Falling Hard Read online

  Ohmigod. How disgusting. What the hell is—

  Fuuuccck. I’ve stepped in puke.

  “Sorry,” a girl says. She sways away and out of the bushes, where she’s been vomiting. How. Freaking. Disgusting.

  This is the problem with having parties at your house. I go through all this trouble and then I’m the one getting puked on. I blow out a big deep breath, and then walk around the side of the house to get the hose. Vomit Girl has decided to leave her dinner in my mom’s roses, which is, like, the one thing my mom cares about. Seriously, she does these ridiculous rose tours and everything, where she opens up our yard, and people, like, come to look at the roses.

  So I’m going to have to spray away the puke and hope she doesn’t notice. I wonder if roses die if they get puked on? I think they’re a pretty delicate flower. That’s why those rose tours are such a big deal.

  God, this hose is heavy.

  “Hello!” a voice says. Ashton Wagner.

  “Go away,” I say. “I’m very busy.”

  “You have puke on your shoe,” he says conversationally.

  “I know.”

  “And that hose is way too heavy for you.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “No, it’s ---“ I break off, deciding I am too mature to sink to his level. I will not be brought down by Ashton Wagner. I will rise above all this. Once I get the hose over to the flowerbed, I can’t get the nozzle out of the sprinkler head, so I decide to just set the sprinkler down in the roses.

  I do, and then turn the knob on the sprinkler. The water comes shooting straight up and into my face. I scream as the icy cold spray hits my face.

  “Whoa,” Ashton yells, and then he comes over to try and help me turn it off.

  “Turn it to the right!” I scream.

  “I am!” he says. I’m backed out of the spray now, but I’m soaked. My white skirt is completely drenched, and my blue t-shirt sticks to my skin.

  “Turn it harder!” He does. The spray finally turns off, but when it does, he’s completely wet. I’m completely wet. He looks down at the roses. “At least the puke’s gone,” he says.

  I look at him. He looks at me. And then we burst out laughing. “I’m sorry,” I say. “You just look really funny.”

  “Me? You look really funny.” He moves closer to me and then reaches out, pushing a drop of water off of my cheek with his fingertip. My body responds to his touch, sending electric shocks all the way down to my legs. “Are you cold?” he asks.

  “Freezing,” I lie. I should be freezing, I know I should, but his voice and his touch are making me feel like I might burst into flames.

  “You should change,” he says. “You’re soaked.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he says. But his lips are looking a little shivery. It’s all I can do not to reach out and put my lips on his to warm him up. But my lips feel like two fires, and if I kissed him now, he’d feel it and wonder why I was so warm. So instead, I take a deep breath and say, “Come on. I’ll get you some clothes.”

  Ashton

  She takes me to her bedroom. Her real bedroom, not the office that Tucker said was her bedroom. If anyone at the party notices, they don’t say anything. Her room is clean and neat, and suddenly, I feel kind of weird. It’s always strange being in a girl’s room. And Emily’s room is nothing like Haven’s. Haven’s room was kind of like Haven– all flash and no substance. It was plastered with pictures of her and her friends, and had expensive white furniture that her mom bought her for her sixteenth birthday.

  Emily’s room is different. She has a vanity and a poster of Dirty Dancing on the wall. Her bookshelves are lined with books, and I scan the titles.

  “You like The Long Walk?” I say, as I take it off the shelf. It’s a Stephen King book, but one of his first ones, written under a pseudonym before he got famous. It’s amazing, but not many people have read it. And she has the first edition, the one that contains all four of King’s early novellas.

  “It’s my favorite,” she says.

  She’s over by her dresser, rummaging around for clothes, and I see a flash of something pink and lacy in one of her drawers, so I look away quickly. “Did you know he wrote it in like two weeks?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” I say, “He was – “

  “In college,” she finishes.

  “Yeah,” I say, grinning. I look at the Dirty Dancing poster. “Nobody puts Baby in a corner, huh?”

  She hesitates. “So,” she says finally. She’s standing in front of the door to what I assume is her bathroom, holding her clothes in her hands. “I can get you a t-shirt or something to wear.”

  “That would be great,” I say. “I can, uh, give it back to you.”

  “Okay.” She leaves the room and returns a second later, holding a t-shirt and a sloppily folded pair of sweatpants.

  “They’re my dad’s,” she says, “He, um, left them after he moved out. Sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

  “Said what?”

  “About my dad,” she says.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Okay.” I take the clothes.

  “What’s going on with you and Haven?” she asks. She’s moving back and forth, hopping from foot to foot on her carpet, the water from her t-shirt making little spots on the carpet. I want to rush over, grab her in my arms, and keep her warm.

  “Nothing,” I say, looking right into her eyes. “Haven and I are over.”

  She cocks her head and looks at me, like she’s not sure she really believes it. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “You can call her and ask her,” I say, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “Or you can ask my best friend, Tucker. He’s out in your party somewhere. In fact, there might be a good chance that he’s puking into your rosebushes right now.”

  “I believe you.” She looks at me, questioning. “What are we doing?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “But now I have a question for you. What’s going on with you and Jasper?”

  She grins. “Jasper,” she says, “Is gay.”

  I’m going to kill Tucker.

  Emily

  So this is definitely the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me. For real. I mean, I’m in my shower, while Ashton Wagner is in my room, changing into my dad’s clothes. Ashton Wagner is getting naked in my room! Well, not completely naked. He’ll probably leave his underwear on. Won’t he? He definitely won’t want to be without his underwear. At least, I wouldn’t think he would.

  The thought of him sliding his boxers down makes me feel all light-headed, and I rest my head against the tile of the shower. He’s out there. In my room. Right now. At least shirtless. I’ll bet he has a nice chest. I’ll bet it’s smooth and hard and just…. Oh, God. I bite my lip.

  I wonder how long I can get away with being in here. How am I going to go out there? What’s going to happen? What is happening with us? How can I feel this strongly about someone I just met?

  I turn the water off and wrap a towel around my head, then step out of the shower. I dry off, then step into the pajama pants and spaghetti strap tank that are hanging over the towel rack.

  I think about putting on some make up, but then I think fuck it, makeup isn’t going to make me look like Haven, and besides, if he doesn’t like me the way I am, it’s better to find out now, before I get crushed.

  I open the door to the bedroom, half-expecting to catch him changing. But he’s not. He’s just sitting at my desk, thumbing through the copy of The Long Walk, wearing the t-shirt and sweatpants I gave him.

  “Hey,” he says when he sees me. He looks me up and down, and I feel a deep blush starting at my face and burning all the way down my body. I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly self-conscious.

  But he walks over to me, slowly, and takes my hands in
his, pulling them down to my sides. Our fingers intertwine. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers.

  I look up and our eyes meet. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, this thing between us, pulsing and getting stronger. I think about protesting, but before I can, his lips are moving closer.

  At the last second, I turn my head away. “I’m not going to sleep with you,” I say.

  “Who said anything about sleeping?” He’s teasing.

  “I’m not going to have sex with you.”

  “I don’t want to have sex with you.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Well, not yet. You’re too….”

  “I’m too what?” Suddenly, I’m mad, and I take my hands away from his.

  “No, that’s not… that’s not what I meant.” He seems flustered, and I have a weird, startling revelation. I’m making Ashton Wagner flustered. “You just… you’re so… you’re just.. you’re like a dessert that needs to be savored. You can’t just go having the whole thing in one sitting.”

  I grin, the side of my mouth twisting up. “Did you just compare me to a crème brulee or something?”

  “Not crème brulee,” he says. He pretends to think about it. “You’re not as pretentious as crème brulee. You’re more like an amazingly perfect…strawberry shortcake. Sweet and refreshing and perfect.”

  I start to say something else, but before I can, his mouth is on mine. His lips are soft and strong, and he is such a GOOD KISSER. I feel like I could melt into him, and I do, his hands encircling my waist and pulling me close to him. And I just let go, falling, falling, falling….

  We spend the night kissing, talking, and cuddling on my bed. When the sun finally starts to rise, and slats of light peek through the blinds in my room, we get up. He helps me clean up the damage from the party. And then we go out for breakfast. And even though it’s only ten am, I order strawberry shortcake.

  Don’t miss TELLING SECRETS (At the Party #1), and GETTING CLOSE (At the Party #3) available now….