Of course, that’s how he knows. I’ve worn this thing so long; it’s a part of me now. I don’t even realize it’s there myself half the time. That’s what happens when you sleep and bathe with it on. I play with the silver band, twirling it around my finger and getting lost in my thoughts. Thinking back to the time I lost it. Jerry wasn’t happy, and I wore the bruises to prove that for a week. I never took it off again, not even to shower or lotion my hands.
“Yeah, well. You aren’t my husband,” I say and look straight ahead to avoid his gaze.
He’s staring at me again, almost as if he’s attempting to read me. Like he has questions and probably even the answers to them himself.
“If I were, you wouldn’t be alone at some stuck-up ass faculty party. Now, try again with that drink choice.”
I squint, trying to wrap my mind around his words. “Why?”
“Because my woman will be wherever I am,” he says casually.
“No. That’s not what I meant,” I breathe out.
“Right.” He nods. “The wine. You’re loosening up, remember. You’re going to need something a lot stronger than Cabernet.”
I'm quiet for a beat, then turn toward the bar with my elbows resting on the hard surface. Ashton moves closer to me, his forearm brushing up against mine. I laugh and let out a huff, pressing my lips together, contemplating if I want to go along with this. I'm already throwing caution to the wind by being here. What's one strong drink? It's not like I don't fucking need it.
“Fine. You pick,” I dare him.
He smiles and cocks his head to the side. “One more thing,” he adds.
I’m nervous to know what he has to say, but I motion for him to keep going.
“Trust me. For the rest of the night.”
“I-” I start to protest, but he holds up a finger.
“Hear me out.”
I sigh.
“You’ve clearly got shit going on, or you wouldn’t be here. And look, I don’t give a shit that you're married or about your husband. But tonight, you’re with me. Which means, whatever you’ve been holding onto that has you so wound up, let it go. Do whatever I say from this point on. Then tomorrow, you can go back to your miserable life.”
It takes me a moment to gather my words. “Yeah, that’s not happening.” I prepare to step away and dig through my wristlet for my phone to call an Uber.
He grabs my wrist. “Ivy.” We stare at each other. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t want to do something crazy, and I’ll take you back to that party myself.”
I’m quiet for several minutes while he hovers over me, waiting for an answer. The response should be no. It's what I’ve drummed up in my head, but when I open my mouth, it’s not what comes out.
“I’m not fucking you.”
“I told you...I won’t try unless you ask me to.”
“I’m not going to.”
He nods, but I can tell by the cock of his brow that he doesn’t believe me. “Okay.” He waits to see if I’ll say anything else and when I don’t, he waves down the bartender again. “Marla.”
"What can I get you, Baby?" she greets.
A pinch of jealousy washes over me, and I know I shouldn’t care what she calls him, but I do. Then I remember it’s the name he goes by, and suddenly I’m more relaxed with their interaction. It shouldn’t matter to me one way or the other, but it does. Already in the short time I’ve known him, he’s paid more attention to me than the man I married.
Maybe that’s it.
Maybe it’s the attention he’s given me that has me going against everything I stand for. Unhappy or not, I am off-limits to anyone who isn’t Jerry. I know that, and so does he, but something tells me he isn’t lying when he says he doesn’t care.
"Two glasses of Fuerte on the rocks. Make them a double.”
The girl nods and gets to work on our order.
"What's Fuerte?" I question.
"My brother's Whiskey line."
Marla sits the glasses in front of us, and we reach for them. We bring our drinks to our lips simultaneously, but he waits for me to try it first. It's rich and smooth, something Jerry would like.
“It’s good,” I say after my second sip. “I’m not a whiskey girl, but this one is nice.”
Satisfied with my reaction, Ashton gives me a subtle grin, then finally takes a large gulp for himself. I watch his throat bob as the liquid makes its way down, my eyes moving to the tips of his tattoo. Mentally, I trace the pattern, secretly wanting to know what the complete design looks like. Then I glance back up at his face. Considering how edgy and confident he is, it’s probably something bold and borderline obnoxious, like his face or name.
Ashton is staring at me when I focus again, obviously enjoying how intrigued I am with him. Aside from the facial hair, he’s got a babyface, no frown lines, dark spots—not even a pimple. And suddenly, I’m reminded how young he has to be.
"Can you even drink legally?" I tease.
"Ouch." He sucks in a breath and grins.
I shrug. "Hey, you deserve it after that Mary Jane line."
He nods and brings his glass to his mouth but doesn't drink. "I'm old enough,'' he says.
I press my lips at him, silently indicating that I don't believe him.
"I'm nineteen."
"And nope," I let out and set my drink down. "I do not need to be here."
"Never judge a book by its cover. Besides, you've already broken the rules when you hit my joint."
He's not wrong.
"Well, you're certainly not drinking while riding me around on the back of that bike." I take the glass from him, and he doesn't protest.
"Then it'll go to waste."
With my shoulders back, I pour the rest of his drink into my tumbler. “Problem solved,” I say with a tilt of my head in his direction.
Ashton smirks and props his elbow back up on the hard surface.
"So, the Yamaha.” I switch the conversation while holding up a hand to count off every point I want to make. “We walked right up to the front of the line, which makes sense now that I know your brother owns the place. You all own a distillery. And you’re a ladies' man. What are you guys? Town royalty or something?” I say to make small talk, anything to change the subject from me to him.
“Or something." He pauses for a beat. “The bike is mine, but the club and the whiskey are my brother’s.”
“But you benefit from it.”
“Of course. Just like I benefit from my other brother’s jewelry store and—”
“How many brothers do you have?” I cut in. I don’t know why, but I find myself curious about him, and I guess that includes his siblings.
“Six and one sister.”
“Wow,” I look up at him with wide eyes.
“Yeah, my pops wanted a big family. We’re all adopted.”
“And let me guess...you’re the baby.”
He nods.
“Makes sense.”
He stares at me, a smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”