30. Ashlie
CHAPTER THIRTY
ASHLIE
W hen Kayla leaves the dressing room with a grimace, I slide my phone in my purse. She’s ethereal with the soft display lights glowing around her, but her frown deepens as she twists from side to side in her bridal gown. It’s the one she found in LA months ago, but it just arrived at the San Francisco location this week. Maybe she hates it now? “Samson just confirmed the bulk order of peonies. We’ve got the ceremony location booked, the catering menu settled, and it’s your final dress fitting. Everything’s coming together, so what’s with the face? You look like?—”
“I’m going to throw up.”
My widened eyes track her through the three-panel showroom mirror. She better not be dropping this news in a bridal shop.
“Again, not pregnant,” she says quickly, holding up a finger to stop the question before I ask it.
“Honestly, no one would be surprised after how long you’ve been together…”
“One crisis at a time, please. I can barely think about becoming a wife; I can’t imagine throwing a kid into the mix.”
“Girl, still ? It’s February. You get married in three months…”
“ Ugh , I know.” She muffles a groan with her hands.
“Have you talked to Chase yet?”
Face still hidden, she shakes her head furiously.
“Kay, you promised!”
Kayla throws her arms at her sides, clapping her hands against her thighs. “I know, okay? But if you saw how excited he was when we got the confirmation email for Crystal Beach, you wouldn’t be able to tell him either.”
“He needs to know…”
“Why? I’m not doubting him . He’s everything I could ever ask for. It’s a me problem. I just have to get past it.”
“Naw, if you don’t tell him, I will.”
“ Naw ?” she teases, effectively throwing me off her case. “You’ve been hanging out with Hunter a little too much.”
“It’s almost like we’re friends or something…” I say with a bite of sarcasm. I haven’t talked to her about the new Hunter arrangement. The last time she and I were together was on New Year’s, when I soaked through three boxes of tissues telling her mostly everything that happened with Hunter to that point—including the loving-him-but-he’s-no-good-for-me part.
“So he fixed it with you? I was so pissed and told him he better fix it.”
“Yep, all fixed.” I grin and drop my eyes to my shoes. She doesn’t need to know how he fixed it, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stress her out even more with details of snuggling up to her brother multiple times a week.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing! It’s all fixed. Everything is fine.”
More than fine, really. There’s a lot more romance up his sleeve than he lets on. I didn’t think he’d make it a week, but most of my worries have been met with a lot of effort on his part. The make-out sessions are very steamy; however, I still refuse to tell anyone about us. He won’t have me looking like a fool in front of everyone when he slips up. A month of consistency isn’t nearly long enough for me to unsee years of the player excelling at his game. This can remain a low-key friends-with-benefits thing until it’s done. I can do casual.
“You do know they have new and improved boy bands, right?” I turn a teasing smile to Trevor, who’s bopping his head along to the beat. A ’90s boy band croons through the speakers of his SUV while we cruise down the street toward our dinner reservation. The moon peeks through the dark clouds in the sky, casting shadows over his brown thermal Henley.
“New, maybe. Improved? That’s debatable. Nothing beats the stylings of the ’90s.” He chuckles at my scoff. “It’s infinitely better. You’re gonna tell me your little shoulder shimmy would be happening with a boy band from today?”
“You’ve seen me dance to modern music.”
“But the shoulder shimmy? Today’s music is all about twerking and beat drops. Those can be fun, don’t get me wrong. But don’t knock the simplistic grooves of old-school tunes. A good shimmy never hurt anyone. Plus, the lyrics are just”—he kisses his fingers—“ mwah .”
“Touché, Grandpa. You’ve got some good points.” I shake my shoulders and wink at him, making him laugh again as we pull into the Poblano’s parking lot.
“Grandpa? I’m thirty.”
“Oh, is that all? You could have fooled me, Mr. My-old-ass-music-is-better-than-yours .”
“Hold that thought.” He comes around and opens my door, offering his hands for me to grab while I leap from the lift on his SUV.
“Whew! I feel like I just went cliff diving. Might need to bring a step stool next time.”
“Short and cute, just how I like ?em.” He winks, curling his fingers around mine as we walk across the parking lot.
The butterflies in my stomach collide with a pang of guilt when Hunter flashes through my mind. Should I be doing this ? But then Trevor smiles, and I brush it off. I’m not doing anything wrong by casually dating two people. It’s just not something I’m used to yet.
Our conversation flows so easily over the next hour; I hardly notice when our empty plates are pushed to the side for an unobstructed view. Trevor doesn’t take himself too seriously, which makes him easy to talk to. I don’t know the last time I’ve laughed so much on a date.
“So tell me about your ink.” I zero in on the tattoos peeking out at the wrist of his Henley. He’s got to have a good story for that sleeve of his. “What was the inspiration?”
“Pure boredom.” He chuckles, and I smile at the cute little dimples in his cheeks. “I got the first part at seventeen—right after boot camp—and I’ve slowly added to it. Every single addition was due to having nothing better to do at the time.”
Oh… Guess not . “But you’re right-handed. Why’d you choose your left arm?”
“You got a pen?” He nods to my purse.
I grab my pink felt-tipped pen and hand it over to him. “That’s all I’ve got.”
“Even better!” His smile grows as he rolls his sleeve up to his elbow, displaying more of the nautical tattoos on his arm. Mermaids, a ship, and various sea creatures cover his skin. I cock my head while he fills in the lines with pink. “It’s my own personal coloring book for whenever I get bored.”
“That might possibly be the cutest thing I’ve seen from a grown man. You listen to ’90s pop and doodle on your arm when you get bored? You’re adorable.”
“Thanks.” He comically raises a coy shoulder like a flirtatious Saturday morning cartoon.
I melt a little on the inside. With Trevor, it’s like being wrapped in the middle of a warm, gooey cinnamon roll. He’s comforting, and his sweet, open nature is an attractive safety feature I’m drawn to.
Vastly different than Hunter . He’s snarky and sultry, with an intense air of protective—Why am I thinking about Hunter right now ?
Guilt pinches my stomach again. I’m no expert in casual dating, but I doubt I’m supposed to be thinking of another man while on a date. At the very least, I need to tell Trevor I’m seeing someone else. It’s only fair.
“So I should probably tell you something,” I say slowly, scratching the furrowed lines on my forehead.
“Okay…” He caps the pen, rolling it in his fingers while he watches me. “What’s up?”
“You and I… We …haven’t really talked about what we’re doing here…”
“Well, you see, we’re sitting at a table, eating dinner, while you tell me how cute I am.”
I cover my giggles with a hand. “No, I just mean…logistically, with how far apart we live, we haven’t set any ground rules beyond taking things slow. You should know that I’m also dating someone else.” I should tell him it’s Hunter. It’s the right thing to do—lay everything out on the table. But some little part of me wants to keep that blaring detail safe in LA. An even larger part is afraid of looking like the biggest dummy on the West Coast when this bet blows up in my face. So I keep it to myself.
“I mean, that’s fair. We’re having fun getting to know each other. You know I prefer to go slow, so I’m not worried about you seeing other people right now. Is it serious?”
Is starting a dating bet with your best friend, who you’re secretly in love with but also terrified to admit it, serious? “It’s…new.”
He nods slowly, and I watch his face for flashes of wayward emotion—jealousy, rage, anything really. There’s no change. “Alright. Good to know there’s a little competition to keep me on my game.” He winks, and I’m almost confused by his response. No clenching fists or grinding teeth. No intrusive questions or persuasive arguments. I’m used to guys needing that control, but he doesn’t appear to be fazed one bit. I think I might like him more for it.
Trevor sits back and smiles. “Now, it’s my turn… Will you be my date to the wedding?”
“The wedding?”
“Yeah, you know the thing happening in a few months, with the dresses and flowers. Rings…?”
“Boy, I know what a wedding is!” I laugh, shaking my head at his playful mansplaining. Biting my nail, I consider his proposition a little longer than I would have a month ago. Saying yes to him should be quick and easy. There’s no doubt we’d have a blast together, and we’ll both be at the wedding anyway… with Hunter .
If it wasn’t for the effort Hunter’s been showing, I’d have said yes immediately. But my people-pleasing ass is stuck trying to placate someone who’s said he wants me to make these dating decisions for myself. It’s time to stop doing that. I like Trevor, maybe even a little more than I did when we started the date tonight. There’s no other reason to say no. Except for Hunter .
“Yeah, that sounds fun,” I say, my conscience sounding off caution bells like we’re headed into a nuclear war. Should I be going through with this ?
“My thoughts exactly.” He smiles and signals to the waitress for the check.
When we get back to Chase and Kayla’s, Trevor insists on seeing me to the door. Our arms brush as the elevator settles on the fourth floor, sending warm waves through me that make me want to snuggle into him. He tangles our fingers together while leading me down the hallway, tucking my thumb under his as if for safekeeping. His hand completely encloses mine, and this gentle sign of protection has my heart thumping away.
“I had a lot of fun tonight,” he says once we reach the door.
“Me too, old man,” I tease, biting my lip as I look at him through my lashes. He laughs, but there’s a simmering blaze in his eyes. Since he’s so tall, he’s bent to just about my eye level. He’s going to kiss me . I’m pretty sure I want him to.
My lips part as they meet his, and broad fingers lightly graze my cheek. Fresh mint on his tongue, the soft pressure of his mouth on mine, his thumb drifting across my chin—it’s all so sweet. Warm and comforting. I kiss him back, my belly fluttering as a sigh leaves my lips. It doesn’t last long, but when he pulls away, his face looks as flushed as mine feels.
“Good night, Ashlie,” he says, keeping hold of my hand until I enter the code on the door.
“Good night,” I whisper, smiling and shooting him one last look before stepping inside.
Kayla and Chase are snuggled up on the couch with the TV on, laptops out, and books in their hands, trying to look nonchalant.
“You two were spying from the camera, weren’t you?
“Nope—”
“It was his idea.” Kayla’s voice rushes at the same time as Chase’s.
Chase turns to Kayla, mouth agape. “Oh, with your phone?”
“I was just making sure she was okay!” Kayla protests.
“Mm-hmm. Might wanna ask Artie how to improve your spying game…” I tease, backing up toward their guest bedroom.
“How was it?” Kayla asks, wiggling her eyebrows.
“I don’t kiss and tell… Goodnight,” I chime over my shoulder with a singsong voice.
The kiss was good. I had tingles in all the right places. Everything was what a first kiss should be. But I can’t shake the guilt I felt when Trevor pulled away and my mind flashed to the green eyes waiting for me in LA.