Part 13 (1/2)
”I think she might have a thing for you,” I say, dipping a fry into the ranch.
Asher looks like he's about to laugh. ”You think?”
”I do.” I pick the onions off my chicken sandwich. ”Why's that so funny?”
He pours ketchup on his burger. ”Because you're probably right, but she doesn't stand a chance. She's not really my type.” He glances at the disposed onions on my plate. ”You don't like onions?”
”You said that like I just admitted I hate chocolate. And onions and chocolate are on two very different levels.”
”Yeah, onions are much better.”
”You can eat them if you want.” I motion at my plate. ”What's mine is yours.”
He picks up the onion, tips his head back, and spirals it into his mouth. ”I might hold you to that a little bit later.” His eyes darken with hunger.
A tingling sensation coils inside my stomach. I clear my throat and take a bite of my chicken sandwich. ”So, you like the band From Autumn to Ashes?”
He glances down at his s.h.i.+rt. ”Yeah, I got this s.h.i.+rt at one of their concerts. They're pretty good. Have you heard them play?”
”Not in person.” I pop a fry into my mouth. ”But I have a lot of their songs downloaded.”
He bites into his hamburger and a droplet of ketchup stays on his lip. The urge to lean over and suck it off his lip surfaces again. He licks it off, leisurely, watching me like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.
We stare at each other with heat in our eyes and desire throbbing in our bodies. It's something I don't quite understand, because I barely know him. But I don't want the feeling to ever leave.
”So what is there to do around here?” Asher's voice sounds high and he clears his throat. ”Besides hanging out at bars.”
”You're asking the wrong person,” I tell him. ”Honestly, the only thing I do is follow Raven to her parties.”
”Yeah, what's up with that?” He picks a flake of lettuce off his hamburger. ”It doesn't seem like you're really the partying type. Or the following type?”
”I'm not, but...”
”But Raven is, and she's the boss,” he finishes for me.
”She's not the boss... Okay, well maybe she is, but it's just her personality.”
He chews slowly. ”I had this friend back in New York who was a little bit bossy, so finally one day I told him to shove it. You know what, we still stayed friends.”
”I'm sure you didn't tell him to shove it,” I remark. ”You seem way too nice for that.”
A smile plays at his lips as he reaches over and steals another onion off my plate. ”Do I?”
I take a sip of my c.o.ke. ”Are you trying to tell me that you're secretly mean?”
”I have a mean... side.” He wavers. ”I guess. But it doesn't come out a lot.”
”I think everyone has sides of them that rarely come out.” I stir the straw in my drink.
He nods. ”So what's yours?”
Crazy. ”I don't know...”
”You don't have to share it with me if you don't want to.” He takes a sip of his water. ”I won't make you do anything you don't want to.”
It feels like there's a hidden meaning in his words. ”So what made you want to be an artist?”
His jaw clamps tight. ”My father was an artist and he pa.s.sed along his gift to me.”
”You sound upset about that. Did you fight a lot with your dad or something?”
”My dad wasn't around a lot, but I love painting-it helps me get out what I'm feeling.”
”I know what you mean.” I think of his angel drawing and wonder what he was feeling when he painted it-I wonder if he knows stuff about angels. ”It's why I write poetry.”
”I'd love to read some of your poetry,” he says.
I stare down at my chicken sandwich and my hair falls around my face. ”I usually don't let people read it. Well, except for Raven, but she's only read what I've written on my walls.” And Cameron, but that was by accident.
”You write on your walls?” He sprinkles some salt on his fries. ”Now that is something you'll have to let me see.”
”Sure.” I tuck my hair back. ”There's artwork on the walls, too-Raven's and my brother's.”
He wipes his hand on a napkin. ”Maybe you'll be nice enough to let me put something up on it.”
”Like a painting of your sad angel.”
”Would you want that? A drawing of an angel that would always be on your wall?”
”There's already one on there. Raven put it up when we were like, eight.” I take another bite of my chicken sandwich. ”And my brother put the Grim Reaper on it for who knows what reasons, so I have the good version of death and the evil one.” As I say it aloud, I think of the book I read. A battle between good and evil. Between Angels of Death and Grim Reapers. I have the battle on my walls.
Asher's expression falls. ”But which one's evil and which one's good?”
It's an obvious answer, but my lips decline to utter the words, and an image of my imaginary childhood friend pops into my head.
The waitress arrives with the bill. I try to pay for my half, but Asher won't allow it. While we're waiting for the waitress to bring the change, two men walk inside the bar that catch my attention. They stand out in their business attire and fancy haircuts. The taller of the two has blonde hair and dark eyes that look really familiar. Then it clicks. Cameron's dad. I don't recognize the man who's with him, but I notice him glance our way.
Asher's eyes find them and his eyes darken. Cameron's dad returns the look with equivalent revulsion.
”Do you know them?” I nod my head toward the two men.
Asher's eyes stay on them as he shakes his head. ”No, I don't,” he says through gritted teeth. He rips his gaze away and his expression is feral.
”Asher, what's wrong.” I start to turn my head back to the men, but a man with long brown hair and a stocky body stumbles from a barstool, waving his finger at me.
”Ain't you that girl who killed her father?” he slurs.
”I didn't kill him.” I cringe uncomfortably. ”The cops just thought I did for a while.”
His thigh b.u.mps the table and knocks my c.o.ke over, spilling ice all over the table. ”But didn't you run away after you called the cops and reported his murder? Yeah, yeah, and they took you to jail.”