Free Dirty Sex by Ashley Bartlett Page A

stared at
    each other hard. Her hand still hung in the air and my cheek stung like
    a bitch. I could feel all of our friends watching us, but I didn’t dare turn
    away. Suddenly, Reese pushed past me. She stopped in front of Ryan,
    demanded his keys, and jumped in his car. I thought she was going to
    sit in there forever with her arms braced on the steering wheel and her
    face hidden in them. After about five minutes, during which everyone
    glanced secretively between me and the 4Runner, she started it up and
    gunned it out of there.
    I had no clue what the hell to do. Kerry looked like she might kill
    me. Ryan was resigned. As usual, he would listen to both sides of the
    story and decide which of us to be mad at. The rest of the guys were just
    shocked. Reese and I fought all the time, but neither of us had ever hit
    the other. I stayed motionless, just looking at the spot where the SUV
    had been parked, willing her to come back. No luck.
    I went back into my tent and changed out of the clothes I’d slept
    in. When I emerged from the tent again, everyone was trying really
    hard to act normal. Ryan was studying his breakfast so hard I thought it
    might ignite. I reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulled out
    his cigarette case. He let me. One joint went behind my ear, the other
    between my lips. I put the case back in his pocket. Then I walked away.
    • 65 •

    AShley BArtlett
    As I strolled, I lit the joint, sucking on it hard. I didn’t get far before I
    heard footsteps. Ryan.
    “Hey, wait up.”
    “Leave it alone,” I warned him.
    “I’m not really sure what to do.” He took the joint I held out. “I’m
    mad at her for slapping you. But damn, dude. She looked mad. You
    must have done something.”
    “Honestly, Ryan.” He looked at me, all ears. “I deserved worse.”
    I’m not sure if he was more shocked by my admission of guilt or
    the fact that I’d clearly done something messed up.
    “Well, what was it?”
    “I really, really can’t tell you.” A mirthless laugh pushed its way
    out of my chest.
    “Oh, come on, nothing is that bad.”
    “It is. I’m not sure if it’s worse for me or her. Probably her.” I
    thought about that for a while. Was it worse being totally violated or
    realizing you really are a twisted asshole? “I don’t know. Just let me
    walk, okay?”
    Ryan let me go.
    ❖
    Summer continued in the usual vein. Reese and I conducted a
    silent war. Most of our skirmishes revolved around pizza toppings.
    Reese would order pizzas and accidentally request stuff I hated on each
    one. There would be one with anchovies, one with ham, another with
    bell peppers. My attacks were equally subtle, drinking her favorite juice
    in the fridge, leaving the bathroom counter covered in hair product,
    taking naps in her bed with my shoes on. The games hadn’t changed a
    whole lot since we were kids. By the middle of June, we hadn’t spoken
    directly to each other in weeks.
    I was almost living at their house. When Christopher would come
    home, Ryan would stay at my place, but when he was gone, we partied
    it up. When I let myself in one afternoon, I couldn’t find Ryan. Instead,
    I found Reese sprawled on the couch watching soap operas in Spanish.
    A glass of wine dangled from her limp hand. The bottle on the table
    next to her was empty.
    “What is this?”
    • 66 •

    Dirty Sex
    “A telenovela.”
    “Can you understand it?” I dropped over the back of the couch so
    I was upside down.
    “Most of it.”
    “I can’t.” Sure, we both took four years of Spanish in high school.
    That didn’t mean I remembered it.
    “I took Spanish in college too. Not just high school,” Reese told
    me. I wondered if she could read my mind or something.
    “They’re talking really fast.”
    “You’re just slow at listening.” There wasn’t any malice in her
    voice. It seemed like we were actually having a conversation. Big step.
    “So why are you watching a telenovela?”
    “It’s more