Unexpected

I tuck both of my lips between my teeth and fight a smirk. I hoped as much, but hearing my suspicions confirmed is nice. I swallow hard, not sure what’s crazier: Asher’s suggestion or that I’m actually considering it. If Asher is right, and Liam was jealous of us, there is a chance I can get him to see me as more than… whatever I am to him. “You think he was jealous?”

Asher laughs and puts his arm over my shoulder. He opens the door with his free hand and we step out into the hallway. Those lips, the ones I just had on mine only minutes ago, hover close to my ear. He’s putting on a show for anyone who’s looking, and people are looking.

“I know he was.”

I stare at the four text messages I’ve sent Liam, waiting for his reply bubbles to pop onto my screen. I’ve been standing at the front entrance of the school for thirty minutes with fleeting hope that we are okay. He ignores me, which I should have expected after what happened in the cafeteria, except now I’m stuck at school without a ride home.

I squeeze my phone between my fingers and glance over my shoulder at the football field. Maggie still has another hour of band practice. It wouldn’t be the end of the world to wait for her, but then I’d have to explain how Liam stood me up and she’ll sing the get under someone to get over him tune. Kissing Asher today was one thing, but sleeping with him, or anyone else for that matter, is a horse of a different color.

My ears perk at the sound of an engine. It’s too loud to be Liam’s Range Rover and no one at this school has enough money for a classic muscle car. Which means it could only be one thing: a motorcycle. And there is only one person in our school who rides one.

I take that back. Plenty of girls have ridden it. Too many, if the rumors are right. My stomach twists at the thought. Yet again, I refuse to acknowledge that the sensation is from anything other than disgust. I squashed what stupid feelings I had for Asher years ago. There is no way in hell I’m letting them come back. Especially now.

I stand up straighter as a flat black motorcycle roars into the front of the school parking lot, stopping less than a meter away from me. It's a nice bike. Sleek, with enough room for someone to ride on the back. Fire burns through me again as a faceless girl wraps her arms around Asher’s waist. I bite the insides of my cheeks, using the physical pain as a distraction. I must be mentally exhausted to be jealous of an imaginary girl.

Asher’s grey combat boots kiss the pavement as he balances the bike between his legs before killing the engine. I haven’t seen him since we left the art room. Not surprising, since we don’t have any classes together. He lifts the face shield on his helmet, revealing those amethyst eyes that capture my gaze. In this light, bright yet shadowed, they look like ice. Pale. Clear. With a hint of blue. “Need a ride?”

“Not on that death mobile.”

“Come on, Ellie. It’s not that bad. Here.” Asher takes his helmet off and holds it out to me, white with blue flames. It matches his jacket, but not the bike, which makes me wonder, Why?

It’s no secret that Asher lives on the sketchy side of the tracks. While most of the families at my school aren’t rich, they’re comfortable. Once you cross the tracks, however, things are bleak. It’s common knowledge the families over there are barely getting by, which makes Asher having a motorcycle unusual.

I would think that if he saved all of his money to buy the bike, and if he was able to scrounge up the extra cash for a matching helmet and jacket, that it would go with the bike. I’m being stupid. Asher’s attire shouldn’t bother me, but it does. Maybe Mr. Heiter bought it.

“You wear this and I promise to go five miles under the speed limit,” he adds.

I shift on my feet again, narrowing my eyes. I don’t trust Asher. He’s the kind of guy who has an ulterior motive behind everything he does. I don’t believe for one second that our fake dating is to make Liam jealous. Until I figure out what it is he wants, I’m not agreeing to anything. Not even a ride home. “You’re being oddly nice today. What do you want from me?”

The corner of Asher's lips lift and he chuckles. The sound is light and carefree, devoid of the usual malice dancing behind it. He holds his hand out, waiting for me to take the helmet. My fingers tingle. I want to take his hand in mine and hug him. I want to thank him for having my back today in his own preposterous way, but I don’t.

Asher sighs and drops his arm. His chin tilts down but I can’t read his expression. “I know I'm a dick to you more often than not, and for that I’m sorry, but I’m trying to do the right thing. Liam is a jerk and it kills me to see you so upset. So, please, let me take you home.”

I look back at the football field where Maggie is. I should wait for her, but Asher has never apologized to me. Seeing him like this, so open and almost vulnerable, melts the wall of ice keeping him out. I’m probably going to regret it, but I say, “Okay.”

“Asher Blaine Anderson!” Mom squeals the moment his motorcycle comes to a stop. She hurries down the front porch steps, then bounces on her toes, waiting for him to steady his bike. She holds out her arms once both of his feet are on the ground and tugs him into a hug. She squeezes him tight, then pulls back and gives him another glance over, her grin stretching with each passing millisecond. “My, how you’ve grown.”

“Hello, Mrs. Walker.” Asher pulls the key from his ignition, silencing the roaring metal beast between his legs.

Riding a motorcycle wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be. Asher kept his promise and stayed five miles under the speed limit at all times. I told myself that I wasn’t going to be like those other girls and hang onto him for dear life. I did well to keep my word, but once we started going faster than fifteen miles per hour I didn’t have a choice. It was either hold onto his waist or fall off. I’ll never tell him, because riding on his motorcycle will never happen again, but it was kind of fun.

“You haven’t aged a day.” He grins. “What’s your secret?”

I pull Asher’s helmet off and catch Mom blushing. She shakes her head and runs her hands down her apron, which is stained with years of cooking mishaps. Most of which were mine. I can bake a mean batch of brownies, but I’m useless when it comes to real food.

“A smooth talker, just like your—” Mom presses her lips into a tight line, cutting herself off. “Would you like to come inside? We’re having lasagna tonight, and I have enough to feed an army.”

Asher smiles politely, eating up the attention and handling it like a pro. I wonder, How many times has he done this? Schmoozed with parents before whisking their daughters away.

I shudder at the thought and push it to the back of my mind. How many girls Asher has been with doesn’t matter because, whatever this is between us, it isn't real. It’s practice for if I agree to the fake dating thing.

“Thank you, Mrs. Walker, but I should probably get going. My shift at the diner starts soon and I can’t be late.” Asher holds his hand out for the helmet I’m hugging.

I give it to him, feeling stupid for holding it like that, and take a few steps towards the garage.

“Are you sure?” Mom pleads. She looks desperate, scared that she may never see Asher again.

I get it. I see Asher every day, but for her it’s been ten years, and he’s a far cry from the boy she used to babysit.