The Boiling Point | ✔️

02 | distractions

ASHTON

Shit. I relapsed again, and I might as well be talking about a drug because Charlie's just as bad.

Rolling to the edge of her bed, my thoughts gather while she stirs. I shouldn't have slept here. Now it'll be a whole thing.

She speaks up once I've slipped my jeans on. "What time is it?"

"Dunno. Seven, maybe."

"Then get back in here." She flips the comforter up and exposes her naked body. Long, milky legs stretched out, that inked snake coiling down her slender thigh. She still looks good after an almost-sleepless night. I'll give her that.

"Tempting, but I gotta run."

"Why? We're going to the same place, we can just ride together."

I sit on the side of the bed to pull my frayed sneakers on. "I need to get home before my dad wakes up. He doesn't know I slept here."

"Ashton." Her arms wrap around my shoulders like cold tentacles. "You'd rather go home than stay here and fuck me?"

My misty brain considers it for a moment as her teeth nip my earlobe, but I shake the inviting image away. "I can't piss him off, Charlie. Not today."

Her whine splits the air and makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I pull my shirt on before looking at her square in those icy blues.

"That was the last time. We're not doing it again."

She lets out a snort. "Feel like I've heard this before."

"I'm serious now. This, us... it's too much of a distraction." I grab my backpack off the floor, slinging it on. "Why am I even saying this? I told you weeks ago."

"Yet you keep coming back for more." She nestles into the pillows on the headboard, parting her knees enough for me to get a glimpse. "Hard to believe you're gonna give this up, just like that. Cold turkey."

"Yeah, well, time's up." I drag my eyes away from the bait, scooping up my skateboard. "So believe it."

❖❖❖

Skating through these wealthy-ass suburbs is always surreal. Big, fancy houses with vibrant grass that never seems to grow out of place, husbands in bathrobes fetching newspapers, pristine women sipping on coffee and peering out windows. Oh how the other half lives.

The fresh air whips through my hair and wakes me up in no time. I imagine Charlie burrowing back under those warm covers, replaying last night in her head. Thank god I didn't run into her parents on the way out. Not because I'm worried they'd be pissed or anything, but because they're the total opposite of how most parents would react to a guy sneaking out of their daughter's room.

The few times they've caught me short their attitudes are more like, 'You must be spent from plowing our daughter! Help yourself to some pancakes, ya little rascal!'. As someone who's had a shotgun pulled on me by a girl's father, it's bizarre how laid back they are in comparison.

But while Charlie's a decent lay, it's not serious with us. A couple hookups in high school spun into regular hookups over the summer, and that was that. It has to be over now, though. Distraction is the last thing I need this year.

In a picture-perfect neighborhood, a sudden image of imperfection catches my eye. Across the street, a girl is currently dragging two bulging trash bags on the sidewalk with so much difficulty it hurts to witness.

I scrape to a stop, folding my arms and watching with inexplicable intrigue. It could be the utter focus on her pretty, albeit strained face, that draws me in. Or the childish, cupcake patterned pajama pants a teenager is wearing, or the simple fact that her tank top is tight enough to show off a killer body.