laugh it off.” She gives my arm an affectionate squeeze as we head out the door.
Then I remember the picture of Ashton that Kacey just sent me. I know it’s juvenile but I hold my phone up, a vindictive thrill making me smile. “Take a look at this, Reagan.” By the time we arrive at our table, tears are streaming down our cheeks, we’re laughing so hard.
Connor’s green eyes flicker with a mixture of surprise and amusement as he holds out my chair for me. “What’s so funny?” If Ashton’s earlier comment affected him one way or another, I can’t tell.
“Oh, nothing,” I say casually, downing what’s left of my drink and picking up the fresh one that someone ordered while I was gone, intentionally ignoring Ashton’s watchful gaze.
“Show him, Livie,” Reagan announces with an impish grin, adding, “You know what they say about payback . . .”
Grinning, I hold my phone up.
I’ve never heard three grown men howl like Connor, Grant, and Ty do when they see the picture. Clapping his hands, Ty bellows, “We need to get that blown up and put on our wall!” Then he mimics the look on Ashton’s face, making a low guttural sound and pointing to his roommate, who has no clue what’s happening because I intentionally held it out of his view.
A bulging arm stretches out in front of me to grab my phone but I’m ready for it, hitting the power button and tucking the phone into my pocket. Drawing my straw into my mouth, I take my time sucking back my drink. The guys are still laughing as I place it down and fold my hands over my knee. I hazard a glance in Ashton’s direction to see that playful twinkle in his eyes as he chews the inside of his mouth. Thinking about all the ways to get even, no doubt. Part of me is downright terrified of what’s about to come out of his mouth because it will likely make me shrivel up into a fiery ball of humiliation.