Everything You Need (17 page)

“Let me walk you home.”

“No.” With three steps she was by the coat tree. She took her coat and slipped it on.

“I’m going to whether you want it or not.”

When she looked at him; he already had his jacket on, and the look he wore on his face was determined. “Fine, then.” She hadn’t wanted him to know where she lived, but the street name and number on her building were visible in the photo, so he must already know her address.

Their walk passed in silence, with her peeking at him as he strode beside her, his hands in his pockets and his forehead wrinkled, as if he was deep in thought. They stopped in front of her apartment building.

He observed the five-story high building. “So here is where you two live, huh?”

“Yes.”

“I assume you aren’t going to invite me up?”

“No.”

He nodded and pushed his hands deeper into his pockets. She thought he would turn and walk away, but he stood there, staring at her.

What now? “Yes?”

“When are you coming next?”

“Tuesday.”

“That’s too far away. Come tomorrow.”

“Sunday.”

“Saturday.”

“Sunday.”

“All right, then, I guess I can make do with Sunday.”

“Okay.” She lifted her hand in goodbye, turned and took a step toward the entrance.

“Kris.”

She glanced at him.

“I don’t know if that picture was a one-time thing, or if Mary is going to follow you again. This is not like Mary at all, so I don’t think so, but if you do notice her hanging around, you have to call me right away. Promise me.”

“I promise,” she said and then almost ran into the building. Because of what he had said, later, when she was out with Camden, Rose and Callie, she was more conscious of her surroundings all evening, half-expecting for Mary to jump on her. She did think she caught a glance of somebody that looked like Mary, but since it happened in a crowded club where people’s faces were distorted and shadowed by weak lights, she thought she must have imagined it.

Chapter 18

Ashton searched for his black jacket amongst the jackets and coats hanging on the wall.

“You’re not leaving already?” a woman’s voice asked him.

He plastered a pleasant smile on his face and turned toward his hostess, Lydia or something. “I’m afraid so.” He took the old woman’s hand in his and lifted it as if he were about to kiss it. “You were so gracious to invite me here, and to show me your love for my work, and how much you appreciate it. I’m grateful. But I have been working all day, I’m tired, and because of that I’m not good company.”

“You were wonderful company, so gallant.”

He released her hand. “You are too kind. I hope you will forgive my leaving so early and pass along to Ann that I had to go.”

“Of course,” she said. “I do hope that you’ll join us again in the future.”

“’I would be honoured.” He gave her another charming smile and exchanged a few more pleasantries before he said goodbye, grabbed his jacket and left the large crowded loft. He didn’t feel like going to his apartment -- empty now that his parents had returned home -- so he directed his step toward the studio, which was fifteen minutes away. The narrow street was part of the old town and, even though the muted voices of people and hushed sounds of music drifted from a street nearby, it was peaceful here, with only a few people around. The air was cold and fresh and he inhaled it deeply, then released it as a puff of fog.

He came to the intersection and glanced to his left, at the entrance of the street that was known for the bars that lined it. He didn’t feel like going home right now, where he would only end up lying on his bed thinking of
her
. He pressed his lips together, resisting the frustration that rose up. She was so stubborn and so unreasonable. He only wanted to show her what he had to offer, and to prove to her that he was better for her than that tenant of hers, who would be leaving in a month anyway. Why was it so hard to give him a chance?

A group of young people passed him and one of the girls eyed him as she went by, flashing a seductive smile at him.

In the past, he would have smiled back and maybe even winked; now, he ignored her. He took a phone from the inner pocket of his jacket and dialled Kalen’s number.

“Hello.”

“Where are you?” Ashton asked.

“At the office.”

“In the gallery?”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing there?”

“Working, what else?”

“It’s Friday evening, what are you doing working? Why aren’t you getting cosy with Rose?”

“She’s out, partying with her friends.”

“Don’t tell me you’re waiting for her to call for a ride home.”

“Something like that.”

“You are such a doormat.”

“You mean, a considerate fiancé,” Kalen corrected him. “I love indulging Rose and she heavily compensates me for all my efforts. It’s a perfect arrangement.”

Joy and contentment oozed from Kalen’s voice and even though Ashton was happy for his friend, he felt a pang of envy. He wished that he could have something similar with Kris, that he could do things for Kris and feel smug when friends made fun of his generosity. “You lucky bastard.”

Kalen chuckled.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were alone on Friday night?”

“I’m not in the mood for clubbing.”

“We could go out, just have a beer and talk.”

“You need to talk?”

“Yes.”

“The Yellow?”

“The Yellow,” Ashton confirmed.

“See you there in fifteen.”

“Great. See you there.” Ashton cut the connection and turned left into the alley, a shortcut to The Yellow. He came to the street crowded with people -- mostly tourists, he supposed -- and caught sight of something familiar from the corner of his eye. He looked more carefully and at first he thought it was just his imagination, but no, it was really Kris.

She stood by a window display, with her hands stuffed into the pockets of her coat, observing the people pouring by.

His mouth curved up of its own accord and his step became a little lighter as he hurried toward her. What a lucky coincidence.

A blond appeared behind Kris and hooked his arm with hers; leaning closer, he spoke in her ear. She turned and he was close enough to see her smile reflecting in the window glass.

Ashton’s hand fisted and a dark scowl marred his brow. Another rival? How many admirers did the girl have?

The blond shifted his head.

Ashton froze. The blond -- he looked like Kalen’s brother, Camden. But that was impossible, wasn’t it?

A red-haired girl joined the pair and hung her arm around Kris’s shoulder.

“Rose?” The name of Kalen’s girlfriend escaped Ashton’s lips. Not only did Kris know Camden, she hung out with Rose, too. With his eyes narrowing into slits, he stalked toward the trio.

Camden was saying something to the girls, waving toward something to Ashton’s right, when his hand stopped in mid-air for a short second.

A group of five came from the bar on Ashton’s left and blocked not only his way, but also his view of the three. He silently swore at them and made a detour, but when he fixed his gaze on the spot where Kris, Rose and Camden had been, only Camden was still there. He reached him.

“Hey,” Camden greeted him.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me.” Ashton crossed his arms.
Where are the girls?

Camden arched his eyebrows. “Is somebody cranky?”

“Where is she? Is she related to you?” She must be his cousin, or something. Wait a minute! He had told Kalen about Kris; her name and what she looked like, why hadn’t Kalen told him that he knew her?

“Not yet, but if Ann has anything to do with it, she’ll soon become Kalen’s wife.”

Ashton moved forward; despite the small difference in height between them, he tried to loom over the younger man. “I’m not talking about Rose, and you know it.”

Camden sighed, his gaze darting left and right as if he was looking for an escape route. “This is about Kris, right?”

“What is she to you?”

“She’s a friend.”

“Not a relative?”

“No.” Camden crossed his arms.

“What kind of a friend?”

Camden’s chin jutted out. “The kind that I wouldn’t want to have associate with you.”

Ashton studied Camden’s face for a short moment. The blond didn’t like him, it was obvious from the thinly veiled contempt that shimmered under his pleasant and polite exterior whenever the boy found himself in Ashton’s company. It was a shame; they had gotten along so well when Camden was a teenager. “What did she say to you?”

“Nothing. But I know you, I know how you are with girls. She deserves better.”

Yes, she did, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Camden. He squared his shoulders and put on the menacing expression he reserved for special occasions. “You’d better not get in my way.”

“Or what?” Camden bared his teeth, his gaze sliding up and down Ashton’s body. “What are you going to do, hit me?”

The corners of Ashton’s mouth lifted in a condescending smile. “I only take on men my own size.”

Camden eyes narrowed. “How much do you think Kris’s going to like you after she learns who you really are?”

In his not so distant past, he had slept around, but he had never given any of the girls empty promises or offered them anything beyond sex. “I never lied to her about who I am.” He leaned closer to Camden, a leering smile on his face. “Yet, I managed to fuck her anyway.”

“You really are a piece of junk,” Camden spat out, wheeling around and stomping away.

Ashton cursed and rubbed his neck. He was well aware of why the boy hated him. Because a girl he liked had decided that she would rather have a one-night stand with Ashton than date Camden. Unfortunately, Ashton had only learned about that the night after he was introduced to the girl, when he woke up in bed with her.

He should have been nicer to Camden, try to soften his prejudices, rather than allowing his anger to get the better of him. Being kind wouldn’t turn Camden into an ally, but at least he wouldn’t have made him angry, since as a Kris’s friend, his words could have more weight that Ashton’s. Right now, he was probably already working on widening the divide between him and Kris, as if it wasn’t large enough already. Ashton’s teeth dug into his lower lip and the urge to punch something suffocated him.

His phone rang.

He took out the phone and glanced at the display. It was Kalen. “What?”

“Where are you?” Kalen asked him.

Ashton’s jaw clenched. If Camden and Rose knew Kris, there was a high possibility Kalen knew her too. “You know Kris and you never told me.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me.”

Kalen sighed. “I haven’t told you because it wouldn’t make any difference.”

Ashton’s fingers tightened his grip on the phone. “No difference?”

“Would you have stopped trying to date her if I had asked you?”

“No.”

“I thought not.”

“You should help me, not be against me.”

“Ash, it’s not that I’m against you, but Kris is different to all the girls you have been messing with, she’s not a casual-relationship kind of girl.”

“Oh yeah, then why is she not only banging me, but her tenant too?” Ashton said, then hung up. Everybody was against him, even his best friend -- the person who should have supported him the most in his quest to find happiness. He glared at the phone. He really needed to punch something. A wall would be a good option, but punching such a hard surface wasn’t good for his hands. He flexed his right hand, feeling tightness over his knuckles.

A pair of girls passed him; with pleasant smiles on their faces they cast glances at him, one of them even stopped and took a step toward him.

Turning his back to them, he took a big breath and dialled a number. It connected and a moment later a male voice answered it. “Hey, Bobby. Ash here. You said you had something going on this weekend.”

#

I can’t have her
. The flesh under Ashton’s fist gave and the skin ripped open, staining the already soiled bandage wrapped around his hand and splashing his face with droplets of blood. The crowd around him cheered and he heard voices demanding new bets. He shifted backwards, dancing on the balls of his feet. He wiped his brow with the back of his wrist, where the drops of blood mixed with sweat and oozed down into his eyes.
She doesn’t want me
.

A fist flew toward his head.

He shifted aside, his hands raised defensively in front of his face, his knuckles facing outwards, his body oscillating like a cobra.
She prefers that thin blond.

The bulky man swung his fist again, this time aiming for Ashton’s stomach.

Ashton evaded the blow and threw an uppercut.
The blond she fucks
. His knuckles hit the man’s chin.

The crowd cheered.

The man swayed as he struggled to lift his hands before his face, his shoulders hunched.

The blond she’s still fucking
. Ashton threw a straight punch into man’s stomach.

The man’s hands flew downward, but they were too late, Ashton’s knuckles dug into the hard flesh. The man doubled over. Another blow to the man’s head and the man was down, wheezing.

Ashton danced around him, waiting for him to either give up or pick himself up.

He gave up.

Disappointed shouts came from the people surrounding the make-shift ring, demanding a knockout.

Bobby, who played referee, stepped between them, and announced the winner and the next contenders.

Now that the fight was over, Ashton’s legs wobbled slightly as he walked toward his corner. He picked up a towel and a bottle of water from the stool before he moved away. His eyes stopped on the man with a stethoscope around his neck and a small flashlight, who was examining his opponent. A few minutes later he skimmed through Ashton’s injuries and, as soon as he gave Bobby a positive report on his condition, Ashton positioned himself behind the stool. With a towel around his neck, hoodie over his damp hair and bottle of water in his hand, he waited for another turn to fight.

He loved this, loved the feel of flesh breaking under his blows, the feel of pain when the opponent managed to hit him, and the adrenalin that pumped through his veins. The fighting allowed him to vent his anger and to push out the frustration that was choking him like a well-placed noose. It was temporary, the respite, but well worth all the pain and bruises.