“Do you come out here a lot?”
He shakes his head and flicks the ashes from the joint. “Not as much. It’s probably been a while.”
“So why tonight?” I ask while looking down at my hands.
From my peripherals, I notice him staring at me. “Thought maybe it’ll help you too.”
I don’t respond right away because I’m not sure what to say. It’s always good to have a moment of solitude to let go of whatever demons are wreaking havoc in your life.
“Thanks.” I fiddle with the hem of my dress.
“What course do you teach?” he asks between the drags of his joint then hands it to me.
I accept it, holding it between my fingers. “Criminology.” My lungs burn this time as I pull way too hard.
Ashton pats my back, only stopping when the coughing subsides. “Wow. Really?”
Passing him the joint, I nod then wipe my hands on my dress. “Yes, my specialty is serial killers.”
He chokes around a laugh. “No shit,” he finally adds. “So what, you get excited about mass murders and shit?”
I can’t help but chuckle at how serious he is. “I studied Psychology in undergrad and got my masters in Criminology. Before I started teaching, I worked as a Psychological Profiler.”
“Damn,” he lets out, his brows raised. “That’s pretty fucking amazing,” he admits, then takes another pull of weed.
“Hmph,” I sound out. “Yeah, I guess it is,” I grumble. If it were amazing, my training would have helped me figure out who my husband truly was.
“But that’s a lot of schooling. You’d have to be one of those child geniuses or something because you don’t look old enough to have done all that.”
I laugh, grateful he pulls me from my thoughts. “How old do you think I am?”
“Late twenties at most,” he says confidently.
I drop my head and take a deep breath. “Ashton, I’ll be thirty-six in February.”
“Fuck,” he exaggerates. “You look good as shit, momma.”
“And now you’ve made it weird,” I add sarcastically.
He smirks. “Naw. I meant it as a compliment. It’s obvious you’re fine as fuck, but man—” he cuts off mid-sentence and rubs his hand over his head, a crooked grin hanging from his lips.
“What?”
He looks at me for a moment, then shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“No, tell me.” I slap his thigh with the back of my hand.
“The career path—you, it’s sexy.”
I gulp down an inhale and point my gaze back out at the ocean. “Thanks.”
“Yeah,” he mutters. “I’ve never seen you on campus before.”
Leaning back on my palms, I crane my neck in his direction. “You wouldn’t have. I don’t officially start until the spring semester.”
“Then what were you doing there tonight?”
“The Dean insisted. But the better question is, why were you there? You totally crashed that party, didn’t you?”
He smiles and gives me a jerkish nod.
“I knew it.”
“I needed to get something done, and it’s better to work at night—fewer distractions. Then I saw the memo about the faculty party and knew they’d have food.”
I shake my head, and my shoulders rattle with laughter.
“Listen, I had the munchies, and that chicken was good as hell.”
I smirk. “I wouldn’t know. We left before I could try any of it.”
“Where are you from, Ivy?” He leans back on his hands, mimicking my positions, his fingers brushing against mine.
The contact, though minuscule, charges through me, throwing me for a loop. At the same time, we peer down at our connection. I take in the contrast of his ivory, inked-covered skin next to my light-brown complexion. Realizing that I hadn’t noticed the tattoos on the backside of his hand, I begin to trace the design with my index.
Ashton stares at me through his lashes, not bothering to stop me. It’s almost as if I zone out. The only thing on my mind is his art.
“Did it hurt?” I say after a long pause but never take my eyes away.
He shakes his head. “Maybe for some. But I like pain.”
I peel my eyes up to his with that statement, something about the tone of his voice that distracts me. His gaze is dark, the whites around his eyes red from the weed. I can only imagine mine are the same way.
The effects of the weed take over. My vision goes blurry, and the world around me seemingly enhances. The slight breeze from the ocean feels more like a heavy wind. The seagulls and the couple we saw earlier sound loud and clear despite their distance. I can even smell freshly baked bread.
“Is there a bakery here or something?” I crane to look over the wall, nearly losing my balance and falling over.
Ashton catches me. “Whoa. Careful, momma, I don’t need you cracking your shit open tonight.”
I burst into laughter, finding it hard to contain it. Ashton squints at me, his face twisted in amusement.
“You definitely don’t smoke.” He snickers.
“How can you tell?” I crack up again.
He’s up on his feet, jumping over me, sending sand flying through the air when he lands.
“Wait, where are we going?” I throw my legs over the side, attempting to join him.
He stops me with his hands on my thighs. The feel of his hot palms on my skin alerting me that my dress has somehow hiked up without me noticing it. I swallow a breath, but touching me doesn’t affect him.
“You are going to stay put, and I’m going to get you some water.”
I sigh and lean back on my palms again. “Water would be good,” I slur.
“Yeah, it would.” He finally takes his hands from my legs. “Ivy, don’t move. I don’t want you getting hurt while I’m gone.”
“Okay. I’ll stay right here. Hurry back.” I point at him.
Ashton leaves, staring over his shoulder at me every so often, then disappears on the other side of the wall. I lay back on the rocks, counting the stars to pass the time until he returns. Intoxicated and left alone with my thoughts, my mind wanders, and before I can even make sense of anything, tears are pouring down my face. Every emotion I’ve tried to bury over the years comes flooding to the surface.
I’ve lost myself, and the raw fact that I no longer know who I am hits hard. The same four words play on repeat in mind until all that’s left to do is recite them aloud.
“What am I doing?”
Chapter 4
Ivy
My eyes are still closed when he returns. If not for the sound of his voice against the waves crashing, I wouldn’t have known he was here.
“Did you fall asleep?” I hear him say.
Luckily my tears have long since dried up, but I wipe my face anyway. It’s more of a reflex, really, something I’ve adapted into my life without truly knowing when the habit started.
I grunt when I sit up, my legs still dangling off the rocks. “Um. No, I’m not.” My words come out strained, so I clear my throat before trying again. “You were gone for a while.”