Ash received a standing ovation
from the intimate crowd and I saw him take an exaggerated bow through my
peripheral vision. He then invited anyone else who wanted to play to come up.
“Do it, Sam. Come on,”
Evie
nudged me in the side.
“You play?” Dylan asked. Without
lifting my head from his neck, I shook my head no.
“Oh yes she does, she’s just being
modest. She’s really good.”
Evie
insisted.
I really did NOT want to play. I was
an emotional roller coaster from everything I was feeling about Ash and Dylan,
a bit tipsy from several drinks, and was already uncomfortable with the number
of strangers in the room. However, with
Evie
, Dylan,
and Jess’ prodding, soon our half of the room was chanting “Scarlett!
Scarlett!” I had never been so embarrassed in my life.
When Ash realized that they were
calling for me to go up, he held out the guitar towards me, “By all means,
Scarlett. Let’s see what you can do. I can’t wait to hear your rendition of
Amazing Grace.” His voice was saturated in sarcasm. God he was an ass.
Anger raged through me, partly due
to his mocking of my innocence and his apparent doubt that I could play, but I
was even more infuriated with myself for allowing him to repeatedly upset me.
There was just something about him; in having known him for just a few hours,
he had stirred feelings inside me that I didn’t know I had. And it scared me to
death.
Fueled by my fury and the alcohol
intake, I snatched the acoustic out of his hands and took the chair he had just
occupied. I was reeling in my brain about what to
play,
I wanted to respond to Ash’s not-so-cryptic musical messages with something
just as witty. I decided just to sing songs about guys who were
dicks,
there were more than enough of those to choose from.
They didn’t have to relate to Ash particularly, but enough man-hating that he’d
get the point.
“Hello everyone,” I began
nervously. “I’m Scarlett, a friend of Jess.’ I’m new here in Houston, just
moved in yesterday so I want to thank you for showing me such a good time
tonight. I hope you enjoy.”
I took a deep breath and began
with a song I was certain most everyone would recognize, Pat
Benatar’s
“Heartbreaker.” I felt a little shaky at first,
but I refused to let my fears get the best of me. By the middle of the first
chorus, I felt much more comfortable and then I really let it go. Many of the
girls in the room joined me in singing the parts they knew, well it was more
like screaming, but I loved it nonetheless because I knew they were having fun
with it. I debated internally on whether or not to look at Ash when I sang. On
one hand, I wanted him to be clear that this was indeed an answer to his
earlier performance and I also secretly hoped that I could make him feel just a
fraction of the frustration that he bestowed upon me, both in my mind and body.
However, the other part of me knew that if I locked my eyes with his, there was
a good chance that I’d completely lose my train of thought and stop mid-song. I
opted to play it safe and not throw any more fuel on the fire; he knew my song
selection was no accident.
I played a couple more songs that
fit nicely in my guys-are-jerks-
palooza
before
wrapping it up. “Again, thanks for the hospitality,” I said before I began to
play my final song for the night, “You
Oughta
Know
.” This was one of my favorite man-hater songs and I
thought it was a perfect way to end. Even though I had never experienced the
things written about in the song, the lyrics had always struck me as so raw, so
real. I could feel the hurt… the anger… the bitterness caused by rejection and
being replaced. It was my fear of all fears ~ putting myself out there for
someone only to have them not
want
me in return. I
guess that was true for most people, no one welcomed rejection.
I pushed the psycho-self-analytic
thoughts to the back of my head and focused on the song. The room was
exceptionally quiet and all eyes were focused intently on me. I saw many faces
light up as they recognized the song with the first few lines. There were
several hoots and hollers when I seductively asked about giving
blow jobs
in cinemas; I was pretty sure Dylan was one of
them. I had successfully kept myself from even glancing Ash’s way for the
entire time I had sung and played; however, I couldn’t leave well enough alone.
Midway through the second verse I looked over to where he was sitting and
locked our eyes just in time to ask, “Are you thinking of me when you fuck
her?” His eyes darkened and I could feel the heat from his desire across the
room. Immediately I turned away from him so that I could finish the song and
not melt into a puddle of shameless lust.
Relieved I had made it through the
impromptu session and exhausted from the previous 48 hours, I told
Evie
I was ready to go back to the house. Jess and Ash
decided to return home as well since it was a little past one o’clock. Saying
goodbye to Dylan was a little awkward with Ash standing a few feet away. I
wasn’t sure what had happened to Ash’s friends from earlier, I had honestly
expected at least one, if not both of them, to follow him to his bed, but
neither were anywhere around. Dylan and I exchanged cell numbers and he brushed
several light kisses across my lips before I walked away.
When we got back to the house, Meg
was sitting on the couch in her pajamas eating directly from a tub of ice
cream.
“Good, y’all are back. I can go to
sleep now,” she said as she stood up and went to put away the ice cream. She
kissed all four of us on the cheek and said goodnight before she disappeared
behind her bedroom door. I hadn’t even realized she wasn’t still at the party,
I thought we had left her there.
“When did she get home and does
she always wait up for you?”
Evie
asked laughing.
“Yeah, she’s got this
motherly-protective thing over us. Meg’s really not much of a partier. She’ll
stop in say hi to everyone, but she would rather be hanging out at the house.
She always has to know when we’ve made it to our final destination of the night
if we don’t stay here. She’s a worrier,” Jess explained. “Now, let’s get some
sleep. I’m tired.”
“Come on, Sam. You definitely need
some rest. We all do,”
Evie
said to me and I followed
her into the room, doing my best to ignore Ash’s presence in the house.
After the three of us had washed
our faces, brushed our teeth and changed into
night clothes
,
we all climbed into Jess’ king sized bed.
Evie
and
Jess both fell asleep
instantly,
they never said a
word once their heads hit the pillows. Even though I was physically and
mentally drained, I could not fall asleep. I
laid
there staring at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, but a look at the
clock told me it had only been thirty minutes. I could not get my brain to shut
down. The evening’s events replayed over and over in my mind… Ash and
Dylan
(
,)
and Ash and Dylan
(,)
and Ash… it
just wouldn’t stop. I decided a glass of milk, if they had any, might help so I
quietly got out of the bed and tiptoed into the kitchen. I tried to be as
discreet as possible so I wouldn’t disturb anyone, but as I leaned over to put
the milk jug back in the refrigerator, a male voice startled me. Actually, it
scared the absolute shit out of me.
“Why does she call you Sam?”
“What
?!?
”
I hissed as I flung my head around.
Ash was standing in the entrance
to the kitchen, his hair was still wet from the shower and his face was cleanly
shaven. He was only wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants that hung sinfully low
on his hips. I just about died. There was nothing I could do but gawk at the
near-perfect male specimen standing a mere three feet in front of me. I ran my
eyes over the entirety of his body and admired the muscular definition in his
shoulders, chest, and abs. If I had thought a dressed Ash was breathtaking,
than a half-naked one was
heart-stopping
. Every angry
and negative thought that had passed my mind earlier in the night disappeared
instantly. The look he gave me was full of hunger. And I wanted to be eaten.
“I asked why
Evie
calls you Sam,” he repeated. He then looked down to the drink in my hands and
chuckled, “Do you always drink other people’s milk?”
“When they’ve told me to make
myself at home, I do,” I snapped at him. “And the other is a long story and not
a very interesting one at that.”
I walked closer to him as he was
blocking my exit from the kitchen and cocked my head as if to ask him to move.
“I don’t have anywhere to be
anytime soon,” he said standing his ground in the walkway.
I rolled my eyes at him and
thought if I just ignored him I could escape the conversation. I was still
pissed at him for being such a jerk at the
party
(
,)
and I didn’t
trust myself to spend time alone with him. The effects of the alcohol had long
since worn off, but the sexual frustration that had been stirred up by both him
and Dylan earlier in the night still pulsed throughout my body. I didn’t want
to do anything I’d regret the next day, and I thought I had endured enough
excitement for my first night out. However, when standing mere inches from him,
waiting for him to move out of my way, I became keenly aware of how thin the material
of my
cami
and boy shorts
pj
set was when I felt the heat from his body radiating on my skin. My pulse was
racing once again and I was certain my hard nipples were visible through the
cotton, but knew if I shifted my sight down to inspect the situation, his
vision would follow. And I didn’t want that… right?
Before I had time to think up
another excuse to avoid his company, he grabbed my hand, pulled me to the
kitchen table, and guided me into a chair. My first instinct was to fight him,
yank my hand out of his grasp and tell him to go to hell, but the jolt of
electricity that shot through my body when his skin touched mine kept me
silent. Earlier when I was first introduced to Ash, I thought that my brain and
body reacted the way they did because I was overly excited to finally be
meeting members of the male species and it didn’t hurt that he was drop-dead
gorgeous. However, after meeting all of the guys at the party and kissing Dylan
tonight, I knew our attraction/connection was different somehow.
“So… Sam?” he asked again,
determined to make me explain.
“Okay, okay,” I began, “It’s
really nothing. I have this weird dislike for nicknames, always have. I don’t
mind calling other people nicknames if that’s what they prefer, but I’ve never
liked to be called something other than my name.”
“Why?” Ash interrupted.
“I’m not sure really, I guess
because I feel like they are overused and undervalued.”
He cocked his head at me as if he
wanted me to continue.
“For example, look at the five of
us in this house right now. Your full name is Ashton but the majority of people
call you Ash.
Evie
is actually Evelyn, Jess is truly
Jessica, and I’m assuming Meg is a Megan.
“The most common nicknames for
people are a shortened version of their full name, like with the four of you.
My name shortened is Scar,” I wrinkled my nose. “When most people hear Scar
they either think of a physical marking associated with a bad memory and lots
of pain or
Simba’s
evil uncle that had
Moufassa
killed so he could be the Lion King. Neither of
those are really the image I’m going for.”
For the first time I heard Ash
laugh a sincere, whole-hearted laugh, and it was a sweet, sweet sound in my
ears that warmed my entire body.
“Other types of nicknames include
those that are terms of endearment and those that are used to make fun of
someone. It’s obvious why I don’t like the latter of the two, I’m not a hateful
person and don’t want to make others feel bad about themselves. And as for all
of the
beautifuls
, honeys, sugar pies, sweeties…
believe me, I could go on for hours… I just hear it so much I feel like they’ve
lost their meaning,
ya
know? People just call each
other those names to have a nickname to call each other. I don’t know; I just
don’t get it.
“So anyways, one day in junior high,
Evie
and I had
this exact discussion that we are having now, and she made it her mission to
find a nickname I would like. For over a week, she tried out different names on
me… it must’ve been a thousand. When finally one day she was at my house
looking at some school forms I had left on the table, and my initials S.A.M.,
Scarlett Alexandria
MacGregor
, were written across
the top. By this point my resolve was weakening and I felt bad rejecting her
suggestions day after day. So I agreed to Sam, with the one caveat being that
she’s the only person that gets to call me that. And thus Sam, my evil alter
ego was born,” I said as I finished the story.
“Well, I’m sorry… I mean, I’m glad
I asked,” he said teasingly.