My life was finally back to normal.
Princeton
Marc
Ash: A little bit…
I looked at my phone and grimaced. She was right. It had taken a solid two weeks to understand why I’d been in a bad mood since returning to school. My roommate had mentioned it. The girl I was fucking said she liked the way I anger-fucked her. Which was messed up, but I realized it was true. Coming back to school, I’d wanted to pound someone hard.
The fact that she was blond with curly hair was a bonus, especially when I was drilling into her hard from behind. She didn’t mind how I treated her, but I did. I enjoyed women; I didn’t use them.
Sometimes you did. Sometimes you used them to fuck Ash out of your system.
I threw my phone at my bed to both express anger and ensure I didn’t break the damn thing. I wasn’t stupid enough to blow money like that.
Fuck. She’d gotten under my skin. By week three I’d acknowledged I was missing her…support? Her cheerleader bullshit? Did I need that? Someone to tell me they were proud of me, they were impressed by me, they loved me.
By week four I was pissed at her for making me miss her. Pissed at her for being so freaking honest all the damn time. Pissed at her because when I got hard in the middle of the night, it was to the image of her in that black bikini.
Knowing I couldn’t break and text her first. Not knowing how long she could hold out.
Longer than I could. The minute the douchebag Jeff asked me if it was okay to ask Ash to Homecoming, I had what I needed. An excuse. I must have scared the fuck out of Chris, if I’d been gone for two years and still the threat of me when it came to Ash was alive at Harborview High.
I also wasn’t entirely honest with Ash about what I’d told him, either. I might have texted that I didn’t think it was a good idea. For health reasons. His health. Not that I had any assurances he would listen to me. I was two hours away at school. He and Ash were seniors. She was hot as hell, so why wouldn’t he want to go to the dance with her?
Not that her looks were the best thing about her. No, the best thing about Ash was her unflinching, unending, relentless loyalty.
What the hell was I going to do?
Nothing. For now, things would return to normal and maybe I would stop acting like a lion with a thorn in its paw. I dropped onto my bed and lifted my phone so I could reread our conversation.
She was jealous I was fucking other women. She probably thought she needed to lose her virginity to someone else, if for no other reason than to keep things equal between us.
That made me smile because I knew she wouldn’t do it. I knew she’d wait for me. For a hell of a lot longer than she’d already waited. That didn’t make her less equal. That gave me a necessary advantage.
Because I was starting to understand something else she’d been right about.
I needed her like air.
9
6 months later
Ashleigh
Me: I need you to do something for me.
Marc: No.
I growled at the phone.
Me: Have you forgotten you’ve actually been nice to me for months?
Marc: Define nice.
Me: Returning my texts, being civil when you talk to me, being happy for me when I got accepted to Princeton…nice.
Marc: Yes, but you’re forgetting I went to a buddy’s house for Thanksgiving. I worked over Christmas break, and I refused to come home for George’s birthday party, which you only threw because you wanted to guilt me into showing up.
I frowned at that. It had been months and months since I’d seen him.
Me: It was a big birthday.
Marc: He turned 58.
Me: Fine, you can make up for all of that by doing me a favor.
Marc: Please know I’m wearing my mean face right now when I ask this question, What do you need?
Marc’s version of his mean face was pretty much the face I fell in love with, so it’s not like it intimidated me.
Me: I want you to take me to the prom.
Marc: Ha! That is not going to happen.
I rolled my eyes. That was simply my opening salvo. This was going to be a long, drawn-out campaign. Prom was two months from now, so I had time.
Me: No one else will go with me. Every guy at school thinks we’re a thing so they won’t even look at me.
Marc: Hey, I have an idea. Stop telling people we’re a thing. And stop telling me to threaten any guy who looks at you wrong.
He was missing the obvious here. He lived to threaten guys who looked at me wrong. I considered telling him about Evan.
He’d come for dinner a few times since that first night. Like he’d been the first night, he was always polite. Charming actually. Always interested in my achievements and never once had he done something obviously out of bounds. There was no leering. No innuendo. No romantic interest at all, which of course, would have been weird if there had been, since he was years older than I was.
There was only my gut.
I couldn’t put Marc in a potential situation with a hedge fund manager who could have influence over Marc’s professional future, because of an instinct.
Me: You and I both know you’re going to cave.
Marc: 1000% percent I’m not. I’m a sophomore at Princeton. I’m not going to a high school dance.
Me: Fine. We’ll skip the prom, get a hotel room, and you can take my precious virginity like you’ve been thinking about for months.
No answer. I’d been pushing his buttons for months now by bringing up the subject of sex, and invariably whenever I did, he went quiet. Because it was true? I wasn’t entirely sure. Marc and I were a thing. That would never change. But sometimes I wondered if we were a romantic thing. I liked to believe it would happen someday. But I was going to be eighteen soon and we’d never even kissed.
What if we did and it was weird?
What if what I’d felt for him all this time was more brotherly love than lover love?
Nah. No one who fantasized as much as I did about Marc only felt brotherly affection for him. He was probably freaked out, but he was just going to have to get over it.
I waited for a response, but there was nothing.
3 weeks later
Ashleigh
Me: Let’s trade. You take me to prom and I’ll agree we can elope for our wedding.
Marc: Didn’t I tell you? I’m already married. Her name is Michelle. And yes, we did elope.
Me: Just so you know I’m wearing my mean face. Is there really a Michelle? Wait, don’t tell me. No, tell me. I can accept you having a love life until you’re ready for me. How else are you going to learn to get good at sex? Me, I’m just reading about it.
Marc: I’M GOOD AT SEX!
Me: Good to know.
Marc: There isn’t a Michelle. But I wouldn’t tell you if there was. It would upset you and I’m actually trying not to do that these days.
Me: Then you’ll take me to the prom???
Marc: No! Final word.
2 weeks later
Ashleigh
Me: If you don’t take me, I won’t go.
Marc: Don’t care.
Me: But this was the dress I was going to wear. Sending pic now.