I let him guide the conversation, thankful to have my parents’ attention on him, rather than myself.
“I don’t think we ever heard the story as to why you left the NHL,” Mom pries. “Everything okay, honey?”
This time, Drew freezes.
Instead of saving him, I dissect his emotions.
Regret. Sadness. Despair.
Not shame.
What the hell happened?
“I, uh, I…” Drew darts his eyes my way, begging for help.
“Did you make brownies?” I ask Mom, saving the bastard at the last second. “Coach said I need to put on some weight.”
She blinks a few times, realizing she’s been sidelined, and then moves along to the next topic of conversation. “Brownies for my boys. Of course. Your dad even picked up some vanilla bean ice cream to put on top.”
From there, we talk about their jobs and how Dad has been busier than usual lately. The conversation stays in a safe area. By the time dessert rolls around, and I’m officially stuffed, I realize we’ve dodged the hardest topic. Thank fuck.
“I’ll clean up,” I tell Mom. “Enjoy your fire and wine.”
Dad waggles his eyebrows at Mom and they escape to the back with a bottle. Drew, unfortunately, follows me into the kitchen. We work silently to clean up dinner. I’ve barely tossed the last dish into the dishwasher and started it when he clears his throat.
“Bray…”
“Don’t start.”
He crowds me from behind, forcing me to turn around. “Are you okay?”
I hate the way he looks at me.
Like he fucking cares.
“I said don’t start,” I snap, shoving his massive chest.
He doesn’t budge much, which really pisses me off. “You’re upset—”
“You don’t know what I am.” I bump his chest with mine, snarling in his face. “Stop trying to act like you do.”
“You’ve always been like a brother to me,” he utters.
My rage bubbles over. I fist his Henley and charge him back, slamming him against the bar. His face twists into a furious scowl, and he tries to shake me away to no avail.
“We are not fucking family,” I hiss.
“Try telling your parents that.”
The smug bastard grins at me.
This is what we do. I rage and he pushes my fucking buttons.
But tonight, I’m tired.
Emotionally drained.
Releasing him, I turn and walk out of the kitchen.
“Bray!”
Ignoring him, I make my way outside and give my parents a hug goodbye. I head back inside, pretending he doesn’t exist, and take off toward my Tahoe. He calls out for me the whole time. I’ve barely made it to my vehicle before he’s on me.
With a growl, he grabs hold of me, spinning me and pushing me against my vehicle.
“Let go of me,” I seethe.
“Not until you calm the fuck down and talk to me.” His voice drops and he licks his lips. “Please.”
I hate that my eyes track the movement of his tongue.
Hate that I’m staring at his stupid lips.
His lips are part of his goddamn problem.
“See you at practice, Coach.” I clench my jaw, leveling him with a bored look.
Defeat—something I’m unfamiliar with when it comes to Drew—shines in his blue eyes. “Yeah, man. See you tomorrow.”
He steps back, yanking my beanie off his head, offering it to me.
I don’t take it, just glare at it as though he’s trying to hand me a snake.
“Bray,” he murmurs. “Take it.”
“It’s cold.”
We share a pained look.
And then I leave his annoying ass.Me: We need to talk about what happened the other night.
Ugh, too formal.
Delete.
Me: I really enjoyed what happened the other night. Did you?
I cringe at my words. What am I, five? Do you like me, Ashton? Check yes or no.
Delete.
It’s going on two days since Ashton and I made out on the couch in his living room and I can’t get what happened between us off my mind. The way his strong lips felt curved around mine, how masculine yet gentle his hands were as they roamed over my body. The intoxicating taste of the Fireball and Twizzlers on his tongue. My body heats at just the thought of where things would’ve gone had Drew not walked in and interrupted. I always thought my feelings for Ashton were one-sided, but that night, the way he was all over me felt anything but one-sided. It felt right. Like we fit perfectly together.
I know there’s a good chance it was the alcohol making the decisions for him, and he most likely regrets the kiss ever happened, but a part of me is hoping he’ll want to do it again. Not that I’m going to get my hopes up. Everyone knows how this type of story plays out: straight girl falls for gay best friend, thinking she’ll be the one to get him to switch teams, only to be let down when he makes it clear he’s gay and not even his best friend can change that.
Which is probably why Ashton hasn’t called or texted me since. He’s trying to figure out how to let me down gently. I should just text him now and get this over with. Tell him it was a mistake before he beats me to the punch.