I updated a lot faster than I said I would. Oops. 

Ruth’s POV

I think I just made the worst mistake ever. It’s like my curiosity got the best of me and I just opened Pandora’s box but instead of letting out demons into the world, I’ve done something much worse; I’ve allowed Ashton to talk my ear off about his high school life. It sounded like a good idea in my head to ask him about it, but as I watch him smirk like a child who is ready to show off his new Pokémon cards, I now know that I was gravely wrong.

Maybe it won’t be so bad though. Maybe it’ll actually be interesting to hear what he was like in high school.

“So where should I start?” Ashton asks, rubbing his hands together anxiously. Only he would be excited to talk to me about himself. Scratch that. He would be excited to talk about himself regardless.

I sit crisscrossed on the washing machine and rest my hands in my lap. “Well, you moved here the year that I graduated, right?” He nods. “Why not start there?” Even though I’m not mentally prepared to hear him ramble on about himself, I am still curious to know what Ashton was like as a teenager. Maybe he was less cocky and more of a normal, modest human being.

“Okay. Well, since I was new I was a little shy-”

I snort loudly, interrupting him in the process. “You? Shy?” I ask incredulously. “That’s pretty hard to believe.”

“Thank you for interrupting me, Ruth,” he says sarcastically, emphasizing each syllable in every word. “Now like I said, I was shy, but that didn’t last for long. Mikey was in my first period class and we were coincidentally wearing the same Green Day t-shirt.

“Aw, how cute,” I tease.

“I know,” he gloats. “It was friendship at first sight. We started talking and whatnot and my shy streak completely disappeared from existence.”

“So nothing has changed since then?” I rhetorically ask, earning a smile and roll of his eyes from him. ‘So what were you like in school? Were you a study bug like me? Were you in any extracurricular activities?”

He lets out a deep chuckle. “I don’t think anyone was a “study bug” like you. But I was in band.”

“The rock kind or marching?”

“The marching kind,” he answers with a grin. “I was in the drumline.”

“What did you play?”  

He shrugs. “A little bit of everything; bass, cymbals, snare, quads, but mostly snare.”

My eyebrows rise. “I didn’t picture you as a band geek,” I say, flicking my gaze to his arms. That explains why his biceps are so large…I just figured it was because he has to knead dough and possibly carry heavy bags of flour at work, but drumline makes a lot more sense.

“You also didn’t picture me as a baker, but I seem to be full of surprises to you,” he says, smiling widely because he knows he’s making a point about my judgment towards him. “I wasn’t in it for long though. I had to drop out mid-semester senior year.”

“Why?”

“I was failing English and Physics. It sucked because I loved band, but I got over it.”

“You couldn’t have gotten a tutor or anything?”

He shakes his head, causing a few curls to fall in his face. “The teachers could barely help me understand the material; a tutor wouldn’t have done me any good.”

If I hadn’t graduated early, I probably could have helped him pick his grades up. There’s no telling how many times I had to tutor players from the football team as well as a couple of band members just so that they could continue to play.       

“So, talkative, band geek, sucked at English and science, and un-teachable,” I say, counting the list with my fingers. “Anything else? Did you work while you were in school?”

“Is my life really that interesting that you have to ask for more?” Ashton teases and I look away and chew on my lip in embarrassment.

Maybe I am more interested in him than I thought.

He lets out a breathy laugh. “To answer your question, yes, I was working while I went to school,” he says. “There was really no getting out of it. My parents needed the help and I had the natural talent to be a baker so they hired me. I actually blame baking for my lack of studying and failing my classes.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask.

“Because I was so invested in it. I would always ride my bike from my parent’s house to the bakery after closing hours and sneak into the kitchen to bake. I would experiment with recipes which later made it to our menu, but I mostly spent my time finishing cake orders behind my parent’s back. They would come in the next morning and find cakes completely finished and detailed to perfection. It didn’t take them long to figure out that it was me coming it late at night because one day I fell asleep on the counter by accident and they found me when they opened shop.”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“If you call getting the position as head cake decorator “trouble” then yes, I got in trouble.”

“Really? Your parents punished you by giving you a promotion?”

“Partially. I did get grounded for about a month too, but I like telling people about my promotion first because it’s more interesting.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course you do.”

“You asked,” he reminds.

The loud buzzer to his washing machine goes off, starting both of us. Ashton attempts to get out of the cart that he is comfortably sitting in but struggles as it rolls from side-to-side, not giving him the stability he needs.

“Can I get a hand here, Ruth?” he asks and I begin to loudly clap my hands together, giving him the applause that he didn’t specifically ask for.

His unamused expression and narrow eyes make me giggle. “Ha ha, very funny. I’m rolling with laughter,” he says monotonously, trying to hide the smile that is peeking out as he wiggles around in the cart, making it roll to the side.

“I thought it was,” I say, grinning widely at him before hopping off the washer and sauntering over to him.

“Just hold it still so that I can pull myself out,” he instructs.

I latch my hands onto the edge of the cart and place my foot in front of the wheel to keep it from moving. Ashton is able to push himself up, but his head hits the metal bar that is attached above the cart as he gets out. I bite the inside of my cheek to suppress my laughter as he rubs the slightly red mark on his forehead and hisses at the touch.

“You alright there?” I ask and he quickly drops his hand to his side and acts like he didn’t just express pain in front of me.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he says, brushing his hair back like some 1950s greaser. We’re not on Happy Days,so you can stop acting like some tough shit.

Ashton digs inside his pocket and pulls out a quarter and slides it into the coin slot to one of the driers lined along the wall behind the row of washers. The door clicks and he pushes it as wide open as he can before moving to the washer and lifting the lid.

Normally, people would put their clothes into one of the carts and roll them over to the dryer to put them in, but Ashton takes a different approach and balls up the damp clothes and tosses them like a basketball inside the dryer. The distance between the driers and washers isn’t that long so it’s easy to make the shot, but it would be funny to see him miss and watch his clean clothes plummet down onto the dirty floors.

The buzzer to my washer goes off not too long after his and like the normal person I am I put all my clothes inside the cart before tossing them into the dryer.

“You’re not going to give the dryer a deep-clean like you did with the washer?” Ashton asks as he starts the timer to the dryer and begins throwing in his second load into the washer.

“Don’t need to,” I say, turning the dial to the correct heat setting and watching my clothes through the clear door plop about as they rotate inside. “Heat kills germs and bacteria. You would know that if you were good in science,” I tease, looking over my shoulder to see his slightly offended, yet amused expression.

If he can tease me about my quirks and flaws, I can tease him about his too. Hearing him talk about himself gave me a good amount of material to work with, so now I can combat any of his witty remarks against me with some of my own.

I take my remaining clothes that have already been separated and quickly start my second load of laundry. The silence between me and Ashton right now is actually annoying because now I can hear all the clinks and clanks from the machines working when before all my focus was on hearing him talk.

“Do you want to go swimming?” Ashton asks out of the blue.

“What?”

“The pool is right next to us,” he says. “I don’t know about you, but I would find more entertainment in swimming than getting dizzy from watching our clothes spin around in the dryer.”

I stare blankly at him and blink rapidly, trying to process his random question. “Um, no?”

“Why not?”

“Well for starters, it’s kind of chilly outside so the water is probably ice cold. I also don’t have anything to swim in, and to top it off, there’s a sign that says “do not leave clothes unattended” right over there,” I say, pointing to the sign on the wall that affirms my statement.

He glances over to the sign but doesn’t react to it. “We’re literally the only ones here and I highly doubt anyone else is going to come in here this late at night,” he says. “And if someone does, we’ll be able to see them from the pool and come back inside.”

“Okay, but you’re forgetting that I don’t have anything to swim in,” I say, trying to find any reason to not go even though it does sound nice to get away from all this noise.

“You don’t have to wear a swimsuit. Just go in with what you’re wearing.”

I look down to my t-shirt and jeans that I’m wearing. “But then my clothes would get wet.”

He chuckles. “Look behind you,” he says and I turn my head to view the driers along the wall. “You can dry your clothes afterwards and the ones that you have in the dryer should be done by the time we come back so you’ll be able to change. You should try to have a little more fun anyway.”

“I can have fun,” I say in defense. It may not be the getting drunk and acting like an idiot kind of fun, but there are other kinds of fun. Swimming in cold water may be borderline idiotic, but it’s not out of my fun range.

Ashton’s lips curve up and he walks over to the front door of the laundromat and holds it open. “You coming?”

I annoyingly pout at his persuasive ways and head out the door with him chuckling as he follows behind me.

After taking the minute walk from the laundromat to the pool gates, Ashton keys in a four digit pass code on the gate’s number padlock. He holds the gate open and gestures for me to walk in first before letting the steel gate clamp shut after he walks in.

Plastic white beach chairs are scattered around the perimeter of the rectangular pool. A few leaves float along the surface of the pool water, but other than that it’s rather clean. It doesn’t look like anyone has used the pool yet this season, but we’re about to change that.

Ashton removes his shoes and places them next to one of the chairs before flinging only his shirt off and diving into the pool. When his head surfaces, he slicks his hair back and rubs a hand down his face. “It’s not that cold,” he says. “You coming in or are you just going to stand there and watch me because either is fine with me.”

I roll my eyes and slip my feet out of my black ballet flats. From the edge of the pool, I dip my foot in to check the temperature and just like he said it really isn’t that cold.

“I already told you it’s not cold so get in here,” Ashton says, floating on his back.

“I’m just making sure you’re not lying,” I say.

“Why would I lie to you?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I honestly reply.

He swims over to the edge and crosses his arms over the ledge by my feet. “You’re my friend aren’t you?” he asks rhetorically. “Friends don’t lie. Have some trust in me, Ruth.”

The serious in his tone is different yet oddly calming. I trust him…kind of. It’s hard to put your full trust into someone who you’re still getting to know, but I did tell him that we’re friends and as a friend I should be able to trust him more, even with something as small as water temperature.

I nod and give him a small smile before taking a few steps back away from the edge. I give myself a running start before diving into the pool and letting the slightly chilly water engulf me. I swim around underwater for a bit before rapidly kicking my feet to help me reach the surface for a breath of air. I inhale deeply when my head surfaces and I push my hair out of my face.

Clapping gains my attention and I turn around to find Ashton applauding me. “I’d give you a 10 but you bent your knees just before you hit the water so your dive gets a score of 8,” he says.

“Why an 8 instead of a 9?” I ask, and push my shirt that’s lifting up down.

“Because you thought I was lying to you so I deducted one point.”

“Fair enough.” I swim over to the shallow end of the pool where my feet can actually touch the bottom of the pool and give my legs a rest.

“Tired already?”

“I’m shorter than you and can’t touch the bottom over there so my feet have to work harder than yours. I’m pretty sure you can just stand and still be above the water.”

He stops kicking his feet and his body sinks down only a few inches to where the water reaches just below his nose.

“See,” I say, proving my point.

His head completely disappears underwater and I can’t see where he is in the dark water. The outdoor lamp post barely gives off enough light for me to see as it is, so it’s nearly impossible to find the silhouette of his body swimming around.

I feel something brush against my leg just seconds before a pair of hands grip onto my waist and squeeze gently. I let out piercing shriek and lunge forward away from Ashton’s grasp. His loud laugh echoes in the quiet around us when he surfaces and I turn around and begin slapping his chest and arms, which he tries to defend against, but he is too amused to block any of my hits.

“That wasn’t cool,” I say, giving him one last hit on his arm along with a splash of water.

“You sounded like you were about to be murdered,” he says as his laughter dies down.

“I am formally revoking our friendship,” I joke and push down on his head until he is submersed in the water. I let him go after a few seconds and he shakes his head like a wet dog and splatters me with water.

“I guess that means no more free dessert for you,” he sings.

I splash the smirk of his face. “Damn you for being a great baker,” I say and cross my arms over my chest. “Friendship unrevoked.”

Ashton leans forward to reach my eye-level and I take a step back from his close distance. “You think I’m a great baker?” he asks, genuinely surprised.

“Well, yeah,” I say with a shrug. “Why are you so surprised by that?”

“Because you’ve always complimented my baking but never me as a baker.”

He’s right. I always tell him how good his desserts are but I’ve never complimented him. He puts all his time and effort into his baking and I don’t give him the appreciation that he deserves. It may inflate his ego, but I can’t deny him of the truth.

“You’re pretty good at what you do,” I say, giving him just enough praise, but not too much to where he’ll gloat about it.

“I know I am,” he says bluntly.

I roll my eyes for the umpteenth time today. “That’s the last time I compliment you,” I say, making Ashton chuckle.

Even in the dark, his hazel-green eyes are as vivid as they are in the daylight as he stares at me, making me slightly uncomfortable yet unable to fix my gaze on anything else. A smile forms on his lips before he pinches my nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“You really give me a run for my money,” he says and I smack his hand away.

“What do you mean?” I say, rubbing my nose.

“I’ve never been able to banter with a girl like this. Normally, they would get upset by my sarcasm.”

“Well, some people don’t pick up on sarcasm very well.”

“But you do, and you don’t take it personally. You play along and are able to throw comebacks like it’s second nature. I like that.”

“Luke gave me a lot of practice when we were kids, so going back and forth with you like this is a piece of cake.”

He smiles at my choice of words before climbing out of the pool. His jeans cling even tighter to his legs than before and water drips furiously down his body as he holds his hand.  

“We’re leaving already?” I ask after gripping onto his slippery hand.

“We can’t stay here forever,” he says and helps pull me out of the pool.

“I was having fun,” I admit, ringing the water out of my hair.

There’s something about his smile that gets to me. I don’t know if it’s just the genuineness in it or the way his entire persona changes but whatever it is I like it. “We can have fun like this again some other time,” he says. “I promise.”

I nod happily and wrap my arms across my chest. My clothes cling to my body tightly and part of me regrets actually getting in while fully dressed. I scurry over and grab my flats off the ground, not bothering to put them on and also grab Ashton’s shirt that he threw onto one of the chairs and toss it over to him.

Ashton balls the shirt into his hand and holds it at his side, keeping his wet torso completely visible to me and making it very difficult to not stare. I’ve seen my fair share of guys’ chests, but I’ll admit that his is noteworthy.  

“How are we supposed to dry off?” I ask as we walk past the pool gate and over to the laundromat.

“I should have some towels in the load in the dryer,” he says.

“You really should separate your laundry.”

“If I did we wouldn’t have anything to dry off with now, would we?”

I bite my tongue and stay silent.

“That’s what I thought,” he says playfully.

I immediately curse the inventor of the A/C when we walk inside the laundromat because my body instantly starts shivering from the blast of cool air. Wet clothes and cold air do not mix and I’ll be damned if Ashton sees the effects that nippy air has on the female body.

None of the machines are running which makes me happy because I can change into some dry clean clothes without having to wait. I’m relieved when Ashton pulls out two towels from the dryer and tosses one over to me. I waste no time in wrapping it around myself to keep warm before rummaging through my dryer to find something to wear.

Once I have everything in hand—shirt, bra, panties, some cotton pajama pants because my jeans are in the washer—I head inside the single woman’s restroom near the back of the laundromat to change.

Getting out of my jeans is the hardest thing that I’ve had to do in a while. It’s bad enough that they have a tight fit to begin with and by getting them wet, they stick to my legs even more. I topple over several times and hop around the bathroom trying to get them off. Ashton knocks on the door to check on me after I lose my balance and loudly hit the wall. I tell him I’m okay before finally freeing my legs from the confinements of my jeans and changing into my dry clothes.

When I walk out, Ashton is already changed into a new pair of jeans and he put on his shirt that he was wearing before. He stands tall in front of a long white table stationed at the end of the two rows of washers where he folds his clothes.

“I already took the clothes that you had inside the dryer out and put the second load in,” Ashton says, pointing over to my basket that is placed on the opposite end of the table from him.

“Oh, thanks,” I say. “You didn’t go snooping through my clothes, right?”

He snorts. “Yeah, I totally did. I even looted a pair of your panties as a fee for my kind gesture.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “I’m joking, Ruth. I’m not some panty hoarder so don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“You had the opportunity and you ran with it,” I say, shaking my head at his bad underwear joke.

“I can be funny too,” he says with a grin.

“Sure you can,” I tease. “Thank you though.”

“It’s no problem. Can I ask for a favor though?” he asks and I nod. “Can you wash my wet clothes with yours? I sort of ran out of quarters,” he says sheepishly.

“I guess,” I say with a shrug. “Where are they?”

“In the washer you’ve been using.”

“You already put your clothes in there because you assumed I’d say yes?”

He nods vigorously with a childish smile sprawled on his face.

I sigh. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood or else I would be mad that you made that assumption,” I say, adding my clothes in the washer with his. “For future reference: don’t assume.”

Ashton silently nods and continues to fold his clothes. After pouring in the detergent and turning the washer on, I stand next to Ashton and begin folding my own clothes on the table. Unlike Ashton who sloppily folds his shirts and tosses all his socks into a pile instead of pairing them together, I make sure everything is folded neatly and ready to be put back into my dresser when I get back to my apartment.

It’s funny how we are different in so many ways yet somehow have a solid balance between us. He’s a slob and I’m organized. He’s a baker and I wreak havoc in the kitchen. He’s a fun house and I’m the occasional Debbie Downer. But there’s one trait that we both share and even he pointed it out earlier: we’re both dedicated workers. I guess that’s our balance. Maybe that’s why I’m actually giving him a fair chance to prove me wrong.

“How am I doing?” Ashton asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I turn my head to look up at him and his gaze is already on mine, eagerly waiting for my response. “With?”

“With you. Have I made progress?”

I trace my tongue over my teeth before nodding slowly. “Yeah.”

A light tint of pink flush his cheeks as he smiles to himself. “Good.”

_________

A/N: School is Hell. It is the literal embodiment of Hell. I gave a presentation in front of like 100+ people for my communication theory class and was a babbling mess. But on a good note, my group made a 90 on the presentation so woooo! I also made a 99 on one of my exams and a 91 on a major writing assignment. My brain is so fried though. I literally just finished reading a novel that I was supposed to read starting in January and I was also supposed to note all the themes and reoccurring motifs in it. Yeah. I did 4 months worth of work in one week and I am totally completely sane hahaha. ;-; I just want this semester to be over already.

Sorry for my rambling. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I’ve been working on it over the course of a few weeks so it’s a little longer than usual. Give me some feedback! I love hearing your thoughts!

Love y’all!! –Rebecca xoxoxoxoxo