Without his family behind him, who was he? If he disappointed them, failed to live up to their expectations, then what the hell kind of future did he have to look forward to?
"That's bullshit and you know it," Dylan muttered sullenly.
"Easy for you to say," Ashton muttered, looking away.
"Could be easy for you, too. There's nothing wrong with what we did here," Dylan said, gesturing between them. "Why do you have to act as if there is?"
Ashton's jaw worked, but no words came out. His chest rattled, ragged and hollow; like he'd just run a marathon in the heat. He pressed his hand to his ribs, blinking away the burn pricking at his eyes. Shaking his head, he took a step back, then two.
He was here to get his journalism degree, then a jobas an assignment reporter, and eventually — hopefully — an anchor's desk once he'd put in the time. Following in his mother and grandfather's footsteps so one day — one very far off day — he'd be ready to run the family business heading the station.
This? Tonight with Dylan? This could ruineverything.
No one could ever know that he'd been up here. That he and Dante had —
"I… gotta go." Ashton's face flamed as he beat his retreat. "Sorry to, uh… to waste your time."
He could feel it crawling, squirming in his bones with every step back down the stairs he took: the knowledge that he was being a rotten coward. But honestly, after the fight Ashton had with his dad —
What other choice did he have?
Ashton couldn't even say he didn't know the consequences either, could he? Known them, and followed Dylan anyway.
Stupid. How could you be so stupid?
His family could forgive a lot of things — his mom's drinking, Uncle Carlos's mistresses, his cousin's gambling problem.
But not this. They'd never forgive this.
They never have before.
CHAPTER 8
Absolute
The bar's light transformed the tumbler of aged bourbon into liquid garnet as Ashton held it aloft, rolling it gently so the sphere of ice clinked slowly inside. Darker than its younger cousins, he'd spied the rare bottle tucked in the back on the top shelf; a surprise, even in a bar as upscale as this one. Deciding it was a sign to treat himself to something special, he'd told himself it could only mean more luck would follow, but…
He set the tumbler down, still untouched. The under-lighting danced across the lip of the glass in flashes of cyans and magentas, shifting and shoving in almost the exact same shade of pink as…
Turning away, Ashton leaned his back against the bar's edge, surveying his territory instead. Or trying to. It'd been like this all night.
The flash of a smile?Dylan's.
The cut of a chin?Dylan's.
The way he'd strut in, not bothered by what anyone here thought of him.
The way he didn't need to; so confident, so competent; able to take care of himself.
Ashton grunted, trying to focus. There were dozens ofgorgeous, available,respectablewomen here. He needed to get his act together.
Find some chick who'll take you to bed and fuck all this out of your system. Things will be back to normal by morning.
The problem was, Ashton just wasn't feeling it tonight. He was too in his own head, making him stiff and awkward.
Maybe it's this place. Maybe that bottle of bourbon meant I should make myself scarce too, try my luck somewhere else.
It was only Tuesday, so none of the houses were throwing a party. Ashton might be able to round up enough of the guys to go hit up a campus bar, but —
