Page 7

7

SAWYER

A s Ash pulls out of the lot, she purses her lips between her teeth and shakes her head. “So… that was awkward.”

The tension in my roommate’s usually “devil may care” posture makes me annoyed at myself. And at the golden boy. I like Ash and don’t want her to disappear again.

“Agreed. Sorry. But why couldn’t he have just gone back to bed?” I scoff. “You’re his cousin. Did he expect us to loot the place?”

Her small smile is gratifying.

“Not that I wasn’t tempted.” I hold up my index finger like I’m making a note to go back to rob it. “That place is incredible.”

Ash’s grin widens. “You should’ve seen the before pictures and the upstairs. It was originally a rundown factory. Rusted equipment with jagged edges all over the ground floor, as in ‘welcome to your highest risk of getting tetanus ever.’”

Glancing back in the house’s direction, I ask, “You said something about it being a bad day for him?” I grimace, immediately regretting having asked the question. “Never mind.” James O’Rourke is trouble, and no one needs to know I’m interested in him because I shouldn’t be.

Ash draws in a big breath, looking pensive. “Jamie wouldn’t want me to talk about it with someone outside the family, so I’ve gotta hold back a little.” Ash swivels the wheel to take us into a residential neighborhood. “How interested in Jamie are you?”

With a shrug, I peer out the passenger window to avoid eye contact. “I don’t know him, so not very.”

“He’s interested in you,” she says firmly. Her head bobs in a nod.

An annoying ripple of satisfaction runs through me.

“Though,” she continues, her tone less certain now. “I can’t tell if that was him falling into his usual routine or something more.” Her thumb taps the steering wheel. “When he and I hang out, it’s usually in a pub, and he’s not hitting on anyone because I’m there. But a couple of times I’ve gone into a bar where he’s out with his friends, and from across the room, he seems like a player.”

“I’m sure he is one.” I say it as if I’m some kind of expert. Which I’m not. At all. The boys at my prep school were no playboys. They were kind of clueless, actually, including the ones I dated.

Ash gives my shoulder a playful shove, before returning her hand to the gearshift. “You’re sure ? How are you sure?”

“Because he said he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Someone who looks like you guys do is never without a girlfriend or boyfriend except by choice.”

A slow smile spreads across her face. “Things aren’t always as easy as people think. Plus, Jamie and I are different. Pretty sure he’s got game. I don’t. I’m actually kind of a misfit toy. Though, a decently pretty one, I guess, thanks to DNA.”

Decently pretty? Insane understatement.

She pulls up to the curb of a candy-pink Victorian with white trim that looks as though Historical Barbie should come with it.

Blowing a strand of hair from her eyes before tucking it back, Ash turns toward me. “I need to ask for a bullshit favor.”

“Go ahead.”

Ashling’s fall-festive rose gold nails with leaf decals catch my eye as she taps the gearshift. I really need to find a salon around here before Thanksgiving. Because of Briar Club, doing my own manicures doesn’t cut it anymore. And beyond that, my grandmother will notice immediately if my appearance isn’t up to snuff when I visit. She didn’t want them to adopt me, so she’s quick to point out my shortcomings in that grim “I told you so” tone.

A small pang hits me in the stomach. Holiday facials and manicures were something Mom and I always did together. Usually before the annual winter shopping trip. Purchasing a few new “Allendale appropriate” outfits and hand bags were necessary . One could not show up to Thanksgiving in the big house looking like a slouchy student.

Ash bites the corner of her lip and finally admits, “I need to go in alone. You okay waiting out here?”

“Sure, no problem.” I reach for my phone in my pocket. “I’ve got an assignment due Monday that I’ve been meaning to submit. I’ll log in on my phone.” I gesture to the house. “Take your time.”

“Awesome. Be right back.” Ash hops out of the car and slams the door closed before running up onto the porch.

I turn in my Poli Sci assignment and jot some notes on a Philosophy paper I need to write but become distracted when two men, dressed completely in black and sporting buzzed hair and five-o’clock-shadows, pass in front of the car.

Something about them gives me pause. They aren’t young hoodlums. They’re more put together than that and are maybe in their thirties. It’s the swagger and the scowls. And how they’re walking toward the house like they mean business. Bad business.

Unsure if I’ve seen too many thrillers or if there’s real cause for concern, I lean across and honk the horn in warning.

The men slow and look back at me. My stomach drops. Oh yeah, I was right to be worried. No one’s eyes are that dark unless they’ve seen some stuff. And done bad things.

Holding their stares, I lock myself in, and then depress the horn again. Longer this time.

The front door opens and my anxiety is further justified when, after a glance at the men who are still distracted by my honking, Ash slams it shut.

The men jump into action, wrenching open the screened storm door and shoving themselves against the solid door behind it.

Holy shit.

Thankfully, Ash must’ve managed to secure it in time, and it holds.

A loud thud cuts through the air as one of them slams the sole of his boot against the door. I jerk, my phone bobbling from my hands and landing at my feet.

I grab for it just as the sound of wood splintering sends chills down my spine.

My fingers fumble over my phone’s screen, desperately trying to call 911.

But just as I manage to bring up the keypad, a bang against the driver’s side door causes me to jump and jerk my head up.

Ash .

She’s here and safe. She must have gone out the back door and raced around the house.

Because it’s a classic car without power locks, I dive across to pull the button up to unlock the driver’s door. She’s quick to get in, but by the time she puts the car in gear, the men have seen her and are running toward us.

Ash throws the car into reverse, backs up half a foot, slams the brakes, and then puts the car in drive. Careening down the street, it’s like a Nascar race.

We make a hard left, and it feels as though the passenger wheels leave the ground.

I’m no longer breathing. All my energy is concentrated on staying in my seat and not interfering with Ash’s ability to drive.

Eyes flicking back and forth between the rearview mirror and the road in front of us, Ash leaves the residential area at about seventy miles an hour and bursts onto a highway. We weave in and out of traffic, crossing lanes as though we’re in a video game.

This is crazy.

Ash downshifts to avoid rear-ending an SUV and then peers in the rearview mirror, as if to plan her next high-speed maneuver. “All good.” Her grip on the gearshift eases, the tension leaving her.

I look over my shoulder and don’t spot the men behind us.

Dropping back against the seat, Ash turns down the street we drove this morning. The one leading to the waterfront building where her cousin and his roommate live.

Within moments we’re sitting in their small back parking lot, completely out of view from the street because of the big factory building.

The river looks serene and quiet, but even if it was full of white caps, I wouldn’t hear the roar. Not because of the powerful motor still humming under the hood, but because of my own heartbeat banging louder than all the hundreds of cylinders and horses of the Camaro’s engine.

Ash scans the area. “We’ll give it a minute. I didn’t see them following us. Their sedan was halfway down the block.” She studies her manicure, as if wondering if she needs a new set. “And I drove away pretty quick.”

“You don’t say.” I’m surprised by my dry tone, but it’s as if her unconcerned demeanor has fooled my brain into thinking that nothing is out of the ordinary.

I’m not the only one surprised; Ash bursts out laughing at my response and then winks. “Still wanna spend the day with me, Sawyer?”

“I don’t know.” My tone is deadpan, but I’m questioning things. Taking a deep breath, I run my hands down my thighs, trying to rid myself of the shakes now that my brain has decided I’m not facing imminent death. “Who are you really? CIA Barbie?”

That makes Ash put her head back against the headrest as she laughs. “That settles it. Jamie can’t have you because you’re mine.”

My brows furrow as my heart finally remembers how to beat at a normal rate. “In all seriousness though, what’s the deal? Who were those guys?” I bite my lip. “If you’re a drug dealer or involved in something illegal, I can’t be a part of it. My family would?—”

“I’m not a drug dealer.” Ash rests a hand on my shoulder, and for some reason, I believe what she says. “And those guys are not after me. They’re looking for my friend. Who is also not a drug dealer.” She holds my eye. “No drugs."

I nod, signaling I accept that as truth. “So then, who were those guys?”

She drops her hand, looking out toward the river. “I’m not totally sure.” She sucks on her lower lip for a few seconds before shaking off her uncertain expression and navigating the car back onto the street. This time at speeds of closer to ten miles an hour. It’s quite a change. “The girl I was staying with said she was in some kind of trouble, but I don’t know the details.”

I watch Ash, noticing the way her brow furrows and her hands tighten on the wheel. “You’re not sure, but you must have a theory.”

Ash’s shoulders lift. “No, but those guys looked…” She cocks her head thoughtfully. “It’s possible they’re Russian Mafia from New York.”

Russian Mafia?! I continue to stare at her, unblinking. “What?”

“But don’t worry about it.” Pulling to a stop at an intersection, she looks both ways before moving forward again. “We’re not going back. The girl renting the house left town. She told me she was planning to.” Ash drops a hand to the gearshift. “Now that she’s gone, they’ll leave, too. So, all good.”

It doesn’t feel all good. It feels off. “If she was a student, how could she just leave town in the middle of term?”

“I don’t think she was enrolled this semester. She’s the older sister of a high school friend. I was sometimes crashing at her place because it’s off campus, so I could use my car.” Looking over at me, she inclines her head for emphasis. “We weren’t close.”

We drive in silence. Part of the reason I like Ash is because she’s so refreshingly different from everyone I know. On the other hand, I can’t afford any guilt-by-association connections. During the short ride, I watch the passing houses as I battle myself over whether to pull back from the friendship.

Ash parks beside the local coffee shop, Espresso Yourself. Turning to me, she flicks her hair over her shoulder. “I’m gonna run in and grab us both a pumpkin spice latte. We earned it.”

Still processing the surreal events of the past hour, I stare at her.

Finding me speechless, she winks at me. “Be right back, Seesaw.”

“Wait.” I shake my head, ridding my mind of all the things that I can’t figure out. “What did you call me?”

“Your nickname.” She tilts her head, looking one hundred percent like a typical pretty college student and nothing like the death-defying stuntman from fifteen minutes ago. “Cranberry Sauce is too long. C-Sau for short. It’s better.” Without waiting for a response, Ash climbs from the car and heads into the coffee shop.

So, she’s adopted Jamie’s nickname for me… Inexplicably, that makes me feel closer to her. And I can’t deny that her breeziness is like breathing fresh air.

Still seems risky to be around her, though.

Get out of the car and start walking , I tell myself.

My movements are robotic as I open the car door, shut it and shuffle toward the sidewalk. Toward the bus stop that will take me back to the dorms, and away from thugs and high-speed chases.

And yet, like a lunatic, I bypass the oncoming bus and the line waiting to get on. Instead, I join my new friend, and possible criminal associate, in line for a much needed dose of caffeine. “Hey, I don’t like pumpkin spice.”

“So, you’re the one.”

Unbidden, a small smirk emerges on my face. She really might be a fucking faery. In books, they’re always irresistible.

Pointing at the chalkboard menu, she wiggles her finger. “How about a peppermint mocha?”

I nod.

“Sorted.” She links her arm around mine companionably. “After this, let’s go get our nails done.”

Since losing Mom, I haven’t had anyone to get manicures with. A warm wave of nostalgia washes over me. And just like that, I’m glad I didn’t get on the bus.