Star Struck (27 page)

"It's okay to say you like him, Billie." I smirk and return my gaze to the magazine spread open in my lap.

"Oh, yeah, I'm gonna take dating advice from you. What're you doing tonight? Planning to spend a riveting evening reading magazines and watching TV?"

I bristle at her words, even though they're true.

"Maybe," I say sullenly.

"You know, you really need to start getting out, Ivy. Live a little." Billie walks toward the kitchen table where her jacket and purse are strewn on top. When I lived with my mom she never would have tolerated me using our kitchen table as a coat rack. But that's the joy of renting your own apartment. You get to do whatever you want. And apparently what Billie and I want is to live in messiness. I cringe, glancing around at the soda cans, books, magazines and shoes tossed around our tiny living room. Oh, well. It still beats having to put up with my mom and stepdad.

"I get out. I just went out the other night," I explain.

"Picking up Chinese food and a movie is not going out." Billie shoves her arms inside her leather jacket. "You brought them back here and stayed in."

"I might go visit my grandpa later."

"That doesn't count either." Billie approaches me. "Ivy, it's Friday night, you're nineteen years old, and you're staying home. This isn't healthy." She plucks the magazine off my lap, and drops it on the coffee table. It flutters as it falls, the pages whispering as they rub together. "C'mon, you can join Ryan and me."

"No, thanks." I shake my head. "I'm so not into being the third wheel."

Billie sighs, perching on the edge of the couch. "Ivy, it happened over a year ago. You have to move on at some point."

My chest tightens. I have no desire to discuss this with Billie again. Pressing my lips together, I snatch the magazine up and turn away from her.

"Ivy?"

I glance up at the clock. "Billie, you better go or you're gonna be late."

She follows my gaze, her eyes widening at the time. Then she flashes me a rueful smile. "Fine. I'll let you off the hook this time, but this conversation is not over."

Of course not. It never is.

"Have fun, Billie," I call over my shoulder as she heads out.

"Don't wait up," She replies before closing the door behind her.

I flip the page, my gaze taking in the array of brightly colored glossy pictures. All the celebrities look so happy and glamorous, but I know that's not true. I know all about keeping up appearances
— about pretending to be happy when you're not.  A knock on the door startles me. I toss the magazine aside and get up from the couch.

"You forget your keys again, Billie?" I say as I open the door.  Then I let out a little gasp when I catch sight of my unexpected visitor.

"Poison Ivy." Asher smiles slowly, using the nickname he affectionately dubbed for me our freshman year of high school.  He looks just like I remember him, with his short blond hair and icy blue eyes. His faded jeans and white t-shirt show off his physique, causing my heart to race.

"What are you doing here?"

Something flashes in his eyes that I can’t quite decipher — disappointment, anger maybe. "C'mon, aren't you happy to see me? It's been over a year, Ives."

"Of course," I say. "I'm just surprised, that's all. How did you know where I lived?"

"I went by your house. Your mom told me."

My stomach knots. "You saw my mom?"

“Yeah.” He nods. Then he tucks a hand in the pocket of his jeans and glances up at me sheepishly. "So, you gonna let me in, or will your boyfriend get mad?"

"My boyfriend?"

"Yeah, Billy, the guy you live with.  He is your boyfriend, isn't he?"

I giggle. "Billie's a girl."

I try not to notice the look of relief that washes over Asher's face at my words.

"And yes, you can come in." As he enters, my gaze sweeps the small apartment. It's the first time I've imagined what it must look like through someone else's eyes. I see the scratched linoleum that's raised around the edges of the tiny kitchen. I take in the living room which Billie and I decorated with a couch and coffee table we found at the thrift store. Not to mention the dining table, which is really just a card table and folding chairs that I took from my mom's garage. I wish I had known Asher was coming, then I would have cleaned up the place a little. Glancing down at my yoga pants and a tattered t-shirt, my cheeks warm. And I would have fixed myself up a little too. As I close the door, I smooth my shoulder length blond hair down with my fingers and lick my lips so they don't look so dry.

"Sorry about the place. I wasn't really expecting company." I lead Asher into the living room.

"No problem. I would have called, but I didn't have your new cell number. And every time I've left a message with your mom or stepdad, you've never called me back."

I bite my lip, ignoring the hurt in his voice. “Sorry about that. I’ve just been busy and stuff.” Staring at the ground, I fumble around with the words. Even to my ears they sound lame.

“Look, I’ve said I was sorry about that night a million times. When are you going to stop avoiding me?”

His apology makes my stomach clench. I hate hearing Asher say sorry for this. None of it is his fault. “Can we please not talk about it?”

Asher nods. “Sure.”

I take a seat on the couch, and Asher does the same. His proximity is causing my pulse to race, so I move away from him. I’m practically plastered to the armrest. It’s so weird that I feel this uncomfortable with Asher. He used to be the only person in the world that I was comfortable around. If only that night hadn’t happened. If only things had turned out differently. But if I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that you can’t undo the past. What’s done is done, and I have to deal with it.

I clear my throat. “So, are you home for the summer?”

Asher nods.

“How do you like school?”

“S’okay.” He shrugs, and I’m not surprised. School was never Asher’s thing. Truth be told, I was a little surprised when he went away to college. “What about you? Are you taking classes?”

I squirm. “Um…not really. I signed up for a couple of classes last semester at Folsom Lake College. It’s just down the street so I thought I could make it work. But between work and helping with Grandpa, it was just too much.”

Asher furrows his brows in a look of concern. “Is that why you stayed here? For your grandpa?”

Biting my lip, I nod. It’s not entirely the truth. I mean, sure, my grandpa has been like a dad to me, so I don’t want to leave him when he’s sick. But there’s also the small problem of money. My family doesn’t have any and, therefore, I never had a college fund like the one Asher’s parents set up for him. Maybe if my dad hadn’t died when I was just twelve, I would’ve had one.

“I guess that makes sense. It’s just that I always assumed you would go away to college the minute you graduated high school,” Asher says.

My stomach tightens, knowing he’s right. For years the idea of going away to school was what kept me going. However, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life it’s that we don’t always get what we want. 

“Are you still writing?” Asher asks.

I picture the notebook hidden under the pillow on my bed, and I inwardly cringe. “Not really.”

“You haven’t given up your dream of being a journalist, have you?”

My stomach tightens. “Well, no. I mean, I guess I still would like to someday.” I scratch the top of my arm until red lines appear on my flesh.

Asher nudges me in the leg with his hand, and his touch sends chills skittering up my body. “Hey, I brought my bike. What do you say about you and me going on a little ride?”

Adrenaline surges at the thought. Just the idea of a ride on Asher’s motorcycle is enough to make me feel alive again. Only I know I shouldn’t go with him. I’m no good for him. I practically destroyed his life before. If I care about him at all, I need to keep my distance.

It takes all my willpower to force my head to shake back and forth, despite how badly I want to take him up on his offer. “Thanks, but I really shouldn’t.”

Asher’s face falls. He leans in close and his familiar musky scent washes over me. “C’mon, Ives, it’s just one little ride. I promise I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.” He winks.

I take a deep breath.

Before I can turn him down again, he says, “I even brought your helmet. It’s downstairs.” There is a challenging gleam in his eye. My resolve is slipping.

“You know you want to,” he says in a sing-song voice.

“Okay, you don’t have to act like a creepy drug dealer. I’ll go.” I push myself off the couch, a smile touching my lips. “Just let me change really quick.”

“I was kind of digging your new look,” Asher teases. His fingers brush over my middle, and I duck away. As I hurry down the hallway, my skin burns from his touch. The minute I close the door to my bedroom I feel like I’ve made a mistake. I never should have agreed to go riding with him.

Reaching into my drawer, I snatch out a pair of jeans. As I pull them onto my legs, I catch my reflection in the mirror above my dresser. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes are bright. It’s the first time I’ve looked this way in months.

I remind myself that it’s only one ride on Asher’s bike, nothing more. It’s not like it means anything. It’s just a way to unwind, to be free; to be the old Ivy again for just one evening.

When I meet Asher back in the family room wearing my skinny jeans and knee high boots, his eyebrows shoot up. My cheeks warm at his reaction, and I hug myself. It’s been so long since a guy looked at me like that. After what happened with Cam, most guys in this town are afraid of me. Not that I blame them. Asher is right about one thing. I’m definitely poisonous.

He clears his throat and stands up. “Ready?”

I nod, and follow him out of the apartment. After locking the door, I shove my keys down into my pocket. The sharp edges poke me in the hip, and I readjust them a bit.

“No jacket tonight, huh?” Asher asks as we make our way down the stairs.

“It’s a June night in California. It’s not cold.”

He raises an eyebrow. “It might get cold on my bike. Besides, what if we crashed? I wouldn’t want those beautiful arms of yours to get all scratched up.”

“We won’t crash.” I look in his eyes that are the deepest color blue, and feel like I’m drowning in the ocean. “I trust you.”

He flashes me a dimpled smile.

“Besides, you’re not wearing a jacket either,” I observe.

Asher shrugs. “I’m tough.”

I giggle, and step down from the last stair onto the concrete. We round a corner to get to the parking lot, and then I spot Asher’s bike. My heart flips at the sight of it. I can’t believe I almost turned this down. This is going to be the most fun I’ve had in months. I hurry toward it, and Asher laughs from behind me.

I whirl around. “What?”

“You’re practically giddy.” He saunters toward me and swipes a finger across my cheek. “You’ve missed it, haven’t you?”

My heart races at the feel of his fingertip on my skin. I pull away and swallow hard. He winks and walks past me, his shoulder brushing against mine. After regaining my composure, I turn toward him. He holds a helmet out to me, and I recognize it as the one I always used to wear. It even has the scratch mark from the night I dropped it in his driveway. Shaking away thoughts of that night, I snatch the helmet from his fingers.

After pulling it on, I climb onto the back of the bike behind Asher. This time when I circle my arms around his waist my fingers sweep over his hard abdominal muscles, since there is no jacket to cover his skin, only a thin t-shirt. The engine growls, and I’m grateful for the sound hoping it drowns out the sound of my erratic heartbeat, which I fear is so loud the whole town can hear it.

As Asher pulls out of the apartment complex and glides through the streets, I can almost pretend that a year hasn’t passed since the last time we rode together. When I close my eyes, smelling the familiar scents, I allow my mind to trick me into thinking that we are back in high school and that everything is still right between us. I imagine that we will be in school the following day, bantering and laughing with our group of friends. We might even go out in the afternoon and hang out at a diner or coffee shop, and there will be no awkwardness or finger pointing.

But then the faces of my former friends fill my mind, and I see the accusations in their eyes; the disgust, and the pity. I force away the memories. When I open my eyes, my gaze takes in the dark night streets, alive with bright colors. I’m acutely aware of my fingers still rubbing against Asher’s middle and my chin pressed into his shoulder. His muscles flex, and I feel them under my palms.

The time goes by too fast, and pretty soon we’re back in the parking lot of my apartment. When I hand the helmet back to Asher, I feel a pang of sadness. I know I can’t go riding with him again. In fact, I should have had more self-control and said no this time. Now I’ve had a taste of it, and it will be harder to turn down in the future. But Asher needs to enjoy his summer with someone more deserving than me. I can’t pull him into my drama anymore.