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It doesn’t take long before the door opens, and Ash greets me with a smile. Her blue eyes drop to the rose in my hand.
“Just one?” Ash wonders with a frown as she shakes her head, disapproving of my choice.
This is a test. I can see it in the way her lips are struggling to remain straight.
What she doesn’t know is that Bree told me that she loves fall because she doesn’t have to struggle with allergies. Dozens of flowers activate them, and as much as people consider it a nice gesture, I don’t want to go out with a sneeze machine today.
“Ash, I want to go out with Bree tonight, not with Rudolph,” I tell her, arching a brow.
A giggle emerges from her lips and slides to the left to let me in.
“I wasn’t sure if you knew that about her,” Ash mentions, shrugging. “The last time that a guy gave her a dozen of flowers, she spent the whole prom wanting to rip off her nose.”
I’m still surprised that someone so young can have so many bad experiences. I admit that she has the worst of luck. Bree Pierce is the incarnation of Murphy’s law; if it can go wrong, it will go wrong. Part of me should be concerned about it, but I’m far too deep to back out.
“When has she had good luck at something?” I question with an arched brow.
Ash opens her mouth and then closes it, failing at naming one occasion in which Bree’s luck worked in her favor.
“You haven’t been that bad of an experience,” she points out, defending her friend.
I never said otherwise, but I have to be honest about us too.
“We only got together because of her bad luck,” I reply, wrinkling my nose.
“Fuck,” Ash whispers in defeat. “Okay, our girl has a bit of bad luck.”
Our girl. I fucking love the sound of that.
I abstain from making further comments because there’s not much that I can say that would help Bree. In her defense, things just get out of hands, and she has been a couple of weeks without getting into trouble. Well, of things that she can’t prevent because getting mugged doesn’t qualify as having good luck.
“By the way, this is for you,” I announce, handing her a rolled paper that has a red ribbon wrapped around it on a bow.
Ash narrows her sight with distrust, a frown of confusion appearing on her face.
“What are you? Santa Claus?”
“Nope. That’s from Ryder,” I clarify, stopping her from jumping on the crazy train. I don’t want her to get the wrong impression. A distressed moan slips from her lips, and I feel the need to warn her. “Ash, I know that Ryder has his charm, but—”
“He’s a fuckboy,” she guesses, interrupting me, and smiles. “I know, Stan. His reputation precedes him; you don’t have to worry about me. Nothing’s happening between us.”
Ash goes straight to the point. It’s no surprise that Bree considers her to be her best friend. They’re both outspoken and take no shit from people.
“I’m just letting you know. He’s not a bad guy, honestly. I owe him a lot, but the only relationship he has is with his art.” I’m as honest as I can be. Ryder is probably the best friend I have. He’s excellent and genuine. However, he has quite a reputation. It is what it is.
“I’m not planning to change that, okay? Relax.” Her fingers play with the red ribbon. “Bree! Your knight is here,” she announces and unties the ribbon, gasping when her eyes meet the content of the paper.
It’s a charcoal drawing of Ash. Her raven hair resembles a curtain at both sides of her face, falling gracefully, turning into what it seems like smoke. Only her lips are colored in a bright shade of cherry red. It’s breathtaking. My roommate is talented, and I can’t deny that. Ash can’t either because she’s entirely speechless.
“Wow, I planned to make an entrance, but there’s something more interesting going on.”
Immediately, I turn on my heels when I hear Bree’s voice behind us. Air gets stuck on my throat when I finally see her. She’s fucking gorgeous. That’s all I can think of her.
Bree’s wearing a black dress that clings to her torso, hugging her waist most delicately, falling softly, grazing her mid-thighs. She has the same high heeled boots that she used on Halloween, making her look taller. Her hair is down in waves.
I grab her hand so she can turn around, and I can appreciate her completely. A trail of indecent thoughts invades my mind when I remember that underneath her dress, she’s wearing something for me.
She’s fucking fire.
