Fixing Ashley (4 page)

Ashley laughs and says teasingly, “Yeah, I’m sure you were.” She sounds cute even when her voice is a little slurry. Maybe Brad’s right. Maybe I do have a thing for my employer.

“Would you guys like anything else?” the waitress asks, cutting into our little bubble.

“Actually, we were thinking of going to the club,” Laurie politely tells the waitress, who then informs us she’s going to go get our bills.

I turn to Brad. “This better not be the same kind of club you dragged me to the other night.”

“Nah,” he says, smirking. “You’ll like this one. I promise.”

It’s not that late and the club Laurie suggests is within walking distance. It’s a nice night out so we opt to walk there. Ashley and I hang back and let Laurie and Brad walk in front of us.

I keep my hands in my pockets and notice how Ashley has her arms wrapped around her body, almost as if she’s hugging herself.

“Everything okay?” I inquire, slowing my pace to keep in stride with hers.

“Yeah, just, you know—” she juts out her chin toward the bubbly couple in front of us “—they seem...happy.”

I scoff. “New relationships are always great. They’re in that honeymoon phase; know what I mean?”

“Yes. I know exactly what you mean.” She smiles softly. “And I wish they’d stay like that, I guess.” Her voice is wistful, and sad. I’m almost afraid to say anything because I don’t want to be at the receiving end of any backlash. From what Brad told me, her divorce was pretty bad. I don’t want her to rehash anything. Not tonight, at least.

That being said, I wish she would open up to me. I have a feeling there’s something about her I’m missing. Something she doesn’t want me to see. Every time I’ve seen her at the house, she was never like the girl I’m with tonight. And whoever Brad had described to me as the hurt divorcee isn’t who I’m standing next to, either.

I have a feeling there are a lot of layers to Ashley Evans, and I wish she’d let me peel them back.

“Don’t we all,” I say, running a nervous hand through my hair. She makes me nervous. Plus, I haven’t had a smoke since before I ate dinner, and right now I’m jonesing for one so bad, I can almost taste the bitterness on my tongue. “Have you ever been here?” I nod toward the entrance of the club.

“No. I’m not big on going to these places,” she says, shaking her head. “I always end up meeting the wrong people.”

              Apparently my brain filter doesn’t work when I’m drunk...or anytime I’m around her, for that matter. “Yeah, tell me about it.” I close my eyes, remembering how I’d met Carole. “I need a smoke.”

I stop abruptly on the sidewalk and watch Brad and Laurie walk into the club. Neither seem too worried about us. I take out my pack and proceed to light up, keeping my eyes on Ashley’s.

Inhaling deeply, I watch her lips part and her eyes darken as her tongue peeks out while she keeps her eyes trained on my face.

After a moment, she shakes her head, seemingly getting herself out of her trance, and clucks her tongue while narrowing her eyes. “You said you were trying to quit.”

Breaking eye contact, I turn my head to exhale, not wanting to add fuel to the fire and send smoke in her direction. “I
will
quit,” I reply quietly, enjoying the feel of nicotine running through me, then add, “Someday.”

She looks at me curiously, while worrying her bottom lip. Damn, she has a pretty mouth.

              There isn’t much I wouldn’t do to those lips.

My alcohol ladened brain has all sorts of dirty things going through it when it comes to her.

She scrunches up her face and turns up her nose. “It’s a disgusting habit.”

I take another drag, my eyes still on her face, and exhale, blowing the smoke to the side. “I know, but it keeps me sane when I’m stressed.”

“And you’re stressed right now?” She raises an eyebrow, a smirk trying to make its way to her soft-looking lips.

I look away, expelling more smoke from my poor lungs. “Something like that.”

She clears her throat. “Can we go in now?”

“Just a sec.” Though we’re quiet, we hang out for a few more minutes outside the club so I can finish my cig, and I’m surprised when she actually stays with me.

Leaning by the door, against the building, I take her in completely. From the flat sandals she’s wearing on her feet, to the short denim skirt hugging her hips, all the way to the short-sleeved, V-neck blouse. I hadn’t noticed earlier, but she looks really nice. She always looks good. Her work attire is professional and usually consists of heels, with either skirts or slacks, but this is casual and seems more fitting to her personality.

“You look nice,” I compliment, then mentally slap myself for being sort of an asshole. I could have said that about three hours ago. Nice, really? She’s stunning. Pretty. Fucking perfect. Way beyond “nice.”

She nods, turning away from me and doing that body hug thing, and mutters, “Thanks.”

“I guess we should go in, huh?” I rub my hand behind my neck and stub out my smoke with the other. It’s getting a little awkward around here, and I need a drink before I start talking about things I don’t want to talk about right now. Like her lips. Or her eyes. Or her ass. Or the permanent boner I have whenever she’s around.

Music blares from inside the building and the loud beat from the base makes the ground under our feet thump rhythmically. At least it’s not country music.

She nods, and I hold the door open, letting her walk in ahead of me, while the air around us crackles with something I can’t quite decipher.

I lose Ashley as soon as we step inside, as she mumbles something about using the bathroom, and I spot a clear spot by the bar. The waiter doesn’t waste any time getting me a beer, and I stand there alone looking for Brad and Laurie, until I spot Ashley making her way toward me at the bar. I watch as she orders a beer and awkwardly stands next to me.

“You think they snuck out the back?” I lean down and ask, my nose brushing up against her ear and her scent completely invading my senses.

Her head falls back, and I watch her laugh as she shakes her head. She gets on her toes, puts a hand on my shoulder, then leans in. “I wouldn’t put it past Laurie.”

She pulls back too soon and takes a pull from her beer, her eyes not leaving mine while I try to figure out a good comeback.

Unfortunately, it’s noisy, I’m tipsy, and not quick enough as I see Laurie, followed by Brad, coming toward us.

“Hey, you two,” Laurie bellows over the crowd.

Everything is a blur after that, as Laurie and Ashley go off onto the dance floor. Brad stands next to me with a beer and looks on with a moonie look on his face.

“You like her, huh?” I ask to make conversation. I’m bored, but don’t want to leave. The girls are nice to look at as they move on the dance floor. I would love to go dance, but I don’t want to break them apart. It’s not a date, after all.

Brad keeps his eyes on Laurie and nods. “You have no idea.”

The girls laugh and walk off toward the bathrooms.

. . .

Holding my beer in one hand, while the other is safely tucked away in my pocket, I stand by the bar and do some people watching.

This isn’t a date,
I remind myself. If it were, I’d be dancing with Ashley. I’d have my hands firmly planted on her body. I’d be rubbing myself all over her. We’d be swaying to the beats, hips grinding together.

Dammit, thinking about it makes me hard.

I close my eyes momentarily, and will away my erection. Alcohol makes my brain all fuzzy, but I’m still able to hold myself back from even brushing up against her, which is a good thing because I would easily fuck this up otherwise. I
really
like my job. I
really
love that house. And I
really
want to finish what I started there.

I watch as Ashley stands beside Laurie and Brad; the three of them talking and laughing. I should go join them, but I’m kind of enjoying watching them. Who am I kidding; I’m watching her, dammit.

I’m a sick fuck. I can’t remember being this...infatuated with anyone, including Carole. And she was my longest running relationship. Good thing I broke it off, because this feeling—like I want to reach out and touch her and make her feel good, and dammit make her smile—this feeling...it’s not going away.

And it’s scaring the living shit out of me.

Finishing my beer, I decide it’s my last one. I need to have a clear head, and I have a feeling I’ll do something regrettable if I drink anymore. Not taking my eyes off Ashley, I make my way over to where the three of them are standing and decide to have a good time.

Nothing is going to happen between us.

She doesn’t see
me
that way.

Plus, she just got divorced. I should be happy she even hired a male contractor to finish that house. In her shoes, I’d probably switch teams. Or not. Probably not. I like girls too much for that.

“About time, man.” Brad knowingly gives me a small smile and wraps his arms around Laurie, who whispers something in his ear, making his face break out in a huge grin.

Jesus, I do
not
want to know what they were whispering about.

I nod, not knowing what else to say. I mean, “I’d like to rub myself all over that pretty girl over there,” isn’t very appropriate. I’m pretty sure Laurie would kick me, and Ashley would take advantage of my position on the ground to castrate me.

As I stand there awkwardly looking around, I notice Ashley doing the same. It’s like Junior High all over again. Neither of us looking at each other. Well, if she’s looking at me, I wouldn’t know because I’m no longer looking at her.

Besides, when she does look at me, it’s as if I can feel it. My skin prickles all over, and I instinctively have to look in her direction. It’s been like that since the first day we met at the house, and has only gotten worse every time we’ve been in the same room.

Fucking weird. I’m thirty-four years old for Christ’s sake; this shit is too much. And I may or may not be a little inebriated at the moment.

And just when I think things couldn’t get any more awkward, Brad and Laurie walk off and blend into the crowd of people on the dance floor.

“So...” Ashley trails off, glancing around. She looks about as comfortable as I feel.

I nod. “Yeah...”

“Dance with me?” She glances up at me through those dark lashes and damn, I know I can’t say no.

Nodding, I clasp her hand in mine. It’s small and warm against my palm as we thread our fingers together. I take a deep breath and pray she can’t feel my heart thumping through every artery, vein, and nerve ending in my body.

I swallow my nerves as I lead her toward the dance floor. We’re surrounded by people and I feel her behind me, as she fists the back of my shirt with her other hand. I tighten my grip on her hand and talk myself into not chickening out.

Jesus fucking help me.

We make our way through the crowd as some cheesy Pitbull song blares through the speakers, making the throngs of people scream out and gyrate all over the place, and at the same time pushing Ashley into my chest with an audible humph.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” she says, as I hold her against me, my palms pressed to the small of her back and my fingers skimming the denim of her skirt right where they belong.

As the alcohol swirls around in my blood, my mind is screaming
abort
, but my body is willing to go with the flow. This isn’t what I expected to happen tonight.

“It’s not a date.” My words come out slurred and I’m pretty sure she can’t hear them over the music.

I look down at her face, her eyes pleading, boring into mine, and for the briefest moment, I forget everything.

Nothing matters.

Not the noise.

Not the people.

Not my job.

Not even that throbbing going on in my groin.

Praying she pulls away before I touch her, I swallow my nerves and lean down, ghosting my lips over hers. Holding them there for the briefest moment, I soak up the feeling of having her soft lips touching mine.

That feeling—the one that makes my entire body light up and tingle—comes back tri-fold, scaring the shit out of me. I don’t think I’ve ever had this kind of reaction to a simple kiss. Ever. In my entire life, no simple kiss has affected me this way.

Eyes wide, I pull back and take a deep breath, but all my senses are focused on her. All I smell is her. All I see is her. All I feel is her.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Ashley.” I search her eyes, but she’s speechless, looking up at me in surprise, her lips still puckered and slightly parted. “Fuck, I’m so fucking sorry.”

She nods and looks down between us where my hands are still holding on to her hips.

I quickly take my hands off her, and look around. Everyone is dancing and having a good time.

I can’t do this.

I can’t do this to her or to us or to my job. I can’t be the rebound guy. That’s not who I am.