Page 7 of Ash
“You’re not accepting it, so why lie?”
She stops typing and turns her gaze back to me. “Ash, I have nothing, and I do meannothing,to say to you. I don’t give a rat’s ass if you apologize. I ain’t got time for your apologies, alright? I don’t have time to fix your overly fragile male ego. I already told you the endless list of shit I have to do today, all while trying to get this screaming in my knee to calm down. So, excuse me if I don’t bend over backwards to make sure you feel truly forgiven for being a complete dick to me last night and every other time you’ve seen me since the night you ran out on me.”
We are silent for a second as Sunday inhales a deep breath. “Feel better?” I ask while smirking as she gives me the finger. “If you need help,” I start, but stop as I see the darkness on her face.
“I will sooner hand out ten-dollar blow jobs on the corner than ask you for a damn thing.” She sneers before getting up. She walks past me, purposely bumping my shoulder while walking back down the hall.
“I wasn’t trying to insult you,” I say while following her into her dance room. She scoffs as she walks over to the closest, pulling out a large tote.
“Really? Which time? When you tried to hand out charity? Or the times you’ve pretended that you had no idea who I was, making me look like an idiot?” I open my mouth to speak, but apparently, Sunday is not finished. “Or! Or? Could it be that time that you flirted with me while I got tattooed, conned me into going out with you and having sex with you, just to have you run out thirty seconds in, but not before dropping sixty dollars on my nightstand like I was some kind of hooker?” She checks off each one of my transgressions with her slender fingers, as if counting them off.
“O-Okay.” Holding my hands out cautiously, I take a step towards the angry woman. “The money was your tip–”
“Get the fuck out–” I catch her wrist as she tries to slap my face. It’s the first time we’ve touched since that night and fuck,thatfeeling is still here. That electric bolt I felt from the moment I shook her hand when we met. It’s what drew me in, what made me flirt with her and ask her out, despite the anxiety and fear of rejection I had screaming at me.
“It was the tip,” I repeat calmly, but firmly while still holding her soft wrist. She is so cute. Her freckle kissed nose is scrunched up, as she squints at me in rage. “That you had given me for the tattoo the night before. I felt weird keeping it.” She rips her wrist free and instantly I miss the warmth. I watch as her nose relaxes, but her eyes stay tight.
“I’m really pissed off about that being a good excuse,” she mutters in defeat while I breathe out a laugh. I watch as she bends over to grab something on the floor in the closet.
“Jesus,” I whisper as her round ass has its main character moment in her dark grey leggings. And I mean, fuck, her ass is top tier–round, and firm with a nice handf–
“Did you need something else, charming?” She stares at me, eyebrow arched, and I know she just caught me staring at her perfect ass.
I blush slightly and look anywhere but at her. “Can I do something to help you?”
She lets out an annoyed breath followed by a sarcastic laugh. “You haven’t spoken to me but a handful of times in years, and you pretended to have amnesia during those encounters. So, I’d say I’m fine. You’ve done enough. Have a good day.” She grabs her tote and walks past me, back towards her office.
I stop myself from asking her again. It’s obvious she is ready for me to leave, so I decide to give in and do as she asks. As I walk past the counter, I stop and grab a pen and a piece of paper. Quickly, I jot down a note to her before taking my leave.
Chapter3
Sunday
Sunshine -
One day, I hope to earn the right to talk to you about what happened that night. Just know it wasn’t you. Not ever. I know you won’t take my help, but I am here if you need anything, even just a person to talk to. My number is below, in case you deleted it last time.
-Charming
P.S. Yes, I’m still going to call you Sunshine. Don’t like it? Guess you’ll have to tell me to stop.
P.S.S. I like Charming.
Ifeel myself biting my bottom lip to stop my smile before rolling my eyes and groaning in disgust towards myself. What is wrong with me? I mean, I know what’swrongwith me. I haven’t gotten laid in months and, if I’m honest with myself, I am still stuck on that stupid date. But I need to stop. Ash ran out and then spent the last couple of years acting like he didn’t remember me. Like he didn’t even know me. Just because he left me this note last week doesn’t mean I should be changing my views of him.
He’s so cute though…
I mentally whine as I sit in the passenger seat of the moving truck. I swear, if the mover looks me over one more time, I am going to beat his ass. And there it is: his beady eyes land on my exposed thighs and I see the slightest hint of the tip of his tongue.
“If you find any enjoyment in having that tongue attached to you,” I say casually, while staring at my phone. “It might be in your best interest to keep it in your mouth and keep your eyes on the road.” I see the man shift uncomfortably, but he chooses to heed my warning.
The ‘damsel in distress’ act has never been my thing. Maybe had I grown up differently, in a home with loving, more attentive parents, I would’ve felt able to allow myself to feel…vulnerable.
Ugh.Even the word makes me ill. The very idea of it sending a chill up my spine. Why would a person want to feel weak? Want to rely on another person? The thought of giving up power or control, yeah, never again. I made that mistake once. The last time I opened myself up to that, I was thirteen. Thirteen fucking years old and the then, twenty-seven-year-old blonde-haired deputy sheriff, took advantage of me. More than advantage… and when I tried to confide in the two people, I thought would protect me, they blamed me, told me that if I didn’t keep my mouth shut, I would ruin a ‘good man’s career’. I left home shortly after Wade’s first birthday to train with the New York City ballet and never looked back. He and I haven’t been back to Alabama since. Now, though, it is the only place we will have to go after I sell the studio.
When the mover parks the truck, I waste no time hopping out and looking at the overly modern building. Five floors of beige tones and sharp corners with glass balconies. All of which I find completely impractical. I hate the apartments, but it’s one of the few places I found in my budget in Wade’s school district that would give me a chance–despite my credit.
I walk inside and meet Ronny, the younger-than-me property manager. She’s cute with her purple tipped black hair and olive skin. A little more extroverted than I prefer, but it’s not like I will see her often. I take my key cards and head to the elevator to beat the moving crew to the apartment on the third floor.
