11. Ashton

eleven

Ashton

I prided myself on being a remarkably reasonable person. Really. I was an impressive son of a bitch. Very few could boast of my level of articulateness or skill. Let's not even talk about my restraint. I'd had years of enduring ill-treatment as a result of moving from one family to the next, and one public school to another, to practice and sharpen my self-control. Not many things could successfully rile me up.

That was until Selma fucking Volkov stormed her way into my life like a bull.

Now I was overthinking and psychoanalyzing everything, and my nights were haunted by the sultry image of her wearing nothing but that damned lacy bra that refused to leave my mind.

But there was one thing she didn't know about: my sheer resilience toward getting whatever I wanted.

"Where should we put the paintings, Mr. McCall?" a mover asked.

"Down the hall to the left. Just against the wall." I gestured toward the direction I'd described, watching as the movers transferred my belongings into my newly acquired apartment.

I smiled victoriously, crossing my arms over my chest. If she thought she was getting rid of me after this gig, she had another thing coming. Not when she was carrying my child.

It hadn't been easy to secure an apartment in this building. Especially the one right next to her. It was situated on the Upper East Side, Madison Avenue. Fucking expensive too, given that I'd had to grease the palms of a few people to clarify the urgency of my venture. Thankfully, I made more money than I knew what to do with, so the cost was less than a small dent in my bank account.

This would ensure, in the long run, that Selma wouldn't be able to hide anything from me. I knew she didn't want me involved in the baby's life, but she should have thought of that before she agreed to have unprotected sex with me.

I was here to stay, and nothing would change that.

Scenes from yesterday in the studio flashed across my mind's eye more often than I would have liked. The tension between us had been so palpable one could have cut it with a knife. She'd fit perfectly in my arms, her lithe body pressed against my built form like she had been made solely for me.

I'd wanted to kiss her—to lean forward, capture her lips in an earth-shattering kiss, and just stay there until forever came. But that would have been an unwise decision given our audience. By the next morning, the blogs would have had a field day, and Selma would be trending once more for all the wrong reasons.

Denying my attraction to her would be pointless, and who could blame me anyway? Selma was all woman.

Just the thought of her lips sent my cock into overdrive, and when I was close to her, my brain shut down completely. To sum it up, I had zero self-control when it came to Selma. Somehow, she'd compelled my entire being into acting like a stag in rut whenever she was close.

I needed her again. To sink into her wet heat and drive us both into blissful oblivion. To hold her close to me as she moaned and whimpered in the kind of pleasure only I could give her. I needed to draw my fingers around her body as a map of all the heights I'd take her to.

The only conclusion I had come to was that I was fucking insane. Out of my damned mind. It just didn't make sense. How could I dislike someone so much and yet would gladly give one of my arms just to have her writhing under me in ecstasy?

"All done, Mr. McCall."

The voice drew me out of my reverie. I nodded at the mover who'd spoken to me, clasping his outstretched arm. "Thank you."

A minute later, the moving truck was gone, and all that remained was a silence that threatened my sanity. Could I really do this? Live with just a wall separating us and not fight the constant urge to march over to her side, rip her clothes off, and take her roughly against that very same wall?

I walked into my new apartment. It was massive, though not as big as my penthouse on Fifth Avenue, which I'd just moved out of. The things I was doing because of Selma got even more ridiculous as the days went by—sex without protection, working without pay, and now buying a new house I didn't need.

What's next? Giving her one of my kidneys?

Why was I still making efforts to stay in her life? Was it merely because of the baby, or was Milo right about me liking her?

I shook my head, stepping out of the apartment. Milo was a dumb fuck who couldn't even hear his own thoughts, given the long hours he spent with those damned headphones over his ears. What the hell did he know about anything?

The elevator tinged. Anticipation thrummed through my veins like an electric current. I knew this was a risky move, but something told me it was the right one. Selma's disdain for me would never be enough to keep me away—not when I knew her body cried out for my touch.

I saw her red stilettos before the rest of her body appeared. Like a bouncer, I crossed my arms and stood in front of my apartment.

She approached, cracking her neck as she walked. I braced myself for the storm that was sure to follow. Then she caught sight of me, coming to a halt in the middle of the long hallway. Her green eyes blazed with palpable fury as she stared back at me.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she demanded. "Oh, my God, are you stalking me?"

I rolled my eyes. "Get off your high horse. You're not worth that kind of stress."

"Is this your idea of a sick joke?" she continued angrily. "Do I need to get a restraining order? Because I will."

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Please, do. It'll certainly save me the trouble of working for free."

She narrowed her eyes to me. "You haven't answered my question. What are you doing here?"

Her expression caused me to grin. "I live here now."

"I swear to—wait, what?"

Just because I knew it would piss her the fuck off, I waved gingerly. "Hi, neighbor. Looks like we're going to be spending an awful lot of time together. Gee. I'm so excited I can't wait."

Her eyes were as wide as saucers. "Tell me you're joking."

I stared at her in response, my grin widening. Oh, I loved it when she was mad. It made living worth it.

Her expression shifted from anger to confusion, disbelief etched into the furrows of her brow. "But…how? This is my apartment building. Not yours."

"Bought it last night. I guess you'll just have to find a way to share. To make things even better, I bought the one next to yours."

Her breath hitched in her throat, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features before it was replaced by a steely resolve. "You…you bought the apartment next to mine?"

"Mhmm," I said with a nod.

Then the confusion cleared, and the anger resurfaced, threatening to boil over. "Are you out of your mind, Ashton? Do you have any idea what kind of invasion of privacy this is?"

I fixed her with a burning glare. "I will not let you keep me out of my child's life, Selma."

"And you think this is the way to go about it? By joining us at the hip?"

Her nostrils flared as she scanned the hallway as if checking for an audience. I frowned. Did she not want people to know she was pregnant? Wait a minute. Did anyone know? Now that I thought about it, Maria most likely didn't. She would have said something by now.

Is Selma…ashamed? The thought did not strike me in a pleasant way.

"Well, you didn't exactly leave me any choice, did you?" I said. "When's your next check-up?"

Selma's chin rose in defiance, making me wonder why she was fighting so hard to push me away. Unlike many men, I'd chosen to stay and perform my duty to the baby. What was the problem?

Her heels clicked against the tiled floor as she closed the distance between us. Her face was twisted in anger, and her lips were curved downwards.

She pointed a finger at me, hitting my chest with each word. "Get it through your thick skull. This baby is mine. Only mine. You are nothing more than a sperm donor, and you're delusional if you think otherwise."

I gritted my teeth, the familiar sting of frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Christ, Selma. You suck the joy out of everything. Why are you so fucking stubborn?"

"Why are you so fucking persistent?" Even with how low she'd reduced her voice, her tone still had a puzzling urgency.

"Maybe if you stopped for a second to see that you can't do this alone, you'd understand that a baby needs its father."

She faltered then but only for a second. She bounced back with such speed that Barry Allen would have been jealous.

"I will be its father."

I scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"And don't be stupid, Ashton. This is what's best."

"For whom?"

"For the three of us!" Her chest heaved. "I will not let this baby come into this world knowing that their parents hate each other. I will not." Her voice cracked at the end, and her eyes were suddenly red-rimmed.

I blinked, completely taken off guard. Hadn't she been blowing angry air through her nostrils a few seconds ago? How did she go from that to tears?

And why on earth was the sight of her crying threatening to tear my heart out through my chest?

I didn't allow myself to think about it as I reached for her. She recoiled from my touch, wiping under her eyes.

"Are you okay, peaches?" I asked softly, suddenly unmotivated to continue the argument. Seeing her cry hurt me, and I hated it because I shouldn't have cared at all.

But I did. I cared very much.

"I'm fine." Her voice was like a whip crack, sharp and cutting.

"Okay." I raised my hands in surrender, hoping to diffuse some of the tension between us. "I believe you. Listen, peaches, I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm only trying to ensure my child gets the best out of life."

Her hardened gaze met mine. "I'm fully capable of giving that to them. I don't need you fucking up things."

"For someone who claims to hate me so much, you don't seem to hate it when I touch you or when I kiss you."

I watched as she fisted her hands at her sides, barely managing to contain her anger. "I'd say fuck you, but you seem to like reminding me that we've done that already. So, you can go fuck yourself."

"Hypocrite."

She searched through her bags for her keys, walking to her door. "Fuck face."

"Witch."

"Dickhead." She found the keys, put them in the lock, and turned them.

"You're not getting rid of me, Selma. Running away won't help either. The sooner you come to terms with that, the better for you."

The door opened, and she walked into her apartment, turning to face me as her face curled into a snarl. "And I thought being a father would change you and make you slightly less of a dick, but you're still the same arrogant, infuriating asshole you've always been. The sooner you come to terms with that, the better for you."

The door slammed in my face.

Well, that went well. I heaved out a deep sigh, wondering how I'd gotten myself caught up in such a tangled web. Then, as if I had no control over it, a low sound rumbled from deep inside me. It took me a few seconds to realize that I was laughing.

Laughing, for fuck's sake. What had come over me? Did it make sense that I enjoyed the verbal sparring? Even though she was the most obstinate person I'd ever encountered, I couldn't imagine her not being…obstinate?

It was true that Selma antagonized me to no end, but I really wouldn't have it any other way.