Casualties

Chapter 5

FIVE

AINSLEY

Ugh. Why didn’t I think about my huge ass popping out of these shorts?

They looked fine in the mirror, but I didn’t think about walking up stairs. In any other scenario, I would take Ace’s gesture as sweet, but not in our current situation. It’s overprotective, overbearing, and not his fucking place. At the same time, I’m not going to walk around showing off the goods, so I keep the damn hoodie. I know he feels like he got some sort of win, but he didn’t. I only refuse to show the bottom half of my butt to a bunch of strangers.

The party is packed full of students, with loud music blaring from the speakers. I find what I assume is the bar. It’s really a kitchen counter topped with a bunch of liquor bottles and two large kegs sitting next to it. Someone offers to make me a drink, but I choose to make one myself. I've watched one too many Law and Order SVU episodes and true crime documentaries to get handed a drink from a stranger. Benson and Stabler taught me better than that.

My eyes scan the wide selection of random liquors. I spot a bottle that looks familiar. A tall, frosted glass bottle with mountains and birds flying across the landscape catches my eyes. Grey Goose! My mom and Mrs. Maddox drink this, always mixing it with… aha! I snatch up the club soda I find sitting close by, and lucky for me, there is a bowl of cut limes.

I’ve only watched my mom make this, and hope it’s not disgusting. My eyes widen in surprise at the refreshing taste. It reminds me of a better lime-flavored White Claw. I down my bubbly drink and make another to give me liquid courage at this party.

Two drinks later, I’m pretty buzzed. No surprise there—I’ve never drank vodka before.

To my surprise, this house isn’t bad. Of course it’s obvious only the male species resides here—it's exactly how I picture a frat house would be. In the living room is a large flat-screen TV, and the walls are decorated with swimsuit models and sports memorabilia. The floors are hardwood—probably for the best with the amount of drinks I see being spilled. But surprisingly, the furniture looks very expensive.

Ace hasn’t hovered like I thought he would after walking away from him on the staircase outside. Come to think of it, I haven't seen Morgan and Cassie either. Hmm …I guess they all decided to do their own thing, and that’s perfectly fine with me. I don’t need babysitters.

The song playing isn’t something I would normally listen to, but I don’t hate it. I open Shazam to identify the name of the song, and wait as the pulsating circle goes round and round. "Little Girl Gone" by Chinchilla. I quickly add it to my playlist, and surprise myself when I start dancing. Jamming out to rock is not like dancing to this music, but my hips start swaying, and it’s not long before I find the beat.

Drunk students surround me, shaking their asses, as I'm trying to do. A large hand slides across my hip, causing goosebumps to cover my skin. Shocked, I turn around fast to see who this person is that is brazenly touching me.

A man.

I look into the eyes of a tall masculine man with sandy blond hair, brown eyes, and a light dusting of freckles across his nose. He gives me a soft apologetic smile, and I can tell by the look in his eyes, he is asking for permission to dance with me. I nod the okay, so he moves me to where his leg is snuggled in between mine. He is so tall I am practically grinding my downstairs on his thigh. It feels good to be wrapped in someone’s arms, dancing to a song I surprisingly like.

He dances us into a corner of the dance floor, covering my small frame with his large one. From this angle, I can't see anyone else. We continue to move to the beat of another song when he leans in close to my ear, his lips brushing my lobe.

“I’m Jackson… Jackson Davis. You must be new, I’ve never seen you.” His lips are still brushing my ear as a shiver runs down my body.

“I’m Ainsley Copeland, and yes I’m new. Starting my freshman year.” I’m trying to keep my cool, but I can hear the shakiness in my voice. The music is loud, so I’m hoping he doesn’t notice.

This is insane. I never talk to boys, and I find myself extremely nervous. My body starts to heat up from the close proximity. As the song changes, so does the rhythm of our bodies. He seems to know what he’s doing, so I let him lead.

Jackson brushes his lips to my ear so I can hear him. “Do you want to go for a walk and talk more… you know, away from the chaos of this party?”

It’s sweet he wants to get to know me better in a more intimate setting, but if I go for a walk alone with a stranger, Ace and Morgan will throw a fit. On top of that, I need to find Cassie. Ignoring his question, I take a moment to look around for any of the three people I came here with. Where the hell did she go?

“I can’t leave, my brother and best friend are here. I should probably find them.” I pull a slow smile to hopefully ease the rejection. He grins from ear to ear and nods, letting me know he wasn’t offended.

We make our way to the kitchen bar.

“What were you drinking earlier?” Jackson starts lifting up bottles.

"Umm... I'm okay for now, thanks." I don't break my own rules; no stranger will be making me drinks.

I peruse the crowd again to see if I can spot my people. I don’t see them, so I point in the direction of the front door. Might as well get to know Jackson better while getting some fresh air outside. He is hot, and has muscles for days. Why not let him occupy my time at this party?

“What are you majoring in?” A laugh escapes my lips as I ask, and when he looks at me puzzled, I calm my giggles.

“Wow, that was so lame, as if I couldn’t think of anything better to ask you.” I’m embarrassed, and rightfully so. I have never done this whole flirting thing. The only boy I have ever been into made it clear any and all feelings were unrequited.

“I don’t think it was lame. I’m a business major, and the quarterback of the football team.” Now it's his turn to laugh.

“Now it seems I am the lame one. I wasn’t dropping the quarterback title as a flex. It just came out.” He looks bashful, his cheeks a light shade of red.

“It’s ok, I didn’t take it that way. Wow, quarterback? That’s impressive. I don’t watch sports, so I won’t be able to talk about where the ball goes and what kicker scored into the net, but still impressive.” Jesus, can I just shove my three-inch platform Docs in my mouth?

“Well it’s not a net; it’s a goal post, and trust me, I have no intentions of talking sports with you. Not that I'm saying we can’t, but judging by your knowledge of football, I think we can skip the topic. What’s your major?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me with a devilish smirk.

“English major. The goal is to become a published author.” I hope he doesn’t think I’m lame. It was not only hot in the house, but it’s also hot outside. I can feel the beads of sweat fall down my back. I grab a magazine on one of the porch tables and start fanning myself. Jackson notices and glances at my chest, but then quickly moves his eyes back to my face. Caught you.

I lean over the porch railing, looking at the stars. It’s so clear tonight, I can see everything the sky has to offer. I'm still warm, but there is a light breeze now. I feel Jackson move closer to my back side. He gently grabs my forearm and turns me around to face him. Is this going to happen? Am I going to get my first kiss?

Another thought pops into my head. Ace . In every daydream and fantasy, I thought Ace would be my first kiss. It pisses me off how delusional I truly was.

My heart is racing, and I know that once the nerves kick in I will spit out my word vomit.

“Are you going to kiss me?” And there it is, folks. I ask it so fast, who even knows if he understood what I said. Oh my God. He looks surprised, and then starts a full-belly fit of laughter. I am mortified...But then he slowly leans into me.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” His breath—minty, with a hint of some kind of liquor—blazes my senses. Wow, he put the ball in my field…or whatever that saying is. Again, sports? Not my thing. He leans so close his lips are a fraction away from touching mine. All I would have to do is lean in...

“I don’t know, I just met you, and maybe this is going too—” My words cut off as Jackson is ripped back.

“Don’t fucking touch her, quarterback. She’s off-limits.” Ace looks pissed off, but still oozes his typical cocky attitude. Jackson seems thrown off by the sudden confrontation.

“Ace…What the fuck are you doing? We were just talking!” I know my face is bright red with anger, and I am fuming at this point. Fuck him. Someone finally shows interest in me and he acts like this? Why does he care?

“Ainsley, take my keys and get in the car. I’m taking you home.” He shakes his keys in my face like I’m supposed to eagerly follow orders. I don’t think so.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, bossing me around like you have some sort of say in what I do, but newsflash pal, you don’t.” His eyes flash open wide in surprise at my cold words.

“Maddox, come on man, we are just getting to know each other. What’s the problem?” Jackson throws his arm over Ace’s shoulder in a friendly gesture. Wrong move.

Ace shrugs Jackson’s arm off aggressively. “Get the fuck off me Davis, and no you aren’t getting to know her. She isn’t yours.” The anger in his voice is palpable, but now I’m raging as much as he is.

“I don’t belong to anyone! Come on Jackson, let's go on that walk.” I brush past Ace, hoping he gets the memo as I reach to grab Jackson’s hand.

“Like fucking hell you are, Ainsley. I drove you and it’s late. Morgan and Cassie are already stumbling to the car. Do what you’re told.” His voice hasn’t softened, and the rigidity of his jaw tells me I won’t be getting my way. I can’t argue with him if Morgan and Cass are heading out to leave, too. I shake my head and begrudgingly take the keys from him.

Right as I am about to walk away, I get an idea. Turning toward a confused Jackson, I smile and move closer. Before Ace has a chance to stop me, I grab the collar of Jackson’s shirt and pull him down for a kiss—my first kiss.

Oh my God. Am I doing this right? Fuck, is he doing this right?

For my first kiss, it’s not what I expected it to be. The butterflies aren’t fluttering, and the angels aren’t singing. Luckily there’s no tongue, so I don’t have to stress about that. I slide my hand around to his back and make my way to the back pocket of his jeans. Pulling out his phone, I stop the kiss and place the phone in front of his face to unlock it. I’m shocked at how smooth this is going. Looking for the green phone icon, I dial my number and call it, and pull my phone out to show him. He looks confused until the lightbulb clicks on, and he knows what I’m doing.

“Now you have my number…use it.” I wink at him—seriously, wink. I don’t know if it’s the booze or just my new sense of confidence, but I’m here for it.

“I will text you tomorrow.” He nods his head and sideeyes Ace, giving him a “haha, motherfucker” look. I’m not one for a pissing match, nor have I ever been the center of one, but the pissed off look on Ace’s face has me reeling with excitement.

I smirk at Ace with my newfound confidence. “If you’re driving…by all means.” I motion my arm in a Glinda the Good Witch kind of way that I hope says “follow my yellow brick road, asshole.”

Ace glares at me with pure venom, but doesn’t say anything… yet. I follow behind him, keeping my distance, because… fuck him. This man blinds me with rage. He has no right to act like an alpha dickhead, metaphorically peeing on me to claim his territory. Is it just a pride thing? Why would he care?

We get to the Gen 1 Ford Bronco Ace has been working on since his parents bought it for his fifteenth birthday. It has come a long way. I slide my hand along the matte cream exterior. It has a leather vintage rag top that I have always loved. Who doesn’t love the top down in a car? The interior is new—he must have replaced it while I was away. I always dreamed of him loving me like he loves this car.

“What’s the issue, Maddox?” I ask once we’re on our way. His eyes are focused on the road in front of him, hands gripping the wheel so tight, his knuckles are turning white.

“You have dorm security, right?” He sighs, still refusing to look at me.

“Yes.”

Ace flips his car around and starts driving the way we came from.

“You have dorm security, and that means you won’t be able to get a drunk Cass in without being noticed. You both are staying at our apartment.” He doesn’t look put out in the least at this. I know he is right, but I never planned to spend the night at their apartment.

“Fine, but I hope you have a comfortable couch.” He might think I mean for us to sleep on, but no. Cass and I will either take one of their beds and they can share the other, or both can sleep on the couch and we will take each of their beds. He doesn’t respond, but it’s fine… he’ll get it.

* * *

Their townhouse is nice, and nothing like the frat house we were just at. The living room is spacious, with a dark brown coffee table and end tables that match the leather sectional perfectly. Sand-colored walls offset the dark décor, giving the room some semblance of brightness. They have a massive flat-screen TV and a bunch of other electronics I couldn’t describe. I walk into the house following behind Ace, while Morgan holds Cass up as best he can.

“I’m going to take her upstairs, I’ll be down soon.” Morgan is drunk and you can tell by his slurred speech, yet he’s still somehow composed. I smile and nod to him, thankful I’m not the one who has to take care of her tonight.

“Do you want something to drink?” Ace asks me in a deep tone, gesturing toward the kitchen.

I feel like being a brat.

“Sure, got any bourbon?” I offer up a confident smile with a subtle wink. He’s not amused. He forces a side-cocked smile, shaking his head no.

“Yes, we have bourbon. Will I give you any? Not a chance in hell.” He tosses me a water bottle with a sarcastic smirk on his face. Water it is, but in all honesty I didn’t want bourbon. I wanted to rile him up, and I’m not sure why. I should just go to sleep and continue ignoring his presence, but he makes it really hard to do that.

I’m apparently incapable of making good decisions when he’s involved.

“Why were you such a prick to Jackson? All we did was talk.” I know I shouldn’t want to carry on a conversation with him, but I ignore that part of my brain.

“He was too close to you, and you did more than talk. You’re too good for him.” The breath he lets out after saying that is long. I’m so over this overprotective, controlling behavior.

“So what? No one can get close to me? If I’m not hanging out with you, Morgan, and Cass, then I can’t hang out with anyone?” I shift my body toward the bar stool and have a seat, gesturing for him to continue.

“That’s not what I’m saying. I just think you should be focusing on college. If you feel the need to meet new people, then make sure it’s people worth meeting. Jackson is a tool, and the biggest fuckboy in school. He doesn’t deserve your attention.” He brushes his hand through his hair aggressively.

“What makes you any different? A little judgmental, don’t you think?” He’s a manwhore, and shouldn’t judge Jackson for indiscretions he himself indulges in.

“So you think I’m a fuckboy?” He tries to stifle a laugh as he asks.

“I think you sink your dick into anything that walks, regardless of what kind of person they are. What makes you any better than Jackson?” Shit! I know I shouldn’t have said that. It’s going to lead to more questions I’m not willing to answer.

“Exactly what kind of person do you think I am, Ains? And since when do you talk like this?” He looks at me incredulously.

“A lot has changed, Ace; I have changed. I’m not a little girl who needs you guys to protect me all the time. I grew up, and you both need to deal with it.” Rolling my eyes at his stunned expression, I drive on.

“Don’t think for a second your opinion influences me in choosing who I spend time with. You or Morgan. I’m a big girl and can handle myself.” There, now the conversation should be over, but that’s wishful thinking on my part.

“This isn’t you. You aren’t the girl that goes to parties and gets drunk. You're not the girl who lets frat boys flirt with you.” The level of audacity this man has is beyond words. Fucking prick. He’s still pissed at me for kissing Jackson. But he doesn’t know me, not anymore. I am a changed woman, and he doesn’t get to rain on my parade.

“It’s been an entire summer since you’ve seen me, and a lot can change. Did you want me to stay your little nerdy follower forever? You need to get over it and move the fuck on. I have no interest in diminishing myself for you.” I square up my shoulders with pride.

Ace mutters something under his breath. I can’t make out what he said, and choose not to ask.

“Can you show me what room I’m sleeping in? I have no intention of sleeping on the couch.” It's then I realize Morgan hasn’t come down from putting Cass to bed, and I’m curious to know where he ended up crashing. Hopefully it’s in Ace’s bed so I can go to sleep with Cass in his room.

“Follow me,” he gripes out.

Ace grabs my hand and pulls me up the stairs. I reluctantly follow him—he’s not giving me much of a choice with the firm grip he has. He stops in front of the first door and pushes it open. I glance in and see a passed out Morgan and Cassie in what I am assuming is Morgan’s bed. They look peaceful. Morgan is situated on his side, playing the part of big spoon to Cass’s little spoon. His arm is wrapped around her abdomen with his leg draped over her thigh. They look comfortable, as if they have done this many times before. I sigh, realizing it will be harder for me to get a bed. I may have to crash on the couch after all. Fine by me—I would rather sleep on a couch than argue with Ace about sleeping arrangements.

He closes Morgan's door and pulls me to his room. Perfect. He can sleep on the couch, and I will take his room.

I peek around the room. It has minimal furniture—a king-sized bed, tall dresser, and desk with the same dark stained wood. He has a large television facing his bed. The walls have some abstract art; I assume his mom picked that out. A cork board hanging on the wall catches my eye. It has miscellaneous stuff pinned to it. I move closer to see what's pinned to it and notice tickets to concerts we have all gone to. There are a lot of pictures of Morgan and Ace from high school and college. My eyes go wide when I spot the corner of the board. There is a picture of me pinned next to a copy of a poem I wrote in high school. The poem I read to him in a state of pain and embarrassment. The memory rushes back to me.

I walk into my house, mad as hell. I’ve been crying, but made sure to walk home, so I could cry alone. It was a rough day at school. We had to present our poems in front of the class today, but I was happy with mine. I love writing and have always felt I was good at it. Normally I excel at short stories and fanfiction, so I was confident in my poem. I shouldn’t have been, because as I read the words I poured my heart into to my class, Ashley Jacobs chimed in. She raised her hand and loudly asked the teacher if she should call the suicide hotline for me. “Her poem was morbid and frankly, I’m concerned,” she said, feigning sympathy.

Everyone in the class laughed and I was humiliated. The teacher quieted everyone down and thanked me for my “beautifully dark poem.” That didn’t stop the whispers for the duration of class. Luckily it was my last class of the day, so I left for home after.

I head to the stairs now to cry alone in my room, when he stops me.

“Ains? What’s wrong?” Ace looks genuinely concerned. I want to walk away so he won't see me like this, but I don't. His beautiful Adonis-like face stops me every time. He towers over me and lightly grips my forearms, holding me in place.

“I-I-I... had a bad day. I-um-I don’t want to talk about it.” I'm trying not to cry, but I'm too upset to stop blubbering.

“What happened? Did someone hurt you?” Anger seethes out of him.

“Just some kids in class. They made fun of me for the poem I wrote.” He pulls me in for a hug then and I melt in his arms.

“No one hurts you and gets away with it.” It’s sweet that he’s so protective, but I don’t want to draw more attention to myself. Ashley and Ace run in the same circles at school.

“I just want to go to bed. If you’re staying for dinner can you tell my parents I wasn’t feeling well and went to bed?” He confuses me by shaking his head no. He walks up the stairs, pulling me with him by my hand.

Ace is holding my hand. Goosebumps race up my arms when he pulls me into my room.

“Sit down. Read me your poem.” I try to object, but he cuts me off. “Now,” he says in a demanding tone.

I’ve read my previous work to Ace before and he has always loved it, but now I’m self-conscious from class. Especially since the poem is about him. I sigh and take a deep breath, pull the poem out of my backpack, and start to read.

The days roll by like a stagnant tide

Smothering my soul

I feel old

Never living life like I should

But the soul I crave is a tidal wave

That never crashes to shore

My shore

My voice is lost in the wind

And I am unable to find the words

I want to feel the impact of the water

But it never quite reaches me

The soul I crave just fades away

I take a long breath and look at him. His eyes are like saucers and he doesn’t move. I try to lighten the mood. “That bad, huh?”

He blinks rapidly. “That was beautiful. You. Um. Wow. Ains, you are a gifted writer.”

“You’re just saying that to be nice.” Ace is looking at me in a way he has never looked at me before.

“I’m not at all; I'm serious. It was—wow! I don’t have words.”

I don’t know how it happens, but we gravitate closer to each other where we sit on my bed, thighs touching. He’s so close to my face, if I leaned even an inch, our lips would touch.

“Ace?” I stupidly break the lingering eye contact. He coughs, but doesn’t say anything, shifting the mood. It’s an uncomfortable silence, so I try to break it.

“Hey, I’m sure Morgan will be home soon, so you should probably head downstairs. I think Mom and Dad are bringing home takeout.” He stands up quickly.

“Right, yeah. I should, um. You’re amazing.”

“I am?” I try to mask a smile at his words.

“Your poem is amazing,” he corrects. My heart sinks, but hey, at least he thinks something about me is amazing.

“Right, the poem. Thanks for listening.” I smile at him, genuinely appreciating his attempt to make me feel better.

“I’m always here for you, Ains. Just say the word and I’ll make those dipshits eat their insults. I’ll see you downstairs.”

I want to stop him.

“Is Ashley Jacobs your girlfriend?” Cue the damn word vomit. Shit. That was a weird question to ask. Why would I care?

“I don’t have girlfriends, Ains.” .

“Oh ok, she’s just always hanging around you.” I need to play this cool. “Why don’t you have girlfriends?” I ask nervously. Why am I asking? This is none of my business.

“I guess I’m just waiting for the right girl to come along.” He holds my gaze for what seems like longer than he should. He sighs, and I swear I hear him mumble something under his breath, but I'm not sure what.

"Ains, you good?" Ace’s hand is on my shoulder, lightly nudging me out of the random flashback—a memory that once had me convinced Ace Maddox saw me as more than a friend or his best friend's little sister.

How does he have a copy of my poem? I’m so confused, because a boy who said horrible things about me shouldn’t be holding onto a moment I once kept dear to my soul.

“I’m fine. Um... How do you have a copy of my poem, and why is it pinned up?” I ask, needing the reason.

“Oh, that. Your poem was beautiful. I saw your notebook downstairs one day, and made a copy of it.” He turns toward me and reaches for a strand of hair that falls around my face. Softly, he brushes it back behind my ear. I shake as I feel his fingertips slide along the backside of my ear, down to my lobe.

“I thought you were just saying that to make me feel better. I never knew you meant it.”

He reaches for my hand and I let him grab it. “I would never tell you something that wasn’t true, Ains. I love your writing and I was your biggest supporter. That hasn’t changed.” I nod my head, because I honestly am not sure what to say.

"Can I have something more comfortable to wear for pajamas?" I ask nervously. Butterflies take flight in my stomach at the thought of wearing Ace's clothes. He walks to his dresser, opens the drawer, and tosses me a black t-shirt.

"I'm going to sleep on the couch downstairs. I'll see you in the morning." Without another word from either of us, he leaves me in his room alone.