All It Takes (14 page)

Chapter 14

Ash

I
t takes me a good minute to figure out what has woken me up. The sun is streaming in through the tiny window of the shed, and that’s enough to warm it to really freaking uncomfortable levels, even though it must be ass-o-clock in the morning. I’m sweating my butt off. The sheets are sticking to my skin, even though I’m stripped down to almost nothing. I drop my head back against my pillow with a grunt, and from the ground beside me, Bruiser lets out a little rumble and turns his head to look at me.

“I don’t know, buddy,” I say. “Just try to go back to sleep.” If Star hasn’t banged on the door yet, then it’s not time to get up. Best boss ever. I turn over and try to will myself back to sleep. That’s when I hear it.

Goddamn “Footloose.”

I pull myself back up into a sitting position, and crane my head to listen. It’s definitely “Footloose.” Mom had an obsession with that goddamn movie when I was growing up. I can probably quote the whole thing front to back because of her, and that is definitely the theme song that is being played at eardrum-rupturing levels.

What. The. Fuck?

I haul myself out of bed and step into my shorts, yanking them up and fastening them around my hips. I leave the shirt off. Whoever is playing the music will just have to fucking deal, I decide, and yank open the shed door and step outside into the sunlight. That’s when I realize that the music is coming from the house.

What the hell?

I wander over to the porch, scrubbing my hands over my face. It’s too early for this shit. Way, way too early. The music just gets louder the closer I get, and when I pull open the back door, it’s
blasting.
I stop in the doorway and stare, but it isn’t the music that stops me in my tracks. It’s Star.

She’s
dancing.
She’s cleaning the kitchen, piling empty soda bottles into a big plastic bag, but the movements of her tight little body while she’s doing it are nothing short of fucking
sinful.
She hasn’t seen me yet, and I take a second to admire her as she moves. Hips shaking, hair tumbling. This girl just keeps getting hotter.

It’s killing me.

Finally, she turns and catches sight of me. Her movements slow, but she’s grinning at me like it’s Christmas as she shoves another empty water bottle into the bag. That’s when I realize that the music is coming out of the boom box on the kitchen counter, the one that is plugged in next to the toaster.

Holy shit. The power’s back on.

I have no idea that I’m speaking out loud until Star laughs. The back of my neck starts to burn. I’m nowhere near awake enough for this.

“It is,” she says. “I made a few calls and the power company finally relented. Do you know what that means?”

“I’m still stuck on the fact that I caught you shaking your ass to fucking Kenny Loggins,” I tell her. “And the fact that I was woken up by fucking ‘Footloose’ of all things. I’m not exactly at my best right now.”

“Ah,” she says. “That’s where the good news comes into play. Wait here.” And with that, she drops the plastic bag and turns on her heel, hightailing it out of the room.

What the fuck is happening right now? I look down at Bruiser, who’d followed me inside to see what was going on for himself. He looks about as confused as I feel. “I hear you, buddy,” I tell him, and he kind of huffs at me, and then settles himself down on the floor, where he’s probably a hell of a lot cooler than I am right now.

God, I probably reek. I want to lift my arm back up and check, but before I have a chance, Star’s back. And she’s carrying a steaming mug in her cupped hands. Her smile is like fucking sunshine when she hands it over, and I moan as I get a whiff of it.

“Is that coffee?” I ask, even though it’s goddamn obvious that it is. She nods and presses the cup into my hands. It’s so hot that the mug itself is nearly burning me, but I don’t care.

“Oh god,” I say, and take a whiff of it. Considering all we’ve had lately is the shitty diner coffee, this smells like heaven. “We have a coffee maker? Here?”

She nods as I lean down and take a cautious sip. It burns like a bitch, but it’s so good. “You’re a fucking goddess,” I tell her. Then, realizing what a sap I sound like, I hastily add, “Even if you
do
have fucking terrible taste in music.”

“Hey!” Star cries, but she’s laughing.

“Shhh,” I tell her, taking another careful sip. “The coffee and I are having a moment.”

“Well, then I guess I should leave you two alone. Since you’re not interested in the other thing?”

“Hmmm?” I say, looking over the rim of the mug at her. She’s looking at me, all playful and shit, leaning against the counter and hemming and hawing, like she’s considering not actually telling me what she’s obviously dying to. It’s cute as shit. And I kind of want to set my mug down on the counter next to her, and block her in with my arms on either side of those cute little hips, just to see if she’d press herself back. But that would lead down a road I can’t come back from, so I stay put and just take another sip of my coffee. It’s either cooling down enough, or I’ve burned off all the pain receptors in my mouth. Either way, it’s going down easier.

But Star just shakes her head at me and hops forward, reaching out and grabbing my arm. She slides her hand down, until she’s got my hand in hers, and tugs me forward, hard enough that I almost go sprawling. “Come on,” she says. “You’ve got to see this.”

I’m a little stunned to say the least. We don’t touch each other. Not really. It’s the only way I’ve been able to keep a lid on my control around her. Control that’s about to go straight to hell if she keeps laying those hands of hers on my skin. But it isn’t like I can just brush her off. There doesn’t exist a universe where I’d even want to, so I let her lead me out of the kitchen and through the pathways we’ve made in her mother’s stuff, out into the living room.

She drops my hand and looks at me, all expectantly, and that’s when I see it. There’s a goddamn air conditioner in the window. And it’s churning out icy-cold air like a freaking freight train. I can feel it from here, and it’s fucking
fantastic.

I turn to her, one hand still gripping my mug of coffee for dear life, and blurt out, “Marry me.”

Her eyes kind of widen at my words, so I plaster a smile on my face and add, “We’ll sort out your shitty taste in music after the ceremony,” and hide my smirk behind my mug.

Star doesn’t say anything, she just tosses her head back and laughs. But as I watch, I see the glint in her eye, the long line of her throat, the way her inky black hair tumbles down her back, and well . . .

I’m starting to wonder if I actually
mean
it.

Star

A
fter Ash finishes his coffee and has woken up a little bit, heading back outside holds absolutely zero interest to either of us. Especially now that the air conditioner is chugging along in the window like its life depends on it. Which, as far as I am concerned, it does. That stupid machine and I shared some pretty passionate words when I nearly put my back out installing it this morning. I made it very clear that it either works like a charm, or it will be taken to the junk heap and be salvaged for parts. If it knows what is good for it, it will keep Ash and I suitably chilled for the rest of the summer. Minimum.

I’m starting to get a little uncomfortable thinking about the summer coming to a close. I had thought I would be thrilled to put this whole experience behind me, but . . . Ash changed all that. Now the thought of finishing the job makes me think about the fact that Ash and I will be going our separate ways, and that makes my stomach start to hurt.

Fuck. I’m going to miss him so much.

“Hey,” Ash says, his voice breaking through my reverie. I look up, and see him gazing at me, his eyes soft, concerned. “You okay?” he asks. I nod and rub my hands up and down my arms, trying to warm myself. I’m cold all of a sudden, and I have a hunch that it isn’t just because of the air conditioner.

“Yeah,” I say, even though I know it’s a lie. “C’mon. We should get to work.”

There is no use in putting off the inevitable. Time is going to march on whether we finish cleaning the house or not. Either way, my time with Ash is quickly coming to an end.

***

The days are passing faster and faster, it seems. Now that I have finally accepted that the thing I feel for Ash isn’t going away, it feels like every hour is only seconds long, and they slip through my fingers like smoke, evading me as I try to hold onto them, try to make them last.

Soon I will have nothing left but memories. Memories and heartache.

“Seriously,” Ash says as we walk down the street together in the fading light, Bruiser trotting along between us, straining at the leash whenever he sees something interesting. “Are you okay? You’ve been . . . quiet.”

No,
I think.
I’m not okay. Every day I spend with you, I fall for you a little more, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

But I can’t say that, I can’t let him know. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us, even if he did like me back. I’m leaving in less than two months, and the way things are going, it’ll feel like minutes by the times it’s over. So I nod instead. It’s all I can do.

“Yeah,” I say, drawing my arms farther into the sleeves of my hoodie, letting the sleeve edges cover my fingertips. I want to burrow inside and stay there, where nothing and no one can touch me. I want to draw him in with me.

I want a million things I know I can’t have.

I want
him.

“I’m just tired,” I say, because he’s looking at me again, like he knows I’m lying. We’ve gone almost all the way around the block with Bruiser now, and a part of me—the stupid, selfish part that makes me want things I can’t have—can picture us doing this every night. I can see us taking the dog for a walk, strolling slowly, hand in hand, and then coming home and curling up on the porch swing together. Maybe what I told Ash isn’t a lie after all, because the very knowledge that I can’t have the things I want is exhausting, and my whole body is drained from it.

I want my bed. I want to curl up on that crappy mattress and close my eyes and pretend that my problems don’t exist. But I can’t. If I do, it’ll mean even less time spent with Ash, and I’m not willing to give that up. Not yet. Not until I have to.

It’ll be okay,
I tell myself.
You’ll go back to college. You’ll be with your friends. You’ll study and learn and laugh and maybe even fall for someone else. This isn’t the end of your world. You’re stronger than this.

I just have to keep telling myself that. Then maybe one day I’ll believe it.

***

We do another lap around the block, now, trying to tucker Bruiser out. But he’s still sniffing at every little thing we pass, tail whipping back and forth like he’s sweeping for gold or something. That dog’s got more energy than I think I’ve ever had in my entire life, but then again, he didn’t just spend his day hauling box after box after box of junk out of what amounted to a minefield. Instead, he slept through pretty much the whole thing.

I’d be perky, too, if our roles were reversed.

Bruiser catches a glimpse of a squirrel and tries to make a break for it. But Ash just laughs and hauls him back. “Woah there, buddy,” he says, reaching down and snagging Bruiser’s collar in his fingers. I can see the shift of the muscles in his forearm and I curse myself yet again. I have to stop noticing stuff like that. It’s not doing me any good. “You don’t get to have squirrels for dinner anymore. It’s kibble from now on for you.”

Bruiser turns around and pins us with the biggest, saddest pair of puppy-dog eyes ever, and I laugh and reach down to ruffle his ears. Except when I do, the back of my hand brushes against Ash’s, and I can’t help myself. I let it linger there for a second, basking in the feel of his skin against mine before I jerk away with a muttered “sorry.”

Ash just nods and gives me a little half-smile before letting go of Bruiser’s collar and tugging at his leash to get him moving again.

I stare off into the distance as we round the corner and end up back on my mother’s street. I can’t keep doing this to myself. I should just cut my losses before I get in any deeper. I should just pack up, get out, hire someone to finish the job even though I can’t afford it.

It’d be better than the sweet torture I’ve been putting myself through; falling for someone I can’t have.

“Hey,” Ash’s voice breaks through our silence, and my first instinct is to ignore it, to just keep walking. But then his hand comes up and snags my arm. His fingers are gentle, but his grip is firm, and I find myself tugged to a stop.

I turn to him. “What is it?” I ask, then I tilt my head up and see the look on his face. Something is wrong.

“Look,” he says, his voice low enough to be a whisper, and I turn my head to follow his gaze. There, off in the distance, I can just make out what he’s looking at. There’s a group of people, three or four of them at least.

And they’re standing at the end of my mother’s driveway.

***

Excuse me. Can I help you?
I’m about to say it. The words are almost out of my mouth, but as soon as we’re within earshot, I hear what they’re saying and something inside me freezes up.

“Thank god that crazy woman is finally gone,” one woman says, lifting a foot and toeing at one of the garbage bags we’d stacked neatly by the curb. Her motion upsets the pile and the little pyramid we’ve built comes tumbling down, bags of trash rolling over one another, falling onto the street.

My spine has turned to steel.

The woman lets out a disgusted
“hmph,”
and turns to face her friends. “I mean,” she says, her voice loud enough that I’m surprised she hasn’t attracted more attention than she already has, “it was bad enough when she lived here, bringing down the neighborhood like she did. I just hope that whoever’s flipping this godforsaken place has the good sense to wear a hazmat suit.”

I pick up my pace, legs and lungs burning. What the hell is going on? Who the hell does this woman think she is?