SUMMER

After changing into my uniform in the locker room, I take out Ashton's lighter to give back to him in the kitchen.

I never knew a lighter out of all things could be so beautiful. The front is covered by an intricately engraved koi fish, surrounded by waves and vines. It's pure art. I can't help but wonder about the sentimental value it holds for him.

"Is that Ashton's lighter?"

I didn't notice Charlie watching me from her locker, buttoning up her chef jacket with piqued interest.

"Oh... yeah it is." I enclose it in my hand.

"Why do you have it?" Her accusatory tone makes me feel like I'm being interrogated. She seems to realize this in my tongue-tied silence, loosening up her body language. "Sorry, it's just... I've never seen it with anyone except Ashton before."

"Well Summer's not just anyone, right, Cupcake?" Fawn quips from the bench, pulling her shoe on.

I fight my mouth from curving with little success. Fawn and Lola don't know about the kiss, but when he called me back in the courtyard, I think it was the first time they've heard the nickname.

"Where'd that cute lil' name originate from anyway?" Fawn grins.

"Ugh, not cute. And not important." I turn to close my locker, hiding the pink creeping onto my cheeks. "He just says it to annoy me because he knows I hate it."

"Do you, though?" Lola sings.

"You guys are taking too long. I'll see you in class," I say, rushing to the door as they chuckle.

The weight of Charlie's stare is so heavy it feels like she's burning a bald patch onto the back of my head.

❖❖❖

In the kitchen, Ashton and I make the exchange in the form of a drug-deal-like handshake that I carry out with far less grace than him. He watches me as I tuck the twenty into my apron pocket, shaking his head with a sour smile.

I have to admit; it was fun fake flirting with him at lunch. I can still feel the firmness of his arm muscle under my touch, like it was carved from marble. It made me wonder if he was subtly flexing or if they always felt like that. So warm and strong and... I catch my thoughts from going off on an Ashton Sex Appeal tangent.

Lord knows that's a slippery slope.

"Eggs." Is the first thing Chef Kent says when she walks in the kitchen. She's carrying a big crate full of cartons. "By the time we're done with these, you're never going to want to look at another egg again."

She explains that we're going to spend the next two hours boiling eggs. That's all.

"You're kidding, right?" Ashton says as she passes out the cartons. "Everyone knows how to boil an egg."

"Not as many as you'd think, Mr. Banks." She hands him a dozen. "It's an essential method everyone should know, but tell someone to soft boil an egg, and it'll turn out undercooked or overdone. So get boiling."

Once everyone is ready at their stations, Chef Kent goes through the meticulous process. We have to do each egg individually, let it boil for a specific amount of time, check the consistency when it's done, and repeat until we have enough to compare the runny to the solid. I'm keen to learn anything, but even I know this is going to be tedious.

We light our burners and get started. When I'm on my fourth egg, I set my timer for eight minutes.

"You should lower your heat," Ashton says.

"Um, it's fine."

"The shell's going to crack," he warns, walking to the sink behind him.

I quickly adjust the heat while his back is turned. I hate being told what to do, but if I look at his kitchen track record, he's probably right.

Doesn't mean I want him to get the satisfaction and add to that ego. The assuring Gordon Ramsay answer I gave his dad did more than enough. Ashton's head can only get so big before it breaks his neck.

I shift a few things around on my surface while I wait. Chef Kent says cleaning as you cook is the best way to stay on top of things, but there's not much to clean for this.

Ashton lets out a bored sigh, rolling his sleeve over his inked forearm. I got to see the extent of his tattoos for the first time when he was in a tank top. His one arm is fully covered with an assortment of tattoos, while the other only has one. Some sort of feathered wing curving behind his shoulder, down his arm and reaching his elbow.

Most people spend years building up what he has, and he's not even twenty. It makes me wonder how old he was when he got the first one.

"Wanna play a game?" Ashton disrupts my thoughts.

"Now?" I point to my pot. "This is pretty time sensitive, so no."

"C'mon, the timers are on and we're just waiting around."

I turn, scanning over the kitchen. Most people are standing at their stations and chatting, peeling eggs, checking times. I see Diego handling a freshly boiled egg like a hot potato. He drops it on the floor as Ryan laughs at him.

"What do you have in mind?" I warily ask.

"Dunno." He pats the carton next to him. "We could juggle these bad boys and see who lasts the longest."

"Funny."

"Who says I'm joking?" He picks out three eggs and actually starts juggling them without a second thought, grinning away as his eyes dart around in focus.

"Oh my god, Ashton! Stop!" My anxiety is skyrocketing just watching him. "Chef Kent will lose it if she sees you!"

He throws them higher, chuckling when I gasp, but in two seconds he astonishingly catches them all without breaking.

"Now you try."

I exhale the breath of stress I'd been holding. "Or, hear me out, how about we play something that doesn't end in inevitable egg smashing for me?"

He pops them back in the carton. "Like?"

"21 Questions." I suggest. "Simple, not stupid, and passes time."

Ashton smirks. "And a sure-fire way to get to know me. Clever, Cupcake."

Saw straight through that one. "Well, some things have changed since that first day, right? We're permanent partners now, thanks to you. Nothing wrong with knowing a little more about each other."

"Each other," he repeats. "So I get to ask you questions?"

"Sure. Fair's fair."

He stares at me in a thoughtful, conflicted way. As if asking me questions might not be worth the sacrifice of opening up a smidge in return.

"Instead of twenty-one questions," he says, "let's make it however many we can fit in before your timer goes off."

"What?" My mouth drops. "That's only a few minutes!"

"Well then you better get started." He shrugs. "Life is full of compromises, Cupcake."

"Fine." I rack my brain for a question, blurting out, "What's your favorite color?"

A grin stretches across his face. "Really? That's what you wanna ask me?"

"Ugh, I'm still thinking! You've got me all pressured now." I huff. "Just answer it."

"Red. What's yours?"

"Gold."

His eyes faintly roll to the side. "Course it is."

"It's a nice color, okay? I guess yellow, too, if you want a more conventional answer. Next question. Um..." I twist my dish towel between my fingers as I think. "Oh! Your lighter. You said it has sentimental value."

"Uh-huh."

"So, what is it?"

He drops his gaze, busying himself with utensils. "My uncle gave it to me. Have you always lived in Philadelphia?"

Like pulling teeth. I have a feeling he's going to answer as short and quick as he can for everything.

"No, I was born in New York and lived there for a few years before my family moved. Do you have any siblings?"

"Nope."

"Wow, okay... you being an only child suddenly makes a wild amount of sense."

"About what?"

"About you. I mean, you know what they say about only-children—" I start counting on my fingers. "—Spoiled, self-absorbed, bossy—"

"Sure you're not describing yourself there?"

"I happen to have an older sister."

"Oh, really?" He taps his chin. "And what do they say about the youngest child? The baby of the family, right? Overindulged, coddled, wreaks havoc but plays innocent to get away with everything, manipulative. Should I keep going or...?"

I swear he's trying to get me worked up so I lose track of time. "Moving on, next question—"

"Think it's my turn," he tuts, leaning on his surface with a wicked spark in his eye. "How many guys have you fucked?"

Heat rushes to my ears. "Like I would tell you that."

"Virgin. Got it."

"I'm not—" I stop myself, a grumble of frustration coming out. "My sex life is none of your business. How would you like it if I asked you how many girls you've slept with?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "Do you really wanna know?"

While naturally curious, there's no doubt in my mind he's far more experienced than I am. Knowing the specifics won't change that.

"Of course not, that's your business. Next question, how'd you get in the fight?" I ask, gesturing to his bruised face.

"How do you think I got in the fight?"

These lines of questions really aren't as straightforward as I expected. Then again, this is Ashton we're dealing with.

"I've got a couple theories," I say.

"Let's hear 'em." 

I check my timer to see just under three minutes left. "First theory, bar fight. Hitting on some buff guy's girl, too much testosterone, brawl breaks out, blah blah you know the rest."

"Classic. Second theory?"

"Some sort of underground fight club, bringing out your inner Tyler Durden."

A genuine look of surprise crosses him. "You've seen Fight Club?"

"Who hasn't?"

He scoffs. "Took me years to get Nick to watch it."

"Huh?" Nick turns around at his station behind me, a drop of water from the steam of his pot running down his freckled nose. "Did I just hear my name?"

"No," we say in unison.

He dubiously eyes us before turning back.

"So?" I ask as Ashton checks his pot. "Either of those theories correct? Tell me it's the Fight Club one."

He blinks. "If it was, what's the first rule of Fight Club?"

I sigh. "You do not talk about Fight Club."

He winks, closing an imaginary zipper over his lips. I figure that's as much as I'm going to get from him with this subject. 

"Touché."

"My turn," he says, stepping away from his stove.

"Nothing sexual."

"All right, all right." Ashton rolls his head back in thought. "You say you have a sister, so are you close with her and your parents?"

I hesitate, breaking our gaze as the last gut-wrenching encounter I had with Ella vibrantly flashes in front of me. "Sure. I'm close to my mom. My dad... not as much. He's got control issues."

"Huh... apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?"

I throw him a glare. "And what about your parents? I met your dad, but what's your mom like?"

Ashton's the one who hesitates now. Before he answers, the abrupt sound of beeping goes off next to me.

He sucks a sharp breath through his teeth. "Sorry, looks like we're out of time."

A/N: thanks for reading! please remember to vote before you go :)