ASHTON

The rain has let up to a hard drizzle, moonlight breaking through the clouds. I'm sitting on the windowpane, replaying it all, reliving every second while it's still fresh. Before my spent mind forces me to sleep and end the night. 

I finish my cigarette and flick it on the roof, watching the stream of an overflowing gutter whip it away. Stirring comes from the bed, and I look at the girl who has me so tightly wrapped around her finger it scares me a little. Her back is to me, caramel hair fanned over the pillow, the slope of her hips a work of art.

I get up and scan over her room, having given it zero attention when I came in. It's neat until you look closer. The desk is chaotic. Laptop buried under piles of papers, stationary scattered, dozens of highlighted and underlined handwritten class notes. I read over one.

-Add garlic last so it doesn't burn. BITTER. 

-Bouquet garni: parsley, thyme, bay leaf

-Bechamel, white roux. 2:2:1

-Scrape board with back of knife so blade doesn't dull

I smile, recognizing my own advice from when I showed her how to cut. Seems like a lifetime ago. My gaze jumps to a framed photo sitting next to a small potted cactus. I pick it up, vision adjusting in the dim light. A graduation photo.

Summer's in her cap and gown, clutching her diploma, a long braid over her shoulder and the biggest beam on her face. Two women and a man flank her. It has to be her family. She's a clone of her mom, except her mom's hair is short, her eyes look darker, and she doesn't have dimples when she smiles. But she has the same heart-shaped face, same gold skin and button nose. Same natural radiance.

Her sister is pretty in a different way. Snowy complexion, dark hair, pointed features. She kind of reminds me of the girls in those dramatic period movies, like she could blend right into Pride and Prejudice. More of a seriousness to her. I assume she gets that from their dad. He stands tall, hand resting in his pocket, not a crease in his blazer. He looks intimidating in a total opposite way from my dad. Like an academic who could school you on any topic you dared to approach him with.

I lower the picture and see it as a whole. Surrounding Summer, holding her shoulders. Proud of her. My stomach twists as I think back to my graduation. How my equivalent photo to this was one of me and Nick. How I couldn't stop searching the crowd, desperate to see my dad when I walked on stage. And how I felt so stupid for being disappointed and wanting his approval. For wanting him to be proud.

I instinctively reach to the back of my head and run my finger over the scar. The day I got it is just another reminder of what life could have been if things were different.

Shattered glass and screaming and crying... those sounds will never leave me.

"Ash?" Summer's voice croaks. "You going?"

I set the picture down, her gravity pulling me to earth. I've never liked my name being shortened, but I could sure as hell get used to it coming out of her mouth.

"I was just having a smoke." The bed dips as I sit on the edge. "But shouldn't you be sneaking me out of here or something?"

Summer is the only girl I've been with who didn't just crash after sex. She insisted on dragging herself to the bathroom to follow through with some nightly beauty routine. Her face is so clear that I notice light freckles peppered across her nose and dotting to her cheeks, and I wonder if they're leftover from the summer sun or if they're permanent, always hidden.

"Yeah, I guess I should." She rubs her eyes with her knuckles, like how little kids do when they're too tired to make coherent sentences. Combined with those freckles, she briefly looks too young. Too innocent for what went down in these sheets. 

"Or..." she thinks out loud. "The Villas usually play tennis on Saturday mornings. You could stick around if you want. Wait for them to leave, maybe have breakfast, maybe take a shower with me."

"Okay, I can't believe this has to be established; but put me in a fucking straitjacket if I ever turn down a shower with you."

She smiles and stretches up to kiss me, but then draws back with a scrunched nose. "Ugh, cigarettes."

"Sorry." I chuckle, creating more distance.

She makes a little noise and slides her warm fingers behind my neck, pulling me down. I've become so accustomed to her mouth at this point in the night, but every time our lips meet it's like we're back where it started in that walk-in fridge. The blood-pounding rush hasn't lessened at all.

She sinks into the pillow and guides me with her, my smoky taste apparently not enough to dissuade her caressing tongue. I know this won't lead anywhere. We're both beat and I don't think my body can physically do another round without refueling, but I'll kiss her for as long as she lets me. I'd fuse myself to these honeyed lips if I could.

Everything has been so easy with her tonight. So light. There's this familiarity under the surface like we've done this a million times before, but it's still new. Déjà vu, meeting in past lives, there has to be something that explains why this all feels so natural. I can't really make sense of it otherwise. All I know is that Nick was right; being with Summer was inevitable.

We were inevitable.

❖❖❖

I'm awoken by a tickling feeling on the side of my ribs. The mist in my mind clears as I remember where I am, all of it rushing back.

Summer. Sex. Best damn night of my life.

The room is bright, I can hear birds outside, and Summer's lying next to me with her gaze fixed on my skin. She jerks her finger away when she notices my groggy stare.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you. I was just looking at your tattoo," she fumbles out. "Never noticed it last night."

I'm on my stomach, my arms spread on the pillow and giving a full view to the only tattoo that's normally concealed. The koi.

"It's like the one on your lighter," she notes.

I rub my face, my eyes, my hair, stalling for the question I know she's about to ask. It's too early to get into this. Actually, I wouldn't want to get into it at any time of the day.

"So, does it mean anything?"

I flip onto my back. "Nope, just liked it. None of them mean anything."

"Really?" Her face lights up. "Mine too. I mean, I only have one, but I always feel pressured to give some deep story behind it if someone asks. I usually say it's because my middle name is Rose, but really I just thought it was pretty and felt like doing something behind my parents' back."

"Yeah?" I reach for her hip under the covers. "Is that why it's so discreet, Summer Rose?"

Her smile drops when my hand makes contact, air sucking through her teeth. She lifts the blanket and folds down her pajama shorts. "Oh my gosh, are those—?"

"Shit. My bad." I watch her press on the red fingertip marks which will no doubt become bruises. This won't be the only area she finds them. "Sometimes I get a little... carried away."

She stops examining them. "It's okay. I liked it."

"I know you did, Cupcake."

She glances at the pillow she became so well-acquainted with last night, her cheeks tinging with pink.

"But... I am sorry for the damage." I lean over and softly kiss every one of the marks, the heat from her skin radiating through my lips.

Summer sighs, her fingers weaving into my hair, then sliding to my shoulders. "Ashton... if I ask you something, will you promise to answer?"

I part with her skin and look down at her. "It depends. But you can try."

Her eyes give a half roll. "These scars. What are they actually from? And no Tyler Durden answers."

I break contact, not bothering to hold in a grumble. "Are you always so inquisitive in the morning?"

"So you're not going to tell me."

Her tone draws me back. It's not disappointed or hurt, but more accepting. Like she knew what the outcome would be.

"I was in a car accident." I shrug. "It happened a long time ago and left a few scars. That's it. Now can I ask you something?"

The surprise on her face hardly has time to register. She nods vigorously.

"How long until I can get you in that shower?"

I'm glad to see her laugh quietly, to see those dimples appear and her eyes shine, because I don't want this to get dark. Her light is too good to be dimmed by me.

Still, behind the green and gold of her irises, I can tell she's restless. So I ask her what's wrong, and she looks down at her twisting hands.

"Nick said you keep people at bay."

Literally the last thing I was expecting to hear.

I slump back on the pillow. "Did he, now..."

"He said that you're... the way that you are, because it's like a defense mechanism."

I feel my jaw twitch. "Gotta say, not a fan of you two talking about me."

"He was just trying to help," she says pointedly. "And it's true, though. You told me on the first day that you didn't go to culinary school to make friends. You told me yesterday that you wanted to keep me distanced—"

"Because you're a distraction."

"And because you didn't want me to get too close, right?"

She's looking at me, but I keep my focus on the panels of the ceiling. "What's your point to all of this, Summer?"

She sits up and folds her legs, waves of silk cascading down her back. "I just... I realized I don't really know you."

"What? We see each other every day."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I know you. It feels like I do, but I don't. We met, what, a month ago? I've never slept with someone I barely know anything about."

"First time for everything," I tease, but she doesn't respond.

I can't defend myself, because it's all true. I actively make sure no one gets too close for comfort. Summer just happens to be the first one who's called me out on it.

"Well, it's not like people who don't know each other never sleep together," I say. "Two strangers can meet in a club, fuck in the bathroom, and go their separate ways. One-night stands wouldn't exist if everyone had to know everything about the person they slept with."

She turns. "Is that what this was? A one-night stand? You can be honest."

"What? No." I bolt up and join her. "Fuck no."

Her mouth curves at my adamance, but she deserves more.

"Look, I'm..." I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to find the right words. Trying not to screw this up. "Okay, so I'm pretty much good at everything I do, right? Like, just hitting it all out of the ballpark."

"So modest."

I laugh, my head falling. "But I'm not good at this. Talking, getting real about shit. I've never been good at it. And sex has always been this physical, no strings attached kind of deal for me. But I don't want it to be like that with you. I'm the only guy you've been with who you barely know? Well, you're the only girl I've been with who I actually want to know. The talking part, the getting to know each other part... I want to get better at it. With you."

Her lips are pulling like she's trying not to smile too big. "Kinda sounds like you're hitting it out of the ballpark already."

"Gotta start somewhere." I slink my arms around her waist. "But patience is a virtue, Cupcake."

I secure my grip and fall to the mattress, swinging her on top of me as I go. She lets out a little squeal, her hands dropping to my chest as her legs clasp around me.

"You know," she hums, palms roaming over my skin, "you were in such a rush to get to the main course last night that I never even got a taste of the appetizer."

A grin spreads across my face as she begins rocking slowly. She's sitting on my boxers, the barrier of material creating agonizing friction. I lift myself on my elbows, but she pushes me down. She wants the control, and I'm going to give it to her.

My hands slide up her firm thighs, settle on her waist and move with her. She continues grinding into me, warming me up. My head drops into the pillow, shoulders curling. I'm fighting the impulse to break the painfully slow tempo. She's biting her lip, hazy eyes locked on mine, feeling the growing effect she's causing beneath her. Enjoying my frustration.

Her nails drag down my torso and leave trails of fire, and she softly asks if it feels good, and I can barely answer because there's no blood left in my skull. Her fingers trace over my forearms and rest on my knuckles, pressing down as she rolls her hips and makes a groan rumble through my throat. And then in lightning speed, she stops dead and slams my hands above my head, holding my wrists down with all of her weight.

Her face is right above mine, eyes now clear and determined. I could overpower her, but let's be real—I'm way too intrigued.

"Let's start small," she says, flipping her hair aside. "Tell me your middle name. I told you mine, so it's only fair."

My first reaction is to laugh. I'm impressed, and I'm surprised. And I shouldn't be either, because it's Summer... and she can play games just as well as I can.

"Are you extorting me right now?"

Her grip tightens on my wrists as she tilts down, drawing my attention to the cleavage spilling from the neckline of her tank top. "Just giving you a little incentive."

My mouth is watering, hands itching to touch her. She's driving me so crazy that I'd write her a damn autobiography if it meant this torture would end.

"It's Lee."

Satisfaction seeps over her features, and her fingers loosen. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Well... can't say the same for everything."

The sexiest smirk I've ever seen graces her, our mouths barely grazing before she slides away. She works her way down my chest with wet kisses, my muscles tensing with each one. I rest on my elbows and wrap my fingers in her flowing hair, moving it out of her face. I'd never forgive myself if I didn't soak in every ounce of her. She reaches my boxers and flicks her tongue over the fabric, never looking away, never giving me the chance to breathe.

I'm absorbed in those doe eyes. Mischievousness brims under every lash. She's massaging me, watching what her touch can do, feeling how hard I am for her. How eager I am to finally have those heavenly lips destroy me. Her fingers dip under the waistband.

And then—three harsh knocks on the door. We both jolt. A woman says her name. Summer flies off the bed like a skittish cat.

"Oh my god! Crap!" she whispers in panic, dragging me with her. "It's Mrs. Villa!"

"Do you think she knows I'm here?"

"No, she'd break the door down if she knew. But you gotta go!"

I watch her scurry around and gather my clothes, another knock sending her into light speed.

"Are you serious? Can't I just hide somewhere?"

Summer shoves the clothes into my hands. "The woman is a bloodhound. She'll sniff you out if she suspects anything. Now shut up and get dressed!"

Another rap on the door, the handle shaking. "Why is this locked?!"

I haven't even seen this woman and she sounds terrifying.

"How am I supposed to—"

"Window."

"We're on the second floor."

"You can climb down the trellis!" She gives her foot a little stomp before she continues racing around, fixing the bed, stuffing away condom wrappers.

My clothes are still damp, and I'm steaming about how this morning with Summer has been snatched away, and I don't think I've ever been more annoyed in my entire life.

Another knock, another shrill call.

"Coming!" Summer yells, rushing me to the window as I fumble with my shoe.

I readjust myself, cupping my crotch. "Can't believe you're kicking me out with blue balls."

She lets out a snort of laughter. I shoot her a glare before I climb through the window.

"Sorry." She hands me my jacket. "I'll make it up to you."

"Tonight." 

She pauses, reading my face. "Okay. Not here, though. Obviously."

"Obviously." I flip off the banging door. "But I'll text you later. We'll figure it out."

"My car's not looking too bad now, huh?"

She smiles and begins to turn, but I pull her back and kiss her so hard that it's going to wind her. So hard that her lips will hurt and her body will ache and I'm going to be the only thing she thinks about until I give her the sated relief she'll crave all day.

She's panting when we part, her trance breaking with another knock. Urging me to leave, she shuts the window and I walk along the roof, tying my dampened jacket around my waist as I go. Everything is waterlogged from the aftermath of the storm, and I tightly clutch the viny trellis as I climb down smoothly. Until my shoe slips and I lose my grip.

A dewy hydrangea bush breaks my fall. I groan out a profanity-ridden string and gather myself from the lilac petals, backing up into something solid. I then come face to face with a man staring knives at me.

"Oh." I move out of reach. "Morning."

He's wearing a bathrobe, with a rolled up newspaper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, which tells me that this is his house. This is his lawn. This is Mr. Villa.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" I chime.

His slitted eyes dart to Summer's window and then fall to me.

"Cool, well... bye."

He whacks the newspaper into my chest to stop me from passing. "If I ever see you on my property again, I'm calling the cops. Got it?"

I can't hold the smirk back. Summer said Mrs. Villa was the one who had a rule about bringing guys over, and she was way more relaxed when she spoke to him last night compared to how she reacted to his wife's voice. He'd be dragging me up to her room to confront her if he was as threatening as he's trying to come across as.

"Sure, man."

I smile and brush aside the newspaper so I can be on my way.

❖❖❖

Despite the abrupt mood killer end to the morning, I can't remember the last time I was on such a high.

Waking up next to Summer was like waking after sleeping through the seasons. Like I fell into her Wonderland and lost sense of time before I came back to reality. A better reality. This town is the same, but it looks different now. Flooded with color and life. Maybe living in Cloverbrook isn't such a bad thing if you have someone like Summer brightening it up. 

I had seen her above the surface for so long. The constant light in swallowing dark water. Being with her, spending the night with her—I've finally broken through that surface.

I stop on the walk home to pick up a breakfast burrito, smokes, plus two packs of condoms for good measure. Never want to be caught short again. When I've drawn a cigarette out, I stall on my lighter.

I do want Summer to know me. To trust me. To give her all the answers she wants just as much as I want from her. But of course, I didn't tell her that there are certain things I'll never be able to talk about. Boxes buried in the depths of my mind, taped up and off-limits. Better left untouched.

My phone buzzes and I check it for the first time since Nick popcorn attacked me. A text from Charlie asking where I disappeared to last night. She's not stupid. She must have noticed Summer disappeared as well, put the pieces together. I slide the notification away as I walk over the dirt road to my house.

I know I'm going to have to suck it up and admit I broke my rule, and she'll be mad that I didn't break it for her, and I'll feel bad for not feeling bad. But it can wait until Monday. Nothing's going to ruin my mood today.

Since my dad's truck is outside, I'm surprised he's not passed out on the couch when I walk in. The usual evidence of a Friday poker night covers the kitchen table. Playing cards, empty six packs, a mountain of cigarette butts, and remnants of whatever greasy thing he and his scummy friends were eating. He must have been lucid enough to make it to his bed this time.

I head to my room to recharge. When I open my door, I see three things at once: the loose floorboard out of place under my bed, my stashed money strewn everywhere, and my father's cold, livid eyes boring into mine.

a/n: one storm ends and another one begins....lol I'm just being dramatic but yeah, still true :)