Chapter Thirty-Five

Ashleigh

Most Likely to Kill Each Other

I m not even pretending to myself anymore, not even for my own sense of self-preservation, because - really, what s the use? I just had sex with Ryan Lawal, and it was great . I m almost willing to give him some leeway on what a swaggering, conceited prick he is, because he s certainly not all talk.

Almost. I ve just been thoroughly fucked - I haven t completely lost my mind.

We don t bother to seek shelter from the sprinklers, both drenched in the instant they kick on, but I do eventually push Ryan off from on top of me to stand up on the bench and see if I can manually turn a couple of the sprinklers off, but it s no use. I don t see a valve anywhere to control them.

But, then again, I don t exactly try very hard to find one.

Not when I clamber down from the bench and Ryan catches me from behind to pull my body back against his, his hands roaming over my flesh. He starts kissing my neck, and I only put up a slight protest before leaning back against him to let him enjoy himself. The heat of his hands feels good, the roughness of his skin novel in its unfamiliarity, drawing all my nerve endings on edge in anticipation.

We re getting soaked, I tell him, in another feeble attempt to do something about the sprinklers. I even go so far as tugging my body forward slightly, even though my feet stay planted right where they are and I don t push his arms away.

I am shameless. And not the least bit sorry about it.

Mm, Ryan mumbles into my neck. He pushes a thick strand of hair away where it s fallen out of my updo and plastered itself, wet, to my shoulder. I thought it was meant to be romantic, kissing in the rain.

I laugh again, and - God, when was the last time a man made me laugh like this? The last time anybody did, for that matter? Certainly, Ryan never did.

Would he have, if I didn t always assume that everything he said to me was some intentional ploy to undermine me and bully me? If I didn t search for an attack in every word, maybe he would ve made me laugh. Maybe - we could ve even had a friendly conversation.

No, let s not get too carried away.

But for right now, he s making me laugh, and I tell him, Ryan, this isn t romantic. This is a disaster.

Didn t sound like you thought that a few minutes ago. He s smirking, I just know he is, and I want to wipe it off his face - except, he s not wrong, and his arms curl more firmly around my front so that I can t turn around to give him my usual look that would put him in his place.

We re locked in the science lab while the fire alarm goes off. Explain to me what part of that isn t a disaster?

He mumbles something that sounds like, I dunno, and occupies himself kissing my neck again. I arch my head sideways to give him better access, but sigh as if this is all so terribly, awfully inconvenient.

Which it will be when we both catch pneumonia, but right now it s just a little water, and that s not the end of the world. (Actually, it s a lot of water. I am a little bit concerned about the puddles forming on the floor, sloshing around our feet.)

I do regain enough of a grip on my sanity to wriggle and get Ryan s attention.

Plus, I tell him, it s not romantic.

What?

Kissing in the rain. In - this. I jerk my head at the water gushing from the ceiling. Us, right now, I mean, not the general trope of kissing in the rain. We aren t romantic, is what I mean.

Says who?

You re kidding, right?

He shrugs, and lets go of me enough that I step forward and turn around. Ryan props an elbow on the bench to his left, crossing his legs at the ankles and leaning sideways. Considering the state of him, he should not be able to pull this off with anything remotely like arrogance. He should look like a drowned rat.

Except, of course, he doesn t . His shirt is still halfway unbuttoned, the sleeves clumsily rolled up, and the white fabric has turned see-through in all the water, sticking in patches to his taut, dark skin. That school tie he was enough of a prat to wear hangs loose around his neck. He s completely naked from the waist down, save for one sock on his right foot. I try to look pointedly at it, as if to undermine the whole thing he s got going on, but Ryan just grins at me, clearly enjoying the fact my attention has wandered south, and I give a long-suffering sigh. There s a scar on his left knee, twisted and pale, some of the skin around it puckered and warped.

I tear my eyes away from it, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. I might hate Ryan, but I m not that much of an arsehole to him.

He shifts slightly, but only to get more comfortable in his thirty-degree lean, and then he raises his eyebrows at me. He used to give me that look all the damn time. Explain. Go on, Ash, keep digging.

I almost grit my teeth, but shake it off. We re adults now. Mature grown-ups who can have a mature conversation, even if we re both nearly naked and the fire alarm is still going off. I have to raise my voice to be heard over it, now he s not standing right behind me.

This isn t the start of some epic love story, or something. This isn t the moment in the movie we declare our undying love for each other and run off into the sunset together. This was fun, yes, but it s It s not romantic .

Because you don t want it to be, he counters.

And you do?

I scoff, but it immediately feels wrong. Not like a low blow, but simply incorrect. Didn t he stand there and tell me he wonders what kind of music I listen to and how I take my coffee? He knew about the time I dated my supervisor. He s not just been interested but invested , as aware of everything going on in my life as I have been with his - except with him, that s been a much more conscious, voluntary choice.

Is it so impossible that somewhere in the midst of that, he might ve stopped hating me quite so vehemently?

I watch the emotions play out on Ryan s face, even as the corner of his mouth pulls up in a self-effacing smirk and he rolls his eyes, looking off to the side. He looks totally unbothered by the water pounding down on him; I squint against it, less composed, and hold a hand over my eyes to try to shield my face a little bit.

He looks like he couldn t give two shits. Like I was a bit of fun and a good lay, but nothing special.

It s a good mask. But I ve always been better at seeing through Ryan than he d ever care to admit, so I notice the flicker of hurt in his eyes and the guarded look his face takes on, the way his features harden around the edges. When his eyes cut back to mine, they re every bit as derisive as a look I d give him.

Don t flatter yourself, Easton. Just trying to make a point.

Sure you were.

I said I flirted with you at school. I didn t say I wanted to go out with you now.

You re the one who brought up romance.

I brought up rain.

I cut him a look but he just tips his head back and smiles wider, blinking only slightly against the water running down his face, and, just like that, I m back to wanting to throttle him, sure he s only digging his heels in for the sole purpose of winding me up.

I cross my arms and hope that it looks half as cocky as his stance, when my boobs are out and my knickers are twisted all out of place, and my hair has half fallen out and is stuck to my face and back, makeup almost definitely smeared all over my face.

It doesn t escape my notice that there s a smear of my lipstick across Ryan s mouth.

Something about that makes my stomach flip, my toes curl.

But I stand my ground, pretend I m not thinking about that, and say, Were you hoping I d ask you out after this, Ryan, is that it? That you d have finally won me round, got me onside, and now I d be swooning at your feet begging you to take me out on a real date? Grow up.

You grow up, he snipes, which only makes me roll my eyes because, wow, what an argument that is. Scowling, Ryan pushes away from the desk to stand upright, his shoulders squared and jaw clenched. I didn t fuck you to win you round , Ashleigh.

That s not what-

And what makes you think I d want to date you , anyway? Just because you were a good shag, or we finally had something that halfway resembled a conversation for once? What, you think we re friends now? You

Ryan draws in a sharp breath and when he takes half a step forward, it s to level a finger accusingly at me, and the mask drops. There s no pretence of everybody s best friend now, none of the charisma that got him so far in life. He is seething , but it s warped, somehow. Wrong.

He looks upset.

I don t think I ve ever seen Ryan upset.

He s Mr Happy-Go-Lucky. Buoyant, and maybe a bit churlish or brooding when it suited him or he didn t get his way, but God, it s disturbing to see him sad. It cuts sharp and deep right through my gut, realising I m the one who s done that.

I ve always wanted to take Ryan down a peg or two, hated how superior he acts, but I never set out to hurt him.

I m not even really sure how I have.

He takes an uneven breath between gritted teeth, mouth working furiously as he thinks better of whatever he was about to say, and drops the finger he s pointing at me. His hand bunches into a fist at his side instead.

You still refuse to do anything but think the worst of me. Can t you, for once in your self-righteous life, realise that maybe, I m not the bad guy here? That, you know, maybe I m a person, too? I can understand part of why you had such a low opinion of me at school and, believe me, you re not exactly absolved either, but - after everything, you can t just take me at face value? Tell me why you think I would ever want to ask you out when you consistently assume the worst of me, Ash. Tell me.

I can t.

For once, I have no comeback to Ryan Lawal.