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Cora and Ashley are drinking coffee in the kitchen when I return from my run. Ashley is wearing jeans and a T-shirt and I do a double take. I didn’t think she had any clothes other than the sexy dresses, tiny shorts, and tight tank tops she’s been wearing. She’s not dressed to kill and while I’m sure she’s wearing makeup, she’s applied it with so light a hand she looks completely natural.
She’s powerful as a femme fatale, but like this, she looks like someone who doesn’t break hearts for fun. She looks like someone who would stay.
Until she decides to take another shot at Nic Fontana. Or until she decides on a whim to destroy everything I’ve worked for. I shouldn’t have to keep reminding myself how dangerous she is.
“I’m volunteering at the school fundraiser today, and Ashley’s coming with me,” Cora says as I fill a glass with water. “Want to help?”
“Sure.” I down the water and glance at Ash. Guilt twists inside me and Cora’s words, whispered to me last night, come back.That girl’s hurting.
I scoffed.She isn’t hurting, she’s pouting because she didn’t get her way.
Cora had given me that look. TheI’m not disappointed in you, I just think you could do betterlook.
Then again, Cora doesn’t know Ash. Or that we’re fighting over a blow job I didn’t want. It’s not like I tore her heart out.
I stomp downstairs to shower and change, irritated because now I’m lying to myself. I wanted her to suck my cock and turning her down took a massive amount of willpower. She’s no good for me. She could destroy my life, and she would, for no other reason than she felt like it.
We needed to stop, I put an end to it. She needs to get over it.
Ashley takes the back seat. I brace myself for a day of pretending to be her boyfriend. Slightly edgier Gabriel Sinclair.
It’s getting fucking hard to remember who I am.
Cora turns the music up—classic rock—like she doesn’t want us to talk. Like she’s protecting Ash. I should warn her that’s not necessary. Ashley Foley is a fortress.
But it’s a warm summer morning, the windows are down, Cora’s singing, and I catch a glimpse of a smile on Ash’s face in the mirror. She catches me watching her and her smile withers as she looks away.
The drive to town isn’t long, and when I get out of the car, people do a double take. Everyone knows Cora, and I went everywhere with her for years so they know me, too, but I guess I’ve been away long enough. That and the whole fame thing.
Doesn’t intimidate anyone though. They greet me warmly and a few ask for autographs or selfies. Then I’m put to work.
The fundraiser is spread out over a soccer field, spilling into the school parking lot, and half the town is already here.
Cora’s busy, gently guiding Ashley and whatever other volunteers land in her orbit. Since I’m setting up chairs and tables near the other food booths, I can’t help but notice how Cora pauses to engage her in conversation every so often, trying to draw her out because she’s pulling to the edges. Making herself small. The opposite of the woman fromLove on the Line. The opposite of who she’s been in the car.
Unarmored.
“Got another job for you, Sinclair,” a firefighter says, beckoning.
I head his way, passing Ashley. Her eyes meet mine for just a second, but I see it. What Cora saw last night: hurt.
It startles me and I stumble. The firefighter chuckles. “Hope you aren’t doing your own stunts.”
“Not many,” I admit, following him toward the field. I turn for one last look, but Ashley’s gone.
I have to shake her from my head because too many people want to talk to me and soon my face hurts from smiling for selfies. When the crowd is big enough, I see exactly what my job is going to be for the day. The fire department sits me on a platform above the dunk tank. There are a lot of phones up, taking videos, waiting for someone to hit the target.
A lot of people want to dunk me. I’m surprised Ash isn’t one of them. I keep searching for her, but she’s not in the crowd.
I finally catch a glimpse of her platinum blonde hair—not by the baked goods, where Cora is selling pastries—but over by the face painting station. She’s down on her knees, brush in hand, and a smile on her face as she says something to the little boy in front of her. She finishes and holds up a mirror, and the kid races off to his parents.
Ashley Foley, painting children’s faces at a fundraiser. Looking like she belongs. She tips her head back and laughs at something another young woman says to her, and the way the sunlight hits her, she’s golden. Happy.
Maybe I don’t know her as well as I think I do. Maybe no one does.
Ash turns like she feels my stare. Our eyes meet, and it’s exactly like it was at the gas station before we threw caution to the wind. This sense ofrightness. Of everything falling into place.
Until the world falls out from under me.
