Chapter 12 - Ash
Ash
Well, I'd lost my fucking mind.
That was the singular explanation for my manic reaction to the bartender who'd given Zelda an altogether too thorough once-over.
He'd eye-fucked her cleavage while she studied the menu and, for the first time in my life, I wanted to grab another man by the collar and slam him up against a wall.
And that asshole thought her blue hair somehow translated to a preference for blueberry beer.
Of all the ridiculous, reductionist things.
Then, I'd tugged her closer, whispered into her ear, kissed her forehead. Watched as she sampled several different beers, scrunching up her face and shaking her head at the taste of each one. Wanted to find the one that would make her smile more than I wanted anything else.
Yeah. I'd lost my fucking mind.
That was why the hand not enclosed in the sling was shoved deep in my pocket as we walked up Dartmouth Street toward the Apple store on Boylston.
This was a rare moment where having one useful hand helped rather than hindered matters.
It was hard enough minding that hand when I wanted to run my fingers through her hair or brush my palm over the small of her back or squeeze the rounded backside she kept wrapped like a birthday present in vintage jeans.
I wasn't this guy. I didn't fight off the urge to grab anyone's ass.
I didn't notice physical attractiveness unless I stopped and made myself focus on seeing it.
I didn't think I'd ever touched a woman's hair because I'd wanted to feel it on my fingers and I didn't understand that reaction now. I wasn't this guy.
Now that I was thinking about how much I wasn't that guy, it was worth noting I didn't spend much time thinking about sex.
The world wanted me to believe that was uncommon.
Some kind of anomaly. I didn't care. I'd had sex.
I'd enjoyed sex. I'd never found a reason to let it dominate my life and I appreciated the hell out of that because I had too much on my mind as it was.
And then Zelda Besh came along and quite literally fucked me up. Oh yeah, she made me this guy. I must've hit my head when I fell in the airport. Knocked something loose. Traumatic brain injury was the only explanation for my newfound desire to—to fucking consume this woman.
That traumatic brain injury must've also accounted for my manic lapses in judgment because there was no way in hell's sandcastle I'd interact with an employee like this otherwise.
She wasn't technically employed as she hadn't signed an offer letter or standard confidentiality agreement, and hadn't completed an I-9 or W-4.
In that sense, I was only flouting ethical business practices in theory. Like that made it any better.
When I stepped back and looked at the way this week came to a close, I wasn't positive I knew how it all added up.
Millie had broken up with me; I'd broken up with the normal functioning of my shoulder.
Then Zelda swept into my life and now I had a new assistant, a new roommate, a new case of grabby hands, and a fuckton of new problems I didn't care to solve.
And I wasn't that guy.
Leaving issues to linger on the fringe of my consciousness made me restless and irritable. More irritable than usual. I didn't like leaving work for another day.
"This is a perfect night," she remarked, her face tipped up toward the sky. "I like nights like this, when it's never fully dark until midnight and there's no reason to be inside."
I didn't do this. I didn't want this. And yet—
Rising up on her toes, she turned in a circle like a punk rock ballerina.
The tall, gleaming windows of the Boston Public Library reflected her movements, forcing me to choose between the glowing silhouette of her and the real thing.
Both were enchanting but it was the silhouette that never made me wonder why she was running away from home.
What she was running from. How I could help her.
"These are the nights you remember," she said.
"They're the ones that go down in your memories as emblematic of summer, and when it's dark and cold in January, this gets you through the worst of it.
You never remember the days of disgustingly oppressive heat or the bug bites.
The sunburns are forgotten and only the gorgeous morsels of perfection remain.
Memories are good to us that way. They help us forget the rough spots and crave the bright ones. "
She twirled again, her arms held over her head in a proper pirouette. I stopped to watch. People swerved around us on the sidewalk but I barely noticed. Zelda was right, it was the perfect night. But I wasn't sure about my brain forgetting the rough spots. I wasn't sure I worked that way.
I held out my hand to her when she stopped spinning. "Come on," I said, nodding toward the Apple store ahead. Her lips quirking in an odd grin, she placed her hand in mine. "Let's get this done. Then we can walk some more."
When we reached the store, it was blessedly empty and the staff sprang into action to replace my device.
I had to drop her hand to retrieve the dead watch from my pocket and I couldn't decipher Zelda's sigh when I did it.
I wanted to ask her whether it was relief or disappointment, or something else altogether, but I couldn't seem to start that sentence.
Instead, we circled the display tables while we waited.
She stopped in front of the watches, examining the samples closely. "You really dig this thing, huh?"
I turned away from the iPads on the adjacent table and stepped up to her from behind, my chest brushing her back. "It works for me, yeah. It also tells me when to calm the fuck down so I don't stroke out over inappropriate expense reporting."
"Always helpful," she murmured, still fingering the watch.
"Do you want one? Here, I'll grab one for you and you can give it a shot," I said, glancing around to find the genius assigned to me.
"No, no, no. Slow down, Ashville."
Her hair brushed my chin as laughter moved through her. I leaned in, pressed my lips to the crown of her head. This—my body against hers, her scent all around me, my arm itching to band across her belly and hold her the way I wanted—was a bright spot I'd never struggle to recall.
"Slow it way down," she continued. "I neither need nor want one of these Jetsons watches.
I don't like having that much personal information mined.
They know where I am and where I've been, who I'm with, when I'm sleeping, when I'm not sleeping.
They've run an MBTI and my credit score.
They've determined exactly which ads to feed me and clocked the number of times I've watched the dinner party episode of The Office.
They're planning my future by placing all these digital flags in my path and telling the government all about it.
They know about my under-the-table babysitting money too.
They're listening to everything and the real truth is, I don't need anyone hearing my rendition of 'Born to Run.
' I don't want to give anyone all that information. "
Of course she liked Springsteen. And of course it was "Born to Run." God damn, this woman. I could forget every rough spot in the world when I held her close and shut my eyes.
"Ah, so you want to uncover a conspiracy theory and you also want to live in one," I said into her hair. "Good to know."
"Oh my god, Ashville," she muttered, tilting her head to the side.
She wanted me to pay attention to her neck.
She wanted my mouth there and I was not going to deny her because who the hell could say no to a request like that?
"It's not a conspiracy theory. They're listening.
You know that. And you know they're selling all your data.
That's not even tinfoil-hat shit anymore, that's front-page news. "
"All right. Let me get you a phone. For work," I added, brushing my lips over the sweet column of her neck.
"I don't need a phone," she replied, her words soft. "But thank you."
I wanted to slip my hand under her shirt and explore the tender skin below her navel the same way I was exploring her neck.
Light, delicate passes of my lips over her skin, just enough for her to know I'd forgotten everything I'd said before, erased all the lines I'd drawn. "I'm not taking no for an answer."
"That's not something you can say in this day and age," she quipped.
"I'm not taking no for an answer," I repeated, a growl ringing through my words.
"There's a phone in your back pocket. It's been there all day.
You haven't taken it out once. You used my phone to find the urgent care and order the car service last night.
I'm betting yours hasn't been switched on since leaving Mountain Time.
Let me get you a new one so you can avoid yours a little longer. "
"You noticed all that?"
"I notice everything." I flattened my free hand on the table, caging her in as much as any guy with a bum arm could. "You can tell me anything…but you don't have to. You don't owe me any explanations. Just let me do this, love."
She stared down at the display watch in her hands. I expected a refusal. I expected an argument. I expected another conversation where we talked in circles around the fact we were tangled up in each other in nine different ways.
Instead, Zelda melted against me, nodding. "Okay, Ash. You get your way this time but don't say I didn't warn you about the constant surveillance thing. The machines are learning about human behavior from us."
"That seems unwise," I murmured. "The part about learning from us. The machines should listen to other people. You and me, we're way off the tail ends of the bell curve."
A laugh rippled through her body, the vibrations coursing into me as the sound passed her lips. She tucked her hair back over her ear, saying, "You get me, Ashville. You really get me."
We walked home from the Apple store. It was a bit of a distance but it seemed we both had energy to burn.
We didn't talk, didn't touch, but we walked close enough for anyone to know we were together. The precise type of together was still unclear to me.
I kept remembering the way she'd tilted her head for me in the store, granting access to her neck and quietly ordering me to that beautiful spot.
There were at least ten occasions on the walk where I seriously contemplated grabbing her around the waist or shoving my hands into her hair or twisting her shirt in my fist and yanking her against me.
I wanted to take the energy crackling between us and make it explode, and I couldn't say I cared if I burned in the process.
I didn't care though I stopped myself every time.
Maybe it was the lingering sting of Millie dropping me like I was the human equivalent of junk mail—what'd I been thinking with her?
—or the whirlwind of my time with Zelda.
Whatever the origin, I didn't trust myself to read the situation accurately.
And I wanted to get this right. If I hauled her into my lap and kissed her the way I wanted to—and the way I wanted to involved no clothes and a bed—it was possible I'd lose a friend, a roommate, and assistant in one swoop.
More than all that, I could lose Zelda.
Desire could boil me through and through and I'd endure it. I'd wait as long as I had to, even if I waited forever. I knew that as well as I knew the tax code.
Once inside my apartment, Zelda leaned back against the door and twisted her fingers around the strap of her purse. She kept her gaze away from me. I watched her as I hung up my keys and toed off my shoes. Eventually, I asked, "What's up with you?"
She shook her head and flung open her arms as if she intended to say something enormous but then she looked up at me and whatever she'd meant to say evaporated as she studied me. "Do you need anything? How are you feeling?" she asked.
I need to kneel at your feet and beg for the honor of touching you.
A soundless laugh shook my chest. I'd do it. I'd kneel for her. I'd earn it, I'd kiss my way from her belly button down, and I'd kneel.
"I'm fine, Zelda." I stepped closer, tucked her hair over her ear. "What about you?"
"Oh? Me?" She ran a hand down the center of my shirt, over the line of buttons. "I'm fantastic. Like, completely fantastic."
I flattened my hand on the door at her back. "Are you sure? It's been a day."
"It's been a day," she repeated, lifting her gaze to mine.
We stared at each other for a full minute. Sixty whole seconds passed, I was certain of it.
At the exact moment I asked, "Do you want to hang out?" Zelda pointed down the hall, the one leading to the guest room, saying, "I'm kind of tired. I should get some sleep."
"Oh, yeah. Of course," I replied.
"But I could stay," she said.
"No, no," I argued, stepping back. "You're right. It's late and—"
"And we're visiting your family tomorrow," she added.
I dragged my hand down my face, groaning. "Oh my god, you're right. I can't believe I agreed to drive out there on a summer weekend."
"In that case," she said, moving toward the guest room hallway, "we should both get some rest. It sounds like tomorrow will be a busy one."
"It will be something," I muttered, staring after her as she walked away from me. "Good night."
She raised her hand in a wave and called, "Good night" as she stepped into the bedroom.
I stood there, barefoot and lost, longer than I should've.
But as the minutes passed and her absence shifted from a cold snap to a dull ache, I forced myself into my bedroom.
I did my best to get out of my clothes without fouling up the shoulder brace contraption too much, and once again I marched into the bathroom with the singular objective of jerking my want for Zelda right out.
I required that quick release to satisfy some of the hunger inside me. I needed it to make a dent in the overwhelming desire to consume Zelda, body and spirit. And I needed it to provide me enough momentary relaxation to get some sleep without resting my head on that gorgeous woman's body.
It didn't.
All I got was another streak on the shower wall and a buzz in my body that seemed to say, "Great warm-up. When's the real game starting?"
I tossed and turned in bed as much as I could, considering the busted shoulder situation. I slept for minutes here and there. My dick was hard the entire time.
After three hours of nocturnal torture, I heaved myself out of bed and went in search of some pain medication. Instead of the pills, I found Zelda curled up on the sofa wearing what I could only describe as nothing.
"Oh," she yelped, scrambling to the corner and tucking her legs under her. "I didn't mean to wake you up."
"You didn't," I said, my voice only slightly gentler than a bark. "I've been up."
Her gaze dropped to my boxers. "I can see that."