Before You: Kiss Starter, #1

By Ashlyn Mathews

A fake boyfriend she never wanted.

Ryan Allie Allistar understood from a young age true love and happy-ever-after doesn't exist. Her college mantra? Head down, grades up, and stay away from the guys until after graduation. Period.

The chance for a memorable year.

When a night of celebrating leads to a scary run-in with a guy from her past, and sexy rugby team captain, Xander Brody, steps in and declares he's her boyfriend, Ryan faces rethinking how she wants to live her last year of college.

They're not anyone's idea of the perfect match.

She's not into college guys. And definitely not guys with commitment issues. He prefers coeds with experience in the sack. But to survive the mayhem of a stalker on the loose, an unsolved murder, and a secret double life on the verge of unraveling before their eyes, Ryan and Xander will have to convince everyone they're "the real deal" even if it means crossing the unspoken boundaries of their friend zone.

Author note:  Xander, Zeke, and Galley—"the guys"—in Before You have filthy mouths. Worship the f-bomb. But they're filthy hot, too. Read at your own risk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Commencement Bay Publishing
• Release date: May 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386585701

Ashlyn Mathews

Ashlyn Mathews is a registered nurse with an overactive imagination. Her interests and activities include taking a lot of pictures of her golden retrievers and flowers and posting them on social media (occasionally she’ll post pictures of her kids and hubby), binge-watching funny and romantic Netflix shows, reading books and magazines of various genres, eating a lot of carbs, and drinking A LOT of coffee. Hot, iced, blended… it doesn’t matter as long as it has coffee. For more on her romance series, visit ashlynmathews.com.

Book preview

1

RYAN

R yan, are you sure about this? There’s a deep furrow between my friend, Asher’s, dark brows. We don’t belong here.

Of course, I am, and we do. I hold the door with both hands and dig my heels into the soft dirt. I’ve forgotten how heavy this barn door was. It’s your twenty-first birthday. What better place to celebrate at than a bar?

That’s so cliché. She crosses her arms. Her hip juts left.

Sassy, this girl.

You’re the queen of cliché, I remind her. Why fight the inevitable? I manage a half-shrug. "Plus, you’ve been hankering to ride a mechanical bull ever since we watched The Longest Ride, and guess what?"

Her eyes get squinty. What?

The bar rocks a mechanical bull, that’s what, I say with a triumphant grin.

Bull or no bull, Asher’s right, my other friend, Nora, chimes in. We don’t need to go inside to know the bar’s for rednecks.

I play innocent and raise a brow. What gives you that idea?

Sheesh, Ryan, it’s obvious. Arms still crossed, Asher shifts her weight to her right hip. We’re standing outside a barn, country music is blasting, and the place has a dude’s name. Jimmy’s might as well be Mac’s or Billy Bob’s.

Asher has a point, however, I’m appalled by your judge-y words. I widen my eyes. Who is always on my case to be more assertive and ballsy? You, Asher. Laser-beam focus on Asher’s face. "You encourage me to be more than I am."

"This isn’t either of those things, Ryan."

Not good when Nora puts extra emphasis on my name. I straighten to my full height of five-foot-five, ready to spar with her practical brain.

This, Nora points to the inside of the bar, has danger written all over it.

That’s it? That’s all she’s got? I relax my shoulders.

Danger is Nora’s favorite word when she doesn’t want us to do something. Guess what her numero uno word is when she’s all in? You guessed it. SAFE. Ding, ding, ding.

We won’t stay long. I promise. Now get inside before my arms rip from their sockets.

Not to mention my shirt collar is chaffing the underside of my jaw. How is anything with a collar comfortable?

Asher rolls her eyes. Nora snorts. Obnoxious and unladylike, these two. Smiling, I follow them inside. We sit and leave our cell phones inside our pockets.

No checking messages or getting on social media when we’re together unless it’s a life or death situation. Girl code. Our code.

Between our crazy work schedules, classes, and living apart since our junior year, we don’t get much us time. This weekend is the rare exception. We spent the entire weekend together.

The waitress sees us and heads over. Her blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and she has on Jimmy’s waitstaff’s uniform, a buttoned-up red and black plaid shirt paired with dark blue jeans.

Hello, girls. Name’s Anne. Her glance touches on Asher then Nora before settling on me. Allie.

Allie. The name I went by for most of my life until I started college.

A slight nod and a quick appraisal from Anne. I straighten and tug the hem of my shirt down. I’m certain I haven’t changed much since I last saw her.

My hair is the shade of whiskey, and my eyes, the color of sea rocks. Or so my mother said when in one of her nostalgic moments. Those moments had the greatest chance of happening after a show met with a standing ovation.

My friends look from Anne to me and back to Anne. I make introductions.

Anne, these are my friends from college, Asher and Nora.

Asher and Nora. She speaks their names slowly, testing the vowels and consonants on her tongue as though trying to decide whether my friends’ names flow with Allie.

Nice to meet you girls.

Her tone is neutral. She can’t make up her mind whether she approves of my new friends. I don’t give a care what her opinion is.

How long’s it been since you’ve been home, sweetie?

Four years. She should know this. Since I left for DU. Dumas University. A private college in southeastern Washington state.

How’s Nick?

My stepfather. Nick is Nick.

Anne places menus in front of us. See him often?

Since my mother’s death.

The words hang in the air between us like a patch of thick smoke.

Here and there. I swipe my finger over the crease in the menu and avoid eye contact.

I see. It’s nice to see you again, Magpie.

You too, Anne. Sharp as glass, my tone.

How many times had I asked Anne not to call me that? Using my mom and Nick’s nickname for me disrespects my memories of them together.

She clears her throat. Take your time. I’ll be back with waters.

I wait for her to leave before I raise my head. Asher studies me with those dark brown eyes of hers. She opens her mouth. I stick out my hand.

Rule number one. I pick up the menu. No questions about each other’s lives pre-DU. I remind her in case she’d conveniently forgotten. Order anything. My treat.

I set down the menu.

Had I known we’d be running into my mom’s ex-best friend, I would’ve kept driving past Jimmy’s and settled for a different bar to celebrate Asher’s birthday.

Why didn’t Anne return home to California after my mom’s death and Nick’s subsequent move to Montgomery? There’s nothing left for her in Ravenna unless she’s holding on to memories of life with my mom and Nick. That would explain why she still works at Jimmy’s, Mom and Nick’s old hangout.

In the corner of my eye, Nora is staring at the menu. Her focus is intense, and I suspect it’s not the food that interests her. She’s processing what happened between Anne and me.

We can pay our way, Ryan. Soft words from Asher.

Rule number two: We don’t owe one another anything.

Or is it Allie?

Allie is pre-DU, so sorry, off limits, and I’d like to stick with Ryan.

Asher makes a rude noise under her breath.

I heard that.

She does it again.

"I get you’re unhappy, but we didn’t become fast friends by telling each other everything. All I’m asking for is patience."

And understanding, Nora adds.

And trust. Asher clucks her tongue. Fine. I was pushy. I’m sorry.

Apology accepted. Thank you for understanding. Also, it was nice of you two to ask for the weekend off to spend it with me. Might as well put everything on the table. The least I can do is pay for dinner?

A question. Another attempt at an offer. To honor our third rule: Appreciate one another.

I know. Rules. Who needs them, right? Us girls do. Thank goodness there are only three.

Asher looks to Nora. If anyone refuses, Nora would. She puts down the menu. There’s a stubborn set to her jaw. Miss Independence. And I lovingly bet Pride is her middle name.

How about you pay for my drink?

I hide my surprise beneath my smile. That’s doable. Thanks, Nora. I can’t stop smiling. Thank you, both of you, for helping me celebrate my mother’s birthday.

A dozen white roses scattered on her grave marker. A glittery candle on her favorite cupcake, Pink Starlight, as we sang, Happy Birthday.

She would’ve said best forty-first birthday. My voice catches. I wished she were here. She’d love you two.

Asher reaches over and squeezes my fingers. I’m sorry she died so soon, Ryan. You must miss her.

Every day, I admit.

Nora pats my arm, surprising me, again. Nora doesn’t touch or like to be touched. Something to do with how she was raised.

Hey, we’re not here to mope. The air was getting thick. Let’s end this fabulous girls’ weekend get-away with yummy food and shots for the baby of our trio-for-life, Asher Crasher.

Anne returns with waters. We order our meals. For drinks, Asher goes all out with the shot sampler. Nora orders a margarita she’ll sip for hours if you let her. Gotta be safe. Let the alcohol metabolize slowly rather than guzzle and get wasted.

Allie? Anne holds Asher’s and Nora’s I.D.s to the light.

Thanks, but I’m the designated driver.

Of course, you are.

Syrupy sweetness, but why does it feel like she bitch-slapped me?

Anne leaves, and Nora stares a hole in the side of my face. I don’t give her the satisfaction of an explanation. Explaining would lead me down a path of reliving life with an alcoholic mother.

Asher breaks the oppressive silence with a wave of her hand and an appreciative glance my direction. By the way, you look great. Finally, you’re wearing something that shows off your killer figure.

A black, buttoned-up stretchy shirt that sticks to me like second skin. Skinny jeans tucked into knee-high boots.

Must be all that running you’re doing, Asher gushes. Maybe next time, I’ll tag along.

Nora frowns. Going for a run before the sun sets is dangerous. You could get mugged, kidnapped, assaulted, run over by a car.

That’s why I carry mace, wear reflective gear, and take my share of self-defense classes on campus.

She makes valid points, Nora.

Asher coming to my defense? Usually, it’s the two of them ganging up on me. My thought is they do that out of habit. They were friends first by six months before they included me in their duo.

Okay, I give in. You’re staying safe, Nora says with a hint of a smile. That’s good. I agree with Asher. Anything other than sweatpants, sweatshirts, and worn-down sneakers is a better look for you.

Geez, thanks?

What I meant to say is you look pretty, Ryan.

Her hand on my arm plus a compliment. Nora is trying to comfort. She understands how uncomfortable Anne made me feel when she asked about Nick.

Something unravels deep inside me. These two women have given me the best years of their lives and what have I given them in return other than utter boredom and worry? Enough.

I stretch my arms out, palms up. I would like to make some vows. Is that okay?

They set their hands in mine.

From this day forward, I’ll break out of my comfort zone little by little.

Three important words, the ones at the end.

From this day forward, I’ll listen to my besties’ advice, and, I look from Nora to Asher, go with whatever they say is best for me, within reason.

Asher nods, accepting my within reason caveat. She’s known for going to extremes. How she earned the nickname, Asher Crasher.

Asher releases my hand and high-fives Nora. Hallelujah, she’s come to her senses. Boo-yah! She pumps her hand in the air.

I duck my head and hide my smile. Over the top, this girl.

We’ve been trying to ‘reform’ you since we found you crying behind that tree.

Freshman year. I raise my head, ready to tell Asher and Nora how grateful I am they had cared enough to offer Kleenex from Asher’s backpack, but the door opens, and my attention is drawn to the guys swaggering in.

Confident, self-assured, cocky… They reek of the big T. Testosterone.

The guys push one another back and forth, their booming laughter riding above the country music.

I don’t miss their backward baseball caps. Or the way their shirts cling to their taut, muscular torsos. And how about those low-hung jeans calling attention to the bulging muscles of their…thighs.

Why are the guys from the rugby team here, two hours from DU’s campus?

They grab seats behind us. Asher suddenly has a fascination with the condiments on the table and her hair. She twists the long strands then lets go.

Twist.

Let go.

Twist.

Let go.

In this rhythm that has me wondering why she’s nervous. Asher doesn’t get flustered around the guys. They get tongue-tied when around her.

Off to my left, Nora isn’t staring at the table or playing with her hair. She’s sitting ram-rod straight, like a string pulled tight. Why is she on high alert?

The guys.

My friends are thrown off-kilter by these certain guys. The one behind me sits so close, I catch a whiff of his scent. A mix of dirt, sweat, the air, and an undeniable and sexy masculine scent I can’t fully describe but is definitely of the male persuasion.

I start inhaling a deeper breath then stop. What am I doing? These guys are not the types of guys I should be sniffing. They’re the type I steer clear of and have been successful at staying away from for the majority of my years at DU.

They didn’t look our way when they walked by, but I know who they are. Every girl on campus does.

The one in the middle getting shoved back and forth was Xander Brody. Tall and muscular with a panty-melting smirk. When Xander smirks, every girl in proximity sighs with longing.

I’m one of a few immune to his smirk, deep, rich voice, and intense gaze. Hasn’t he realized the eyes are the windows to the soul is just a saying? There’s no need to stare at someone with that much intensity unless he’s ready to chase down a gazelle.

The two doing the shoving were Zeke Harrington and Galley Rutherford. Zeke is a bona-fide campus man-whore. I hear he believes in sleeping with a girl only once. Wow. Just wow.

Galley, aka, filthy guy on campus, will sleep with a girl or girls more than once. Not only is he into multiple sex partners in one sexual encounter, but he likes to have sex multiple times in a day. The boy’s got stamina along with a filthy mouth, filthy-fine body, and he’s filthy rich.

The trio are players. The opposite of everything that is decent, nice, and respectable.

So, addressing Asher, I drag out the word, what do you think? I tip my head at the mechanical bull and try my dardnest not to eavesdrop on the conversation behind me. It’s now or never.

But it’s difficult to do when the guys are so loud.

Hey, man, what are we doing with the house? Shit, I should’ve known that goddamn pipe would burst someday. The fucking leak went through the floor and soaked every goddamn thing below. Popcorn ceiling’s gotta be removed. Having that shit done is hella pricey.

Filthy mouth Galley.

Good thing Sean was there. Had the fucking sense to call in a plumber. Get the damn electricity shut off. Have a company come in and start drying the place out.

I’ll find someone to fix the floor and ceiling. Don’t worry.

Rugby team captain, Xander, to the rescue. A smile threatens to bloom across my face. I like that he’s willing to help rather than join in on Galley’s ranting.

You think the place will be ready for the Black Light party? Casual. Not too interested. But he’s very interested. The very definition of who Zeke Harrington is.

What’s a Black Light party?

It better be. I plan on getting me some action.

I can imagine Galley thrusting his hips and smacking the air, miming getting his action.

I second that, bro.

Hormones on crack, those two.

I gather my hair in my hands, twist the strands into a knot, and shove the knot behind me until the knot breaks loose and hair cascades down my shoulders and back.

Minutes pass. When the birthday girl finally speaks, I’m not a fan of what comes out of her mouth.

If I ride the bull, you two gotta do it, too.

My eyes must be saucers, and my skin the shade of Asher’s white shirt. The conversation behind me stops. I do a quick assessment of the bar. There’s a group of guys sitting in a dark corner, muscular shoulders hunched over their drinks. Otherwise, it’s us girls and the guys nicknamed the dirty trio.

Lucky us.