3. Ash
THREE
"You look like shit." My little—in every sense of the word—sister, Indy, says from her spot on the couch as I enter our apartment.
"Are you eating cheese puffs with your toes?" I sneer in disgust. Indy shrugs her slim shoulders.
"Dude, the puff dust was caking my fingers and getting all over my hooks and yarn; plus, it's like a new type of mobility exercise I invented, and it's not like my feet aren't cleaner than my hands; I washed them first." I watch in shock and horror as she reaches her toes into the bowl, pulls out a puff, and puts it into her fucking mouth.
"You are foul. This right here," I say, motioning to her sprawled out with cheese-dust-covered toes. "This is why you'll never get a man."
"Negative, bro; that's because my giant brother won't let anything with a penis within twelve feet of me."
"Well, what do you need a dick for? No! I forbid you to answer that! My blood pressure is high enough already." I sigh while removing my shoes.
Tonight has been a disaster. First, my hookup catfished the fuck out of me. And while I'm not one with an actual type, when a woman in her sixties shows up and you're expecting someone else, and then you find out she's been using her daughter's photos, you kind of lose interest. Then I go back to Hel's to grab my stuff I'd left there before the non-hookup, and I find everyone having a party I'd known nothing about. And if that wasn't awkward enough to walk in on, fucking Sunday Sutton was there and outed my biggest embarrassment of all time to the entire fucking shop.
"Did someone reject you? Or did you hit on a married woman again?"
I roll my eyes at my sister, though both are valid questions. I've been striking out recently, which isn't like me. Lately, I've caught myself avoiding the one-night stand shit on the hookup apps. I've been reading profiles, looking at interests, and it scares the ever-loving fuck out of me. I mean, like a lot. Like, enough to think about never having sex again. Reading profiles, that's not something I should be doing. I can't look for anything but a good time. I can't open myself up like that, not again. All I can think about is At in the club with me saying he wants me happy and—no, this can't happen. I'll chop my dick off before I go back down that road.
"Sunday was at Hel's," I mumble while watching Indy wipe the cheese dust off her feet with a wet wipe. God, she's a fucking weirdo. "They were having some party or something, I don't know. I kind of walked in on it."
"Sunday Sutton? Oh no, Ash… you did that thing again, didn't you?" The disappointment in her voice raises my hackles, and my annoyance creeps up.
"I panicked!" I yell in defense while storming down the hall toward my bedroom, desperate for a shower.
"She's going to think you're an idiot if you keep reintroducing yourself!" Her voice calls after me.
"Too late, she already does! And she made sure everyone at Hel's thinks it too!" I call back before slamming my door and heading to my bathroom to shower.
Once I'm safely inside the bathroom and the door's locked, I let out a long breath before gripping the edge of the cool sink to ground myself. She must think I'm the dumbest son of a bitch in the state, and I can't blame her.
Dash… Fucking damn it.
Walking to the shower, I turn the water on before removing my clothes. I roll my eyes at myself when I look in the mirror, disgusted with the person staring back. How could I not be? I have, once again, fucked up in front of Sunday Sutton and come out looking like an asshole. I hate that every fucking time I see her, I turn into a moron. And this time, she made sure it could never happen again. I don't blame her, but did she have to go for the jugular?
I can't help it. After what happened that night with her, how am I supposed to look at her? I stare down at my flaccid cock in aggravation and betrayal, feeling the familiar anger and shame wash over me. I got into her apartment and got one fucking pump in before…
Dash.
Shaking my head to rid myself of the embarrassment, I finish washing off before getting out of the shower. That night was one oftheworst nights of my life. It has been years, and I'm still mortified, so much so that I swore never to try dating again. Sunday had unfortunately been my rebound from my ex-girlfriend, who still, to this day, gives me more anxiety than I can handle. The physical and emotional abuse was rough. The beatings I took, and there were many, but the way she talked down to me like I was stupid, useless, unable to pleasure her, a charity case. It was so bad I would have panic attacks and couldn't even get it up for her because I knewit wouldn't be enough for her. That's when she started cheating, and shortly after that, we broke up.
Once on my own, I was determined to feel like a man again. I became a fitness fanatic, quit my job as a paramedic, and went full-time as a tattoo artist. On one of my earliest days at Hel's Ink, Sunday Sutton walked in with her lean body, honey-colored eyes, and the cutest fucking accent. I was taken with her immediately. All I wanted was to spend as much time with her as possible.
After her tattoo, I asked her out, and I couldn't believe it when she said yes. Our date was probably the best date I'd ever been on. I'd never felt so excited or connected to someone. Then we kissed, and I don't know what happened; things moved so fast, and before I knew it, I was trying to talk myself out of a panic attack while talking my fucking cock into getting hard, and the moment I got that condom on, then lowered myself between her legs and I just… came. And if that wasn't bad enough, she started laughing while patting my shoulder and telling me it was okay. Nope. Never again.
Over the years, I've perfected my art of pleasing a woman. I know how to get a woman naked and get what I need and give her what she wants before telling her bye. I have rules now. No relationships, no rebounds, no repeats, no names, and no Sunday fucking Sutton. But the damn ‘no Sunday' thing keeps getting fucked up! She's everywhere now! She's best friends with my best friends' girls, so I keep seeing her at group events, and now… nowshe's hanging out at the shop? My fucking dojo. Just coming in there, saying that shit about me.
Though, I did start it. I wince at the thought while drying myself off before wrapping a towel around my waist. Walking into my bedroom, I see my phone lighting up on the bed. Peering over to see who it is, I loudly groan when I see it's the Hel's Girls.
Ren: You son of a bitch!
Mama J: I hope you can never get it up again.
Ren: It's bad enough that you fucked my best friend and left money like she's a hooker! But then to insult her by acting like you don't even know her or remember her.
Mama J: I'm calling Stevie's grandma. We're feeding your ass to the fucking pigs.
Ren: In what universe do you think it's okay to CONSISTENTLY act like you have selective amnesia? Are you brain-dead or just THAT much of an asshole?
Mama J: *middle finger emoji* You ruined her night! Finally, she has something good happening, and YOU waltz in and ruin it!
I sit on my bed, guilt filling me up. I didn't mean to ruin her night. Wait…
Me: SHE embarrassed me!
Ren: Because YOU. ARE. A. DICK.
Mama J: OH MY GODDDDD you're embarrassed? PUH-LEASE! Try being her! We all knew she had a one-night stand with you! This is YOUR fault.
Me: OK! I"m sorry!
Ren: Apologize to HER!
Mama J: If you can remember who she is…
Ren: Her name is Sunday.
Mama J: You know, silver hair, killer bod… WAY out of your league.
I throw my phone onto the mattress before lifting myself off the bed and getting dressed in black sweatpants and a grey T-shirt for the night. Once decent, I walk out of my room and back to the living room to see Indy wiping the cheese dust off her foot again.
"Okay, so what happened to the vegan shit?" I ask as I sit on the couch seat opposite her.
"It's not ‘vegan shit,'" she scoffs while placing the empty bowl on the coffee table. It amazes me that this tiny little waif of a human can out eat any grown man I know. "And besides, I'm still a vegan."
I give her a blank stare before glancing at the empty bowl and back to her bright blue eyes. "Indy, there's cheese on the puffs. It's in the name."
Her black brows furrow together, and her mouth twists in confusion before she gets off the couch and heads to the kitchen. I hear the crinkling of a snack bag as she walks out.
"What the fuck!" She gasps while reading the back of the bag. "Milk ingredients? Everything in here is a chemical, but they had to put actual milk in it? I feel so betrayed." She sighs dramatically and throws the bag at me before sitting back on the couch, this time closer to me.
I stare at the blue rubber bracelet on her wrist and feel my anxiety creeping in.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, trying to keep the concern out of my voice, though I know it's coming through.
"Mom called," she says, ignoring my question. Fair enough, we both know that there isn't anything I can do right now.
"Yeah?" I ask, opening the bag of puffs and grabbing one. With my fingers. Like a normal person. "What did she have to say? She called me last week."
"She's concerned about her sweet, perfect son." Indy makes a gagging noise, and I chuckle.
"You're just mad because I'm mom's favorite."
She rolls her eyes. "You can have the favoritism, bro; I don't want that spotlight. She's all upset that you"ll come alone to her wedding. Or worse," Indy puts a hand to her face and, in a mock whisper, says, "You'll bring a lady of the night."
"She didn't." I groan and roll my head back as Indy laughs.
"Oh, you know she did. She said you tried to give her some crap about having a girlfriend?"
"No," I huff out, "I was just trying to ease her mind by hinting that I have a female friend that I'll bring."
"Right," she deadpans. "And which of the shop girls are you going to bribe into going with you?"
Rubbing my neck, I shift uncomfortably. "I have no idea. Fox would murder me if I took Janie. And Mom knows about Ren being Atlas' wife. Stevie wouldn't because she's loyal to Sunday and the girls. Actually, none of them would help me now because of Sunday."
"Doesn't Atlas have a sister?" she offers, and I note she's closing her eyes tightly.
"Too recently sober," I say slowly while scanning her. She's leaning back—dizzy, probably. "I wouldn't feel right taking her around our family or Neil's, considering there will be a beer fountain."
Indy opens an eye and looks up toward me. "Good point," she states before inhaling deeply. I'm about to ask her what's hurting when she starts talking again. "Children's Hospital emailed me today." Her voice is small and rightfully so because now I'm the one needing the deep inhale.
"We talked about this," I say slowly. "You promised."
"Ash, you realize I can't stay locked in this apartment forever, right? As much as everyone likes to joke, I'm not some fairytale princess you can tuck away in a tower. I'll be fine." She places a hand on my arm, but I jerk away as I stand up.
"You promised me, Indiana," I say firmly as I pace around the room. I feel my chest tightening as the panic creeps in. "The last time–"
"Was two years ago!" she snaps as she smacks the couch cushion. "And it wouldn't be nursing! Just the—"
"Enough," I snap back. "I said no. Look at you; you are in pain as we speak, and you're expecting me to let you go and be around sick people all day?"
"I'm not a fucking child! And how dare you use my illness like that!" She stands up abruptly, and I watch as it happens, almost in slow motion. Her face goes from scrunched up and angry to completely grey and lax while her eyes roll back into her head as she crumples to the floor.
"Fuck! Fuck!" I grab her before she hits her head on the coffee table. Lowering myself with her in my arms to the floor, I rest her head against me as her body twitches, and she begins to sweat.
"Indy," I whisper weakly, pushing the raven curls off her forehead. "How am I supposed to let you go when this can happen?" It's bad enough that after countless tests, doctors, and ER trips, she was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. When she was diagnosed, I didn't think she'd ever walk again, and some days, she can't. Despite her working tirelessly to combat this progressive disease, her symptoms are never entirely gone. She just has some days that are better than others. One of her less-desirable symptoms is her fainting if she's going into a flare-up.
I watch as her eyes start to flutter open, and she begins to groan. "It's alright," I whisper as she grips my arm tightly. "Just rest, Indy, I've got you."
I try notto pace nervously by the front door of Sunday's dance studio, holding coffee and a bag of pastries I got from Stevie, who all but hissed at me and told me if I came back before Sunday forgave me that her Baka would put a Croatian curse on me.
Do Croatians have specialized curses? I can't be sure, but I do know that her tiny, ancient grandma nearly threw a cleaver at Lauren's abusive ex last year when he came into her donut shop, so it's probably in my best interest to not go back to Nuts About Dough for a little while. But only a little while because that psychotic, murderous, old bat makes the best doughnuts I've ever had, and I'm kind of a sugar junkie.
"Oh god, what do you want?" I jump when Sunday's voice brings me out of my thoughts of buttercream-filled birthday cake doughnuts. The silver-haired woman leans heavily on the side of the brick building. Her honey eyes look dull and are surrounded by dark circles.
"H-Hey sunshine, I brought you breakfast." I smile as I gesture to the bag and coffee.
Her almond-shaped eyes narrow, and her lips press into a thin line. "Listen, charming." Her voice is cold and calculating, and fuck, it's still sexy as hell with that accent. "I don't know what kind of joke you're playing here, but I ain't got the time. I gotta start cleaning and packing here. Then I have four classes and need to go home and pack. Now, move out of my way before I ruin your stupidly expensive shirt."
I look down at the light blue t-shirt spread across my chest and tight in the biceps. "It wasn't that expensive. I got it on sale." I don't know why I feel the need to give her that information. Usually, I would've hidden the fact that I got anything at a discount. Women prefer to know you can afford it at full price.
She laughs dryly, "Oh yeah? So, a hundred instead of four?"
"Maybe. What's your point?" I ask defensively. So what if I like expensive things? I have a job and money.
She shakes her head. "I don't have one. It's your money to burn. Anyway, get out of my way before I ruin your hundred-dollar shirt." She shoves past me and unlocks the door to the dance studio before entering. I follow her in without invitation.
She walks down the hall, and while making our way to the tiny backroom, which I assume is her office, I notice she has a slight limp. The room's cluttered with shoes, outfits, a table, and a computer. I watch her sit slowly on the metal folding chair, wincing before resting her leg on a box.
"What happened to your leg?" I ask, and then mentally smack myself for prying.
"Accident," she says simply while powering on the computer.
"Are you okay?"
"No, I have an overgrown man-whore standing in my office, wasting my time. Now, what do you want?" She blinks slowly while glaring daggers, telling me with her pretty eyes to ‘fuck off.'
"Sunshine."
"Day," she snaps, "My name is Sunday."
Okay, now isn't the time for pet names, noted. "Okay," I relent. "Sunday… I'm sorry." I wince as I rub the back of my neck. "I'm sorry for pissing you off the other day."
"Apology accepted. Now go away." She logs into her computer, and I feel her turning to ice before me.
"You're not accepting it, so why lie?"
She stops typing and turns her gaze back to me. "Ash, I have nothing, and I do meannothing,to say to you. I don't give a rat's ass if you apologize. I ain't got time for your apologies, alright? I don't have time to fix your overly fragile male ego. I already told you the endless list of shit I have to do today, all while trying to get this screaming in my knee to calm down. Do you know what kind of toll four hours on a pole can have on a body that isn't hurting? Let alone one that is injured? I have to teach a class of fifteen how to perform the Dove while my knee feels like it's snapping in two. So, you'll have to excuse me if I don't bend over backward to make sure you feel truly forgiven for being a complete dick to me the other day and every other time you've seen me since the night you ran out on me."
We're silent for a second as Sunday inhales a deep breath. "Feel better?" I ask while smirking, and she gives me the finger. "If you need help," I start but stop as I see the darkness on her face.
"I'll sooner hand out ten-dollar blow jobs on the corner than ask you for a damn thing." She sneers before getting up. She walks past me, purposely bumping my shoulder while walking back down the hall.
"I wasn't trying to insult you," I say while following her into her dance room. She scoffs as she walks over to the closet, pulling out a large tote.
"Really? Which time? When you tried to hand out charity? Or the times you've pretended you had no idea who I was, making me look like an idiot?" I open my mouth to speak, but Sunday isn't finished. "Or! Or? Could it be that time that you flirted with me while I got tattooed, conned me into going out with you and having sex with you, just to have you run out thirty seconds in, but not before dropping sixty dollars on my nightstand like I was some kind of hooker?" She checks off each of my transgressions with her slender fingers as if counting them off.
"O-Okay." Holding my hands out cautiously, I step toward the angry woman. "The money was your tip–"
"Get the fuck out–" I catch her wrist as she tries to slap my face. It's the first time we've touched since that night, and fuck, that feeling's still here. That electric bolt I felt from the moment I shook her hand when we met. It's what drew me in, what made me flirt with her and ask her out despite the anxiety and fear of rejection I had screaming at me. I inhale sharply as I look from her wrist to her eyes.
"It was the tip," I repeat calmly but firmly while holding her soft wrist. She's so cute. Her freckle-kissed nose is scrunched up as she squints at me in rage. "That you had given me for the tattoo the night before. I felt weird keeping it after the date. I had planned on giving it back to you the whole time. Yeah, I"m aware it was the worst timing, but I never thought I'd see you again." She rips her wrist free, and instantly, I miss the warmth. Her nose relaxes, but her eyes stay tight.
"I'm really pissed off about that being a good excuse," she mutters in defeat while I breathe out a laugh as she bends over to grab something on the floor in the closet.
"Jesus," I whisper as her round ass has its main character moment in her dark grey leggings. And I mean, fuck, her ass is top tier–round and firm with a nice handf–
"Did you need something else, charming?" She stares at me, her eyebrow arched, and I know she just caught me staring at her perfect ass.
I blush slightly and look anywhere but at her. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"
She lets out an annoyed breath followed by a sarcastic laugh. "You haven't spoken to me but a handful of times in years, and you pretended to have amnesia during those encounters. So, I'd say I'm fine. You've done enough. Have a good day." She grabs her tote and limps past me back toward her office.
I stop myself from asking her again. It's obvious she's ready for me to leave, so I decide to give in and do as she asks. As I walk past the counter, I stop and grab a pen and a piece of paper. Quickly, I jot down a note to her before taking my leave.