7. Asher #2
“Wild,” I said for the sake of saying something.
“It wasn’t all that bad,” Jordan said. It was a casual remark, but I wondered why he was saying it. Was he checking how I really felt about him? Did he think I hated him?
I shrugged. I could imagine a lot of things going much better.
I could imagine him crossing the distance between our balcony doors and finding that mine wasn’t latched.
I could imagine the unreasonable ecstasy that would course through my veins if he placed his hands on my bare waist and pulled me in.
I could almost feel the breathless pressure of getting trapped under his weight.
“It wasn’t,” I agreed, my mouth dry. I sipped my wine, then cleared my throat.
“Remember that time we built snow forts?” I asked.
He laughed.
A blanket of snow, three feet deep, had covered the sprawling area behind this house.
We had come here for Christmas — one of the last truly snowy Christmases I recalled.
Mom and George had decorated the house, although Jordan and I had helped with the tree.
I was fifteen, so the help they got from me was reluctant.
I had been in the “everything’s bullshit” phase of my life.
But while the interior smelled like baking cookies and Christmas songs chased off the deathly silence, Jordan and I happened to go out at the same time.
The whole thing had been a spontaneous game. The snow was thick and wet, perfect for sculpting, but we had already outgrown snowmen and such things.
I had been walking away from him when the world shook under my feet. Stars filled the blackness before my eyes, and icy needles pierced my skin as a snowball slammed the beany off my head and split into freezing pieces that slipped under my jacket and sweater.
Blind rage had fueled me in the instant that had followed.
I had made a snowball the size of my fist and hurled it at Jordan with all the hatred I could gather.
It almost took him off his feet when it smashed against his shoulder.
He crouched and laughed out loud, shooting several snow missiles at me to set me fleeing.
The next thing I knew, we were a dozen paces apart and on our knees, panicking between catapulting snowballs at each other and raising the snow walls.
I couldn’t remember how long we had been at it.
I only knew I had to sneak several paces back from my wall to get some good snow for more ammunition.
As had Jordan. Our walls had thickened with all the necessary repairs and my muscles had burned so much that I knew I wouldn’t be able to lift my Christmas presents the next morning.
“Who won?” I asked.
Jordan snickered. “If you can’t remember, then it was me.”
I bit down on my lower lip to avoid a silly smile. “Bullshit. I won, didn’t I?”
Jordan laughed and shook his head. “Neither. Eileen stormed out yelling that it was Christmas Eve and we were behaving like animals. Couldn’t we stop fighting just once in our lives?”
“Ironically, that was the best we ever got along,” I said.
“True. The next year, you pushed me off the pier into the freezing water,” Jordan said. His tone told me there were no hard feelings, but I was triggered by the blatant lie.
“It was an accident,” I insisted. “I wasn’t looking.”
“I’m fucking with you,” he said. “Even I know you’re not that evil. Those planks had been a disaster waiting to happen.”
My foot had fallen through a plank near the end of the pier.
They had been rotting quietly for ages. In pulling my foot free, I had stumbled backward and slammed into Jordan, sending him over the edge to plunge into the freezing January lake.
“You could also point out that I was the person who pulled you out.”
“I could also point out that you didn’t have a drop of water on your clothes when you dragged me out.” He swirled his wineglass and sloshed a few sips down his throat. Greedy. I mimicked it before I knew I was doing it.
“It serves you right for ignoring me all summer before it happened,” I said testily. He knew I didn’t mean it. He was down with the worst cold of his life and we had returned to the city out of fear he might be developing pneumonia from the icy plunge.
“Ignored?” Jordan’s humor faded away and concern welled in his eyes. Was he about to teach me a lesson about something? “What do you mean?”
I was still smiling, but the old insecurities rose quickly.
“You and Beckett. He tagged along that summer. You two were inseparable, but there was no room for me.” The wine soured in my mouth.
I ate the rest of my pasta quickly in the awkward silence that settled between us.
When he said nothing, I swallowed another couple of sips of wine and then met his intense gaze.
“I’m not butthurt, Jordan. But it’s true.
I remember when you two made bows and arrows and ‘went hunting’ when I stayed behind. ”
“I remember that,” Jordan said. “You told everyone that morning you’d be reading until lunch.”
I didn’t want to discuss what I was actually doing.
Not with Jordan or anyone. I was a sixteen-year-old virgin with two attractive boys sharing a bed in the room next to mine.
Despite a spare bedroom, Jordan and Beckett had slept in the same bed for years when Beckett was here.
Even though Beckett had been completely straight at the time and Jordan totally was, that didn’t slow my imagination one bit.
I’d spent so many hours fantasizing and pleasuring myself that I remembered doing little else that summer.
I had been hurting more than ever, jealous that Beckett got to sleep next to Jordan as much as I was excited at the idea of what they might be doing in that bed.
“I thought you wanted to be left alone,” Jordan said with a shrug.
To a degree, I had wanted just that. I had hated Jordan’s easy friendship with Beckett.
I had been so jealous of the way they cracked stupid jokes with one another.
Even if they had invited me, I would have suspected a trap.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I wanted to be included. And at the same time, I really didn’t want it. ”
“I’m sorry, Asher,” Jordan said carefully in a controlled, kind tone. “I didn’t know that.”
How would he know? He hadn’t paid much attention to me beyond having to greet me in passing. Then again, I couldn’t keep blaming him for that. “We’re cool. It’s been years, right? And we’re starting over.”
He lifted his glass and got up. “You know, Beckett and I always thought you wanted to get as far away from us as you possibly could.”
“And I did,” I said. “But only because I thought you didn’t want me around. So I made it my choice.”
Jordan’s frown deepened. He gestured to the living room with his head and I got up to follow. We moved to the comfort of the spacious sofa while Jordan spoke. “I had no idea, Asher. I always thought you weren’t interested in hanging out with me and my friends.”
“Why?” I asked. I threw my arm over the back of the sofa, folded my leg under my butt, and turned to face my stepbrother.
Jordan rolled his shoulders as he shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, but I don’t remember you being thrilled when I moved in.”
I didn’t know what to say. Was he even wrong?
By the time Jordan and his dad moved in with us, I was crazy about this guy.
His was the only name on my lips. I couldn’t get him out of my mind.
Welcoming him with open arms would have been as bad as admitting I wanted him.
And to deny my disappointment when he moved in would be impossible without revealing what my true fears had been.
“I didn’t hate you,” I said at last. “I didn’t. ”
“I didn’t hate you either,” he said. “It’s just…ah, can you blame us? We were barely more than children. Neither of us wanted the changes that happened.”
I watched him as he poured more wine into his glass and drank. This was the first time I heard him admit that. And it was the first time I felt safe enough to admit the same. “That’s true. I felt like Mom tricked me when she brought me down to meet you.”
“Right? I told Dad the same. He warned me ten minutes before you and Eileen walked in. It wasn’t fair.” His voice was hoarse when he spoke the last few words. “I knew you existed. I just never thought I would meet you. Or have to live with you.”
“Whoa, don’t make it sound like a life sentence,” I teased.
“Besides, you had it good. Mom didn’t even tell me about you or George.
Not until we entered and I realized he was who she had been seeing all those months.
” I couldn’t say more than that. I couldn’t tell him that my heart had banged against my ribcage and that he had given me the most embarrassing public hard-on that had made me sit still and drag out drinking my milkshake long after everyone was done.
“I don’t know, Asher. We had to sell the house,” he said.
“Not this one,” I pointed out.
Jordan laughed. “That’s true. It’s the only one that matters.”
We shared a moment of silence. For once, it wasn’t uncomfortable. “You love this place so much.”
He tilted the glass and had a long sip of wine.
He nodded before swallowing. I wanted to lick the taste of wine off his tongue if only I could.
And to conceal what that thought did to my face, I did the same thing he did.
I drank more. “I do love it,” Jordan said.
“And not just because Dad let me help build it. I love how remote it is. It’s our slice of heaven. ”