The Boiling Point | ✔️

29 | confessions

SUMMER

Chemistry - the natural connection that can't be faked. Whether it's romantic or friendly, you either have it with someone or you don't. 

My date circles around my head as I drive through the dark suburbs, glimpsing yellow lights through windows as I pass house after house.

Sure, I have chemistry with Grant, but not the romantic kind. Tonight only proved that. Our conversations, the way we looked at each other, his lack of making any moves on me even though I basically gave him an open invitation, it all screamed friends. And that's okay.

The open invitation was more for the benefit of getting under Ashton's skin, anyway. But Grant is a perfect gentleman who opens doors and kisses you goodnight on the cheek, and he'll be a perfect boyfriend. Just not mine. 

I need that romantic chemistry. The spark, the heat. The current that whirrs through your body when you lock eyes with someone, like your veins are made of electrical wiring, vibrating from head to toe.

I've only felt that level of intense chemistry with two boys before, and as I pull up to the house, my headlights flash over one of those very boys. 

My heart palpitates as I take in the sight of Ashton sitting on the curb, standing as I get out of my car.

"What are you doing here?"

"We gotta talk," he says, glancing at the car, maybe expecting Grant to step out.

I slam my door shut. "No thanks."

He walks a little closer, his feet dragging until the light from the house catches his figure. There's something off about him. The collar of his shirt looks damp, and so does his hair. Not to mention the smoke and beer I can smell from here.

When we came out of the movie, I had wondered if he was still at the theater since his side of the concession stand was empty. Obviously not.

"Are you drunk?"

He gives his head a terse shake. "No. I mean... kind of. Nick dunked my head in the lake to sober me up. Fucking freezing, so, pretty effective. I'm clear enough to think straight... to talk."

I look him over with a tired sigh. "Go home, Ashton."

Pacing toward the pathway, it takes about five seconds for my arm to be yanked back. I involuntarily gasp as my body spins around and slams into him. It happens so fast that my brain feels as if it's on a time lag.

His lips crash to mine, hands clutching my face, tongue invading my mouth. And just like that, the electrical wiring ignites with a powerful surge. I surrender to the invasion, allowing myself to be engulfed in the cravings I've been fighting.

In his taste, in his strength, in the element I've been missing all night. Fire.

My fingers grip at his damp hair as his move to my waist, blazing my hips with a squeeze. But when his hand reaches my thigh, it ends as quick as it started. The sound of ripping stockings rips me from the trance, the lag of my brain finally catching up. I breakaway and push him off with difficulty.

"What the hell, Ashton!" I pant, composing myself. "You can't just kiss me whenever you feel like it!"

He pants just as hard, his eyes glazed and dark. "I had to stop you from going inside. I told you we need to talk."

"That was not talking! God, and you ruined my stockings, thanks a lot!" I shove him out of my way, storming to the pathway with burning lips.

"Please, Summer."