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“How’ve you been, Ace?” Cillian asks, waking me from my daydream.
I shrug. I hate to admit I already miss snowboard guy.
“What’s that pout? Are you missing your hot snowboarder?”
I slap his stomach in response. “Does everyone know about that?”
He nods and winks, clutching his stomach. “You’re like my kid sister, and I need to ask about his intentions.” He bristles, flashing me a big smile.
I lean against the railing overlooking the dark mountain range and the lights flickering from the houses below. I tilt my head back to look up at the stars, not knowing what to tell him. “I kind of do.” I can’t help it when a big smile splits my face in two.
“Did you sleep with him?” He chuckles.
I give him a look, and he hollers and claps his hands. “Damn, girl, did you get your Aspen cherry popped?”
I clamp his mouth shut with my hand, and he keeps laughing. “Shut up, Cill.” I giggle.
“What’s going on?” Shane asks. “What cherry? What are you talking about?” he asks, sounding pissed off as he steps onto the porch while my brother and Sebastian head inside.
“If you guys will excuse me, there are three strippers who I need to ask something,” Cillian says, heading into the kitchen.
Shane closes the sliding door behind Cill.
“What was Cill talking about?” he grumbles.
“None of your business,” I say, ignoring the tone in his voice.
“The hell it is—”
“Come on, Shane, it’s my life and my mistakes to make.”
He raises his brows. “Was it a mistake?” he taunts. “I only want to protect you.”
“Why?” I growl out. “And no, it was far from it. I took a chance, like I should have done a long time ago.”
“I know I fucked up, Ace,” he begins.
“With what?”
“With you. Damn it. I want to protect you because I couldn’t before,” he spits out and pushes his hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking out over the mountain range.
“What are you talking about?” The look in his eyes has me pausing. He looks so lost and sad.
“When I picked you up from that guy’s place and saw the way he looked at you, I knew I fucked up.”
“What do you mean?”
“With you, with Ronnie,” he says, angry tears filling his eyes.
“What happened with Ronnie wasn’t your fault,” I tell him, laying my hand on his.
“Wasn’t it?” he whispers on a sob and grabs the railing while he hangs his head.
“What do you mean?” I ask, tears already threaten to spill over.
“Fuck, Lemmy, you didn’t know?” he asks, letting out an exasperated sigh.
“Know what?” My chest hurts hearing him call me Lemmy again. Ronnie used to call me Lemmy. When someone calls me by my full name, the memories of him come rushing back like a tidal wave, pulling me under, and I feel like I’m drowning.
