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The tension breaks, and we’re on truce again. I want to leave the dorm as much as he does. We walk toward the library in silence. Looking like a couple. He has on his ratty jacket, and I tug at a thread on the sleeve. He shrugs his shoulders.
“You need some new clothes,” I tell him, “Was he early? The man? Parents’ weekend is tomorrow.”
He tugs the loose thread until it breaks. “He’s not my parent. He’s my uncle who put a roof over my head, and he didn’t come for parents’ weekend. He was just passing through. He’s pissed because I didn’t join his MC.”
“Why didn’t you?” I ask.
Asher laughs bitterly. “Do you think an MC is like Sons of Anarchy? Redeemable fuckers with hearts of gold, doing the right thing in the end? I didn’t want to grow old in Weymouth, beating down guys who wandered into my neighborhood wearing the wrong patch. Not that you would have minded if I stayed there.”
I sigh. Maybe I should have said no, and I walk a little quicker. “You show up here, and it starts all over again.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me behind a tree along the path, so we’re almost out of sight. “You might hate seeing me again, but I don’t feel that way when I see you.”
My stomach flutters as he stares softly into my eyes. “Why do you look at me like that?” I ask.
“Like what?” he whispers.
“Like that; like you’re thinking about something.”
He smirks. “I’m in no rush to tell you.”
“Why do you get off on hurting me?”
“I want you to feel something for me, and I’m okay if it’s hate.”
His fingers intertwine into mine as he pulls me against the length of his body. I feel his built muscles underneath and lose my breath. My body melts against his and craves him. I want to be even closer. I do hate. I hate myself for wanting him inside me. I look up, and that questioning stare is on his face, and it softens his cold eyes. I fidget nervously, hoping he won’t speak. I’m not sure if I want him to explain.
He may not be the rich boy I wanted to marry, but he is the toughest. Deep down, I still want to be protected. I pull my fingers out of his, and I start walking along the path again.
Chapter 15
Charlotte
Asher follows a few steps behind me obediently, like a guard dog after his master. I look over my shoulder, and he raises a hopeful gaze to my eyes as we walk to the library door. Maybe someday, Asher will understand that he doesn’t have to hurt me. But that’s a dangerous fallacy too.
The Aubrey Virgil Stokes Library sits isolated at the edge of the campus on a vast stretch of land. A bronze bust of Stokes watches the students leave with bags filled with library books on the winding path. Wooden benches accommodate a park-like atmosphere, and a few people are lying on the grass, reading in the sunshine. I feel at ease at Ivymore, even with Asher walking by my side.
The floor plan is different from most libraries I’ve been in, and I wonder if Stokes’s mansion was bequeathed to the college. The main hall has the circulation desk, and to the left is a sweeping marble staircase that leads up to the higher floors. Through the center archway, there are tables lined up, and no one talks as students hunch over their notebooks for the upcoming prelim exams.
I sigh and wait in line for the librarian while Asher heads over to a computer to look up his book. We’re required to take a science credit for graduation, so I took Kingdom of Life for three biology credits. Unfortunately, Astronomy 101 has a waiting list until next year. The librarian is a little testy as she tells me that the book I want is in reference on the second floor. Patiently, I explain that I’m a freshman. She points me upstairs, and I climb to the second floor to look in the reference section.
After walking up and down the aisles, I find the book in Asher’s hands.
“You are kidding me?” I sigh like my stomach aches. “I need that book too.”
“Not as bad as me. We’re in the same classes, so why are you surprised I need it too?”
In frustration, I try to tug it out of his hands, but he’s too quick and holds it over my head. Annoyed, I shove my nail under his ribs, and the reflex makes him lower his arm again.
“Don’t be a brat,” I take it out of his hand, “We’ll share it.”
Asher smirks, pleased with my bitchy reaction. “We better find a table where we can talk,” he says, “I don’t feel like being shushed every time I have to tell you to turn the page.”
We find a spot in the group study lounge on the third floor, and the layout resembles the lounges in our dorm. Students are spread out on overstuffed chairs and couches, chatting while eating prohibited snacks and drinks. And the librarian bitches at me? So Asher and I sit together on a couch, and he puts his arm along the back, cradling me in.
“You mind? I don’t want people to think we’re together.”
He puts his arm down. “You wanna blow me later?” he whispers.
