a bubble butt.
After that, she spotted Ashquite a few times on the beach. He always went to the same spot, always sat there watching girls pass by as if he were desperately searching for something he couldn’t seem to find. She knew he went clubbing every night too. She saw the fluorescent ink stamped onto the back of his hand and heard him discussing the selling points of various clubs with Alfie. She would’ve dismissed him as being justlike most of the guys she knew—horny and desperate—but something started to change. He kept making excuses. And one day she twigged that his excuses weren’t based on the inadequacies of the female bodies he saw but on the fact that he was looking for something else. He never defined it, and she grew as intrigued by his hesitation as he and Alfie seemed frustrated by it. She wondered if she mightpossess that quality he was searching for.
A couple days passed and he kept ignoring her, and she couldn’t help her mounting anxiety as every nerve in her body shouted
Why not me? I’m right here.
She wanted to be wanted for more than just her proximity, but the fact he barely seemed to notice her annoyed her.
And then came that awful night when she convinced her cousin Sergio to takeher to one of the clubs in the hopes of running into Ash. He’d taken her to one before and tried to hook her up with one of his friends. Actually,
hook her up
described it perfectly, since Sergio’s asswipe friend had treated her like she was no more than a cow carcass hanging in a slaughterhouse. She’d politely declined, and the bastard had said to Sergio in Catalan, “I thought you said she’dfuck anyone?”
She hadn’t wanted to spend another night in Sergio’s company, but she didn’t know which clubs British guys hung out in. It was the early days of the internet, and her cousins didn’t have it at home, nor had she ever been online. It would still be two more years before she got her first email address. So she’d casually asked Sergio where the best places to go dancing were, andhe’d told her he’d take her out that night. She’d swallowed her misgivings, so eager was she to accidentally run into Ash.
She found him dancing with the leggy Italian girl. No, dancing didn’t describe it. Dry humping—that was more like it. But then he spotted her, and the strangest thing happened. The music fell away. All the sweaty, smelly, drunk teenagers around her disappeared. And Ashapproached her. Not just approached her but made her laugh. And after coming back with her Fanta—undrugged—he sat and shout-talked with her for an hour about the book she’d brought to deflect interest from anyone who wasn’t him. Finally he seemed to grow restless with conversation and got the gleam of anticipation that all boys got when they were ready for action.
Except he was ready fora different kind of action.
“Dance with me.” Ash held his hand out palm up and waited for her to take it.
“I don’t dance,” she replied, momentarily reliving the mocking laughter she’d been subjected to the only time she’d gone to a school dance.
“Of course you do. Everyone does.”
“Nope. Not everyone. You see, I have this condition.”
Horror rippled across his face. “Whatcondition?”
“You’ve heard of two left feet?”
“Yeah.”
“I have a terminal case.”
His horror slowly transformed into a grin. “You won’t die with me.”
“No, but you will. I’ll pound your toes till they’re dust. You’ll wither away and die. It won’t be a pretty death.”
“Are any?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve only died of embarrassment. It
definitely
wasn’t pretty, and thatwas the last time I danced, so I swore off it.”
He stood, his hand still outstretched. “If you won’t dance with me, take a walk on the beach with me.”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s very safe.”
“I’ll protect you.”
Her gaze flicked down his body. It was a great body, but it was difficult to see that
After that, she spotted Ashquite a few times on the beach. He always went to the same spot, always sat there watching girls pass by as if he were desperately searching for something he couldn’t seem to find. She knew he went clubbing every night too. She saw the fluorescent ink stamped onto the back of his hand and heard him discussing the selling points of various clubs with Alfie. She would’ve dismissed him as being justlike most of the guys she knew—horny and desperate—but something started to change. He kept making excuses. And one day she twigged that his excuses weren’t based on the inadequacies of the female bodies he saw but on the fact that he was looking for something else. He never defined it, and she grew as intrigued by his hesitation as he and Alfie seemed frustrated by it. She wondered if she mightpossess that quality he was searching for.
A couple days passed and he kept ignoring her, and she couldn’t help her mounting anxiety as every nerve in her body shouted
Why not me? I’m right here.
She wanted to be wanted for more than just her proximity, but the fact he barely seemed to notice her annoyed her.
And then came that awful night when she convinced her cousin Sergio to takeher to one of the clubs in the hopes of running into Ash. He’d taken her to one before and tried to hook her up with one of his friends. Actually,
hook her up
described it perfectly, since Sergio’s asswipe friend had treated her like she was no more than a cow carcass hanging in a slaughterhouse. She’d politely declined, and the bastard had said to Sergio in Catalan, “I thought you said she’dfuck anyone?”
She hadn’t wanted to spend another night in Sergio’s company, but she didn’t know which clubs British guys hung out in. It was the early days of the internet, and her cousins didn’t have it at home, nor had she ever been online. It would still be two more years before she got her first email address. So she’d casually asked Sergio where the best places to go dancing were, andhe’d told her he’d take her out that night. She’d swallowed her misgivings, so eager was she to accidentally run into Ash.
She found him dancing with the leggy Italian girl. No, dancing didn’t describe it. Dry humping—that was more like it. But then he spotted her, and the strangest thing happened. The music fell away. All the sweaty, smelly, drunk teenagers around her disappeared. And Ashapproached her. Not just approached her but made her laugh. And after coming back with her Fanta—undrugged—he sat and shout-talked with her for an hour about the book she’d brought to deflect interest from anyone who wasn’t him. Finally he seemed to grow restless with conversation and got the gleam of anticipation that all boys got when they were ready for action.
Except he was ready fora different kind of action.
“Dance with me.” Ash held his hand out palm up and waited for her to take it.
“I don’t dance,” she replied, momentarily reliving the mocking laughter she’d been subjected to the only time she’d gone to a school dance.
“Of course you do. Everyone does.”
“Nope. Not everyone. You see, I have this condition.”
Horror rippled across his face. “Whatcondition?”
“You’ve heard of two left feet?”
“Yeah.”
“I have a terminal case.”
His horror slowly transformed into a grin. “You won’t die with me.”
“No, but you will. I’ll pound your toes till they’re dust. You’ll wither away and die. It won’t be a pretty death.”
“Are any?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve only died of embarrassment. It
definitely
wasn’t pretty, and thatwas the last time I danced, so I swore off it.”
He stood, his hand still outstretched. “If you won’t dance with me, take a walk on the beach with me.”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s very safe.”
“I’ll protect you.”
Her gaze flicked down his body. It was a great body, but it was difficult to see that
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