Series: Fever Falls Series by Riley Hart
Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
When I lounged on a float, he tried to splash me, then dunk me. He was the biggest fucking kid I’d ever met, but then my gut hurt from laughing so hard, which wasn’t uncommon when I was around Ash. It had grated on my nerves in high school, but it didn’t anymore.
Then, of course, we had to challenge each other to a game of football in the water because how could we not? It was basically impossible for us not to.
After I’d kicked his ass, we’d grilled steaks for dinner, and he’d started drinking a few more beers. I couldn’t help but worry about him when it came to the drinking. It seemed to be a pattern I noticed with him since he’d come home.
We had dinner out back, and when I said, “I should probably hit the road,” Ash shook his head.
“Not until we try this new firepit I got. I haven’t gotten a chance to use it yet.”
So that’s what we did. We started a fire and roasted marshmallows like we were kids.
We kept talking, and it got darker and darker, later and later, but Ash didn’t make a move to go inside and call an end to the night, so I didn’t either.
I wanted to be around him, enjoyed it, probably always had in ways I wouldn’t have admitted before. We’d spent the whole day together, and half the time he infuriated me and the other he made me laugh, and as much as I hated to admit it, I soaked up every second of it. That had always been Ash, though, hadn’t it? He was that bright star you spotted first at night, this beacon that drew your attention, entranced you and didn’t let go. My brain told me I should be angrier that I’d gotten caught up in the power that was Ashton Carmichael, but in that moment, I couldn’t find it in me to feel that way.
The fire was going down, the embers fading, yet still we stayed.
I slid my hand across the chair, and a piercing pain ripped down my finger. “Fuck.” I jerked my hand away.
“What happened?” Ash worried his full, bottom lip.
“Something cut me.” I wrapped a hand around my finger, blood dripping already.
“Come on. Let’s go inside and clean it up.” He went for the house, and I followed him. Once inside the kitchen, Ash turned on the water, grabbed my wrist, and pulled until my hand was under the faucet. Water and blood mixed as they went down the drain.
“Stay there. I’ll be right back.”
It was only a moment later that Ash returned with a small first-aid kit. He turned off the water, wrapped a cloth around my finger, and led me to the table. “I can do this myself, you know.” Still, I followed his lead. Sat down when he pointed to the chair, watched as he unwrapped my finger and studied it.
“I don’t think it needs stitches. It’s pretty deep, though.”
Then with the gentlest care, he began to put antiseptic on me, bandaged it as though I was mortally wounded. My heart pounded, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him, knew I needed to because in that moment, I felt this connection with him that I couldn’t explain. Who in the hell was Ashton Carmichael?
“All better.” He gave me a sweet grin. Then, as if realizing he still held on to me, he jerked his hand away.
“Thank God you were here.”
“Never thought I’d hear you say that. Do you mind repeating it while I record?” he teased.
“Funny guy.”
“Thank you.”
I rolled my eyes. It was late, after ten, and I’d been there since eight in the morning. It had been a long day, and my eyes were grainy, heavy. “What do I owe you for fixing me up, Dr. Carmichael?” I joked as I leaned forward, not toward him, but with my elbow on the table, resting my head against my good hand. My body was definitely fading. I needed to get home.
“Your hair is all crazy from swimming earlier.” From his spot in front of me, Ash ran his fingers through my hair, ruffled it, twisted strands around his fingers, and damn, it felt good. A tingle swept through me, and I closed my eyes, savored it, and he kept going, fingering my hair as if I were his lover.
Ash…this was Ash. That night on the dock slammed into me, the press of his lips and the shock of disappointment when he’d pulled away. The fear in his eyes and the way he’d run, making me feel as though it had been my fault, as though he’d been drunk and that was the only reason he’d done it.
I didn’t open my eyes when I said, “Ash…what are you doing? This…this isn’t the way a straight man touches another guy.”