15. Ashton
Chapter 15
Ashton
I’m still fuming as I enter the mansion Marcus rented and pick a room. Why did Kendall refuse my help with her luggage and the ride I offered her… twice? What the fuck did she think I was going to do to her in the limo?
It’s not like I offered her a ride on my dick.
Which, to my dick, sounds like a great idea even now that I know she hates me. For no reason whatsoever, other than some bullshit about “my type.”
The mere thought of it sets my teeth on edge.
Fuck. I need to stop thinking about her before I do something I regret, like spoiling Marcus’s wedding by confronting her about why she ghosted me after that night—and why she’s acting like I’m the one who ghosted her.
I dump my bags on the floor and call Randy, the guy I hired to dog-sit Sir Ems.
And yes, I still fucking call him Sir Ems because the name fits so well. Even though the name started off as a joke between me and the person I’m trying not to think about.
Randy gives me a quick update before pointing his phone’s camera at my dog, who recognizes either my face on the screen or my voice. His tail is wagging incessantly.
“Do you have any questions?” I ask.
“Are you talking to me?” Randy points the camera his way.
“No, I’m waiting for Sir Ems to bark them out. Yes, you.”
“In that case, no questions. I’m all set. Enjoy your vacation.”
“Thanks. Let me see him again.”
He does as I ask, and I tell Sir Ems that I’ll be back in four days, counting today. “One for the trip, one for the wedding, one to explore something nearby, and one to fly back.”
Sir Ems wags his tail approvingly, which hopefully means he’s mastered counting and won’t miss me too much.
“Okay. Bye, Randy. Take good care of him.”
I hang up and head over to the balcony to savor some ocean air. Unfortunately, Kendall is still on my brain. And on what passes for my dick’s brain.
I grit my teeth and take a seat on the lounge chair to videocall my sister.
“Hey.” She’s grinning as she picks up the call. “How was the flight?”
“Crazy.” I set my phone on the small table. “In trying to avoid Kendall, guess who I ran into?”
“No way. She was on the plane?”
“You know it.”
Jordan shakes her head. “Remind me why you tried to avoid her in the first place?”
Because I couldn’t be sure of my self-control around her. “She was so prickly at the brunch, I figured she’d be just as belligerent on the flight,” I say. “And since this is my best friend’s wedding, I didn’t want to be part of any drama. I was right too. On the plane, she told me she hates me.”
Jordan frowns. “She does? Why?”
“Apparently, she hates my ‘type.’” Which bothers me more than I’d like to admit.
Jordan’s frown deepens. “What type is that? Blond? Athletic? Awesome brother?”
I almost smile at that last one. “I think she’s decided I’m a player or something.”
“Which you are.”
“Was. Back in college. But isn’t every guy?”
“Depends. I wonder why she decided that. And why did she hook up with you three years ago if that was what she thought?”
A muscle ticks in my jaw. “I’ve got no clue.”
“Curious.” Jordan scratches her chin with two fingers.
“It was probably a one-night-stand situation for her from the start,” I say. “Maybe she thinks that’s something my ‘type’ is good for—if you have the itch.”
“Eww. But yeah, that’s possible. Or maybe someone hurt her recently, some guy who turned out to be a player.”
“You think?” The mere possibility makes me want to break the motherfucker’s dick. And crush his balls.
“Yeah.” Jordan’s eyes shine. “And if I’m right, the solution is simple: just tell her you’re not that type.”
“Right. I’m sure she’ll believe me.”
Jordan wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, I guess that type would say they’re not that type.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What would you know about that type?”
“Oh. Nothing.” She bats her eyelashes innocently. “Nothing. At. All… Brother.”
My phone dings.
“Speak of the she-devil,” I say. “Marcus put me down as the contact for the guard at the gate, and I was just notified that one Kendall Bryce has entered the property.”
“Ah,” Jordan says. “In that case, you might want to put on a fresh shirt.”
With that, she hangs up.
Gritting my teeth, I head back to the room, unlock my suitcase, and change into a fresh shirt—but not because Jordan said anything, and certainly not for Kendall.
I just want to feel fresh and restored.
And if I happen to look better when I run into a certain brunette—say, when I help her get her bag up the stairs because I’m a fucking gentleman—so be it.