Authors: Elena Matthews
“Y
ou’re crazy!” he says laughing.
I shrug my shoulders mid-dance, not phased. “Who cares,” I shout over the music as I grab hold of his other hand, swinging both arms to the beat, shaking my loose hair in his face, moving my feet from side to side, while he remains completely moti
onless, still wearing his grin.
“Come on, dance with me!”
Instead of agreeing to my embarrassing version of ‘80s dancing, he pulls away and heads towards the paint tray that is laid on the floor, full of fresh pink paint. A shrieking laughter escapes me when he reaches for the paint roller and rolls it through the wet texture. Standing back up, he follows me with the offending weapon. “No Ashton, please, no,” I cry out, laughter bubbling from me, my head shaking furiously at the threat of his attack.
He gives me a playful smirk, and before I even have time to move out of his
way, he quickly covers the roller down my front, covering my chest, down to my stomach with pink paint. I gape at him in shock. I notice a small looking paintbrush in the far corner of the room with a few other supplies, and I try to make a run for it. I only make it two steps before being swooped up into his arms, his chest flushed with my back. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he whispers.
“And why not?” I gasp breathlessly, my heart beat racing as I try to ignore how incredible his body
feels pressed up against mine.
“Because then I can’t do this.”
In lightning speed, he brings the roller round to my front and rolls the remaining paint down the front of my face. I gasp in shock, as the sound of his laughter vibrates down my neck. I elbow him in the stomach playfully, recovering my momentum just enough to turn around to face him, noticing a smile curving around his mouth.
Another song has begun to play, so with full purpose I pull my phone out, careful not to get paint on it and go back to the previous song. Ashton groans at the sound of Footloose filling the room
again, whereas my smile widens. I put my phone back into the rear pocket of my jeans, and resume with my dancing. I swing my arms side to side, dancing towards the paint tray. Skeptically, Ashton follows, not trusting my motives. I don’t blame him; he has every right not to. I approach the paint tray, and to make it less obvious of my plan, I dance around it for a moment, smiling deviously.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warns,
shooting an evil glance my way.
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know what you mean.” Then I bend down, press both hands into the tray, covering my hands with the wet substance, then run at him. He drops the paint roller to the plastic covered sheets, causing paint to splatter against the covers and grabs hold of me at the elbows, my arms sprawled against my chest, stopping me in my steps, almost making me fall into him. I groan out loud, hating how much stronger he is
than me. “You don’t play fair!”
He pulls my body further into his, chuckling, never once letting go
of my elbows. “Neither do you.”
His laughing falters as I look up into his bright green eyes, and immediately I notice the mischief that was there only seconds before has turned into to something else, more intense. I notice how his eyes trace down to my lips, in a way that causes my pulse to race. I nervously gulp, my mouth suddenly dry as he loosens his hold on my arms. The sound of Footloose is replaced with
the sound of my own heart beating recklessly in my ears and I feel light headed as his lips move closer to mine while his eyes continue to trace the rest of my pink streaked face. When I can feel the warmth of his breath across my lips, I jolt out of my drunken haze in a panic, realizing exactly where we are, and exactly why we can’t do what he is initiating, what my body is craving.
Smirking inwardly, I bring my paint-covered hands up to his face and take a quick swipe, covering both sides of his face as I jump out of his embrace, giggling. He blinks in confusion, losing momentum for just a second, then his lips curve up into an evil smile. “Right, th
at’s it, you’re having it now.”
I scream out loud through a hysterical giggle as I move away from Ashton and he chases me around the room
covering me in even more paint.
After our paint fight, where we probably covered ourselves with more paint than the actual walls, we pull together and finish all four walls, with one coat. Waiting for the first coat to dry, we decide to take a break, hunger taking priority. As we head to the door, covered head to toe in pink paint, I turn around, giving him the best stern look I can muster, the one that threatens him within an inch of his life.
“Off,” I demand, pointing to his paint drenched jeans and t-shirt. “You’re not walking through my
apartment like that. So strip.”
He smiles, a little too hungrily, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “You want me to strip?” he asks
in a surprised tone.
“Yes,” I reply curtly. I am not removing myself from the doorframe until he has re
moved his paint-ridden clothes.
“Okay.” He shrugs, a hint of a smile curling against his mouth. Only thinking of ways to avoid the disaster of getting paint all over my apartment and furniture, I just about lose the ability to speak when he removes his t-shirt, revealing a taut chest and smooth stomach. I follow my gaze downwards, and my heart rate begins to pick up as I notice a valley of dark hair that begins at his navel until it gradually disappears inside the confinements of his waistband. I avert my eyes, purposefully trying to look elsewhere, bu
t moments later my eyes return. I feel a shiver of heat spread through my body like wildfire as he reaches down to the button of his jeans, deliberately pulling his zipper down in slow motion. My eyes widen in disbelief as he slides his jeans over his hips. Then I think I forget how to breathe when he fully removes them. I gulp nervously as I unashamedly stare at him in only his underwear, knowing now that asking him to strip was such a bad idea, especially with how I can see the outline of his manhood through the material.
“You okay?”
It takes me a couple of seconds to register his question and then a couple more seconds to peel my eyes away from his body. “Ah, yeah…I am…great, just great,” I stutter as my body goes into a nervous frenzy, unable to string a viable sentence together. My hormones are working at about a hundred miles per hour. My entire body burns with fire, so much so, that I almost contemplate dousing myself with a bucketful of iced water, just to cool down.
“Are you sure? You look a little flushed,
” he taunts me, his smirk growing on his cocky face.
As I continue to struggle with each breath, I realize I can’t have him
this naked while under my roof. “One second,” I mumble, becoming more flustered as I take one final gaze at his half-naked body before making my way towards my bedroom. I can’t help but chuckle when I hear him say, “If I have to strip, then so do you, you’re covered in more paint than me!”
In desperation, I try to find something of Sebastian’s for him to wear, tr
ying to be extra careful not to get a single smudge of paint anywhere. And not feeling particularly comfortable in dressing Ashton, in my fiancé’s clothing, and even more uncomfortable to have him walk around my apartment in just his boxer shorts, I find a pair of basketball shorts and plain white t-shirt that I know Sebastian doesn’t wear anymore. Without looking or even speaking to him, I just throw the clothes at him from the doorway of the nursery, blushing furiously. When I rush back into my bedroom to change, I can’t hide my smile when I hear him chuckling.
When I walk into the living room, I breathe a sigh of relief when I see everything I want covered up, is, although now that I know what he looks like half-naked, it’s hard to concentrate on anything else. He is currently looking at a photograph of me and Sebastian on our first year anniversary, running his thumb over the image of me. I cough lightly to make him aware of my presence and instead of looking as if he has been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he just turns to me, his hand dropping from the picture frame. His eyes widen with humor, laughing lightly as he watches me furiously scrub
my face with a wet hand towel. “Um, you seem to have missed a bit,” he says as he continues to laugh, making his way over to me.
“Shut up, I wouldn’t even be in this mess if you hadn’t have painted my entire face. It won’t come off,” I complain, still with a smile plastered on my face. I have managed to get some of the paint off, but now I have random p
ink streaks all across my face.
“It was funny though,” he states, while con
tinuing to laugh at my expense.
“I don’t know what you’re laughing at, have you looked in a mirror?” I smirk at the hand shaped prints against his cheeks. I throw
him the damp hand towel. “Hey, shall we order a pizza?” Just as he’s about to answer me, the sound of the phone in my apartment begins to ring. I smile, holding my finger up. “Hold that thought for one second.” I walk towards the cordless telephone on the table beside the sofa and pick it up. “Hello?” I say with a smile.
“Ava?”
I feel the blood drain from my face when I hear the voice, the voice I prayed I never had to hear ever again.
My gorgeous Ava
. I shiver inwardly as his voice triggers a memory. It almost feels like I am back in my old bedroom, and he is stood right in front me, touching me, taunting me...
“Who is this?” I say through the churning of my own stomach, but I kn
ow exactly who it is. Oh, fuck.
“I think you know who it is.”
I feel the phone begin to shake in my hand, the feel of bile rising up my throat. I can subconsciously feel Ashton beside me speak out of concern, but with the blood pumping in my ears, I can’t hear him.
“How did you get this number?” I ask as calmly as possible, even though the heavy pounding of my heart is e
nsuring I am anything but calm.
“You can’t run from me, Ava; it was only a matter of time until I found you agai
n. How is Seattle, by the way?”
I stumble backwards against the armrest of the sofa, gasping for air. No, no, no. He wasn’t supposed to find me. It has been ten years. Why, after all of these
years is he tormenting me now?
“What do you want?” I seethe, the shock of hearing his voice after all these ye
ars quickly turning into anger.
“It’s Fran.”
I close my eyes, clutching my hand to my heart, hoping that the turmoil I can hear in his voice isn’t what I think it is.
“What about Fran?” I question painfully. And when I think my world couldn
’t possibly get any worse, in two simple words, Avery changes that for me and my world crumbles beneath me.
“She’s dead.”
I choke on a silent sob, struggling with the concept. Dead? Then to rub salt into my wound, he adds, “She killed herself. Hung herself, to be exact.”
“What the fuck did you do?” I pant, anger coursing through my veins. He just chuckles on the other end of the phone, a sound that has the hair on my arms spike up with sickening shiver
s.
“Ava Jacobson with a potty mouth
, who would have thought, huh?”
“What. The. Fuck. Did. You. Do. To. Her?” I repeat
, venom pouring out every word.
“And why would you automatically assume
it had anything to do with me?”
“Because I know you, I know wha
t a fucking monster you are.”
I notice Ashton has crouched down in front of me, with a worried look on his face, but I just ignore him. It
’s hard to pay attention to anything else when I am on the phone with the only person I despise the most in the world. He’s a monster. A bastard.
“You’re very brave all of a sudden aren’t you? Well I’ll let you into a little secret, my gorgeous
,
Ava
.” My insides clamp down with hatred, shuddering at the very mention of my name. “I’m outside your apartment right now.” My eyes fly up in the direction of my front door as terror consumes every sense, my body convulsing with intense fear. I hear Ashton calling out to me, reaching for my hand, but the terror has captured all of my senses, and not even Ashton can ease me out of this nightmare. Not this time. I am still staring daggers towards my front door, almost certain he will bang my door down at any second but instead all I hear is evil laughing on the other side of the phone.
“Not so brave when you think I
’m stood behind your front door, are you, Ava?” He taunts me, knowing the very affect he has on me, even after all of these years. I slam my eyes shut, feeling hot tears begin to roll down my face, desperately not wanting to cry. I don’t want to cry another tear for this monster.
“Fuck you.” I hiss angrily, causing another laugh to eru
pt from his perverted mouth.
“Now, now there’s no need for the foul language, that’s no way to speak to your brother, now, is it
?” he says with a hint of evil.
“You are not my brother,” I struggle to spit out the words from my mouth, the venom circling my veins.
He just chuckles down the phone. I shiver at the very sound. “I think our mother would disagree since we’re blood related and all.”