“That’s not true,” Emma says. “One of them is looking at us right now.”
“It’s Asher Davis,” one of the other girls—I’m not sure who—squeals.
Dread socks me in the stomach, and as discreetly as possible, I glance over my shoulder to find Ash standing a few feet away from us, surrounded by his friends who are all talking animatedly. His gaze is zeroed in on me.
I turn away, hoping he didn’t notice me looking at him.
“Why doesn’t Ben play football?” Emma asks me.
I return my attention to her, pushing Ash out of my mind. “He used to, but he kind of hated it, so he quit after sophomore year. Says he prefers playing basketball.”
“I bet you’re excited to cheer for him.” Emma grins and starts doing this weird little dance like the goof she is.
We’re a two-season sport, as in we cheer for both football and basketball. Sometimes we even cheer for the girls’ volleyball team. By the time February rolls around, we are all so over cheer, it’s not even funny.
“Yeah, it’s fun cheering for basketball,” I tell her absently. I can still feel Ash’s gaze on me, and I want to turn around so I can glare at him, maybe even yell at him, but of course, I don’t.
No way do I need to cause a scene.
My father approaches the wooden podium that’s at the head of the room, and the boys immediately go quiet. The respect they have for him is pretty awesome. It makes me proud to see him command the room, and how they all look at him with reverence.
He makes a few announcements, then thanks the cheer team for joining them for dinner tonight. “…and since we’re all about doing the polite thing, we’d like the ladies to go grab their dinner first,” he says, looking right at me with a big smile on his face.
I smile in return, unable to stop myself. I may hate the fact that I’m in the same room with Ash Davis, but I love my daddy, and he loves me. So I’ll bask in that for a few minutes.
We all line up at the buffet, which is being served by some of the parents. A local Mexican restaurant sponsored the dinner, so we have enchiladas and beans and rice to eat, as well as a small make-your-own taco bar. I wish I were hungrier, because it smells delicious, and I pile the food on anyway, hoping my appetite returns.
As I make my way back to my table, I spot Ash sitting two tables away from mine. He’s watching me, as usual, his intense dark gaze trailing my every move, his expression serious, and I look away, hating how agitated he makes me feel.
What’s weird is that Ben never makes me feel this way. Edgy and nervous and full of restless energy. Spending time with Ben is like hanging out with a good friend who I can also kiss for like twenty minutes. It’s easy. Fun.
There is nothing easy or fun about Ash.
The more I listen to the girls at the table talk and gossip as we eat dinner, the better I feel. Their energy is endless, and I get swept up in their giggles and gossiping until I’m giggling and gossiping too. I’ve noticed something clicks in your brain at the end of sophomore year, when you realize you need to get serious and focus on your grades and your future. In the last few months, I sort of forgot what it felt like, to be silly and laugh and joke and gossip about boys.
The conversation helps me forget that Ash is even in the same room with us. To the point that when I make my way over to the dessert table all by myself, I find Ash standing next to me not even a minute after I got there.
“Glad you came tonight,” he murmurs, standing way too close to me. “I’ve missed you, friend.”
I grab a small paper plate and set a cupcake on it. Then I take a chocolate chip cookie. I keep thinking my period is going to happen and it doesn’t. I’m in full-on PMS mode. “You haven’t missed me.”
“I totally have. I even dreamed about you last night.” He shifts even closer and bends his head, his mouth right at my ear. “You didn’t kick me out of your house. In my dream, you took me to your bedroom and let me fuck you all night long.”
I really hate his sweet and gross ways.
Oh, I dreamed about you!
Sweet.
I dreamed I was fucking you.
Gross.
He is such a contradiction. I never know what I’m going to get.
“If you’re trying to be romantic, it’s not working.” I grab another cookie. No way am I going to eat all of this.
“I’m not going for romance. We’re friends, right? I’m just keeping it real.” He moves away from me, grinning. “In my dream, you kept saying my name.”
“And I’m sure in your dream, you kept calling me Callahan,” I return dryly.
“How’d you know?” He reaches out, giving me a gentle sock on the upper arm with his fist, and the seemingly innocent touch is like a caress to my Ash-starved soul. “I think you like it that I only call you Callahan.”
“Not really.”
“You’d rather I call you by your first name?”
I long to hear him say my name, not that I’d ever admit it. “I don’t care what you call me.”
“So I can call you fuck buddy and you’d be good with it?” His expression is one of pure innocence.
“Only if I can call you major asshole,” I say sweetly.
And with that, I turn on my heel and make my way back to my table. I hear a few guys laughing, telling Ash that I got him good, and pride suffuses me. I know I shouldn’t be happy that I insulted him so well, but I have to take my victories where I can. Most of the time, he has me so confused, I can barely speak.
A local former Division One college football player starts giving an inspirational speech once everyone has grabbed dessert, and I try my best to focus on what he’s saying, but I can feel the vibration of my phone blowing up. At first, I think it might be Ben, but when I see that now familiar number that has no name attached to it on my screen, I know exactly who it is.
My friends think you’re funny, Callahan.
And they’re not just saying that because you’re the coach’s daughter either.
They have mad respect for you.
That you stood up to me.
You’re kind of a badass.
His texts shouldn’t make me feel better, but they do.
But then I start to panic, and worry over what exactly he might’ve shared with them about what happened between us.
You haven’t told them anything, have you?
He responds quickly. Told them anything about what?
About us.
That we’re friends? Yeah, they know we’re friends.
Do they know anything else? I ask.
Like what? You talking about the night you were grinding on my dick? Yeah, they definitely DON’T know about that.
I hate him so, so much.
If you mention that to anyone, I’ll…
What would I do?
You’ll what? Send big, bad Ben after me?
Huh. I don’t know who’d win in that fight. They’re both pretty equally sized.
I would never send my boyfriend after you.
Yeah cuz he’d dump your ass if he ever found out what we did.
Glancing up from my phone, I spot Ash staring right at me. His expression is completely neutral, but I see the glimmer in his eyes. He’s enjoying this.
Far too much.
Frustrated, I whisper to my coach that I need to use the restroom and I bail out of there, unable to take it any longer. The droning voice of the speaker, the watchful eye of my father. The even more watchful eye of stupid Ash Davis. I’m tempted to leave. Send Brandy a text that I’m not feeling well and I went home. She wouldn’t be mad. She’d probably be jealous.