“Yeah, I don’t know, the whole situation has been shit. She calls me sounding panicked, and next thing I know, she hangs up and doesn’t return my calls. I could barely get an answer from her on any of it. I’m done,” I growl, frustration irking me. With Bristol, it’s always irritation and annoyance. She’s not making my life any easier.
Why do I care what happens to her?
She’s made it clear she despises me.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” my sister reassures me. “I’ll stop by and check on her this afternoon, see what I can find out.”
“Don’t bother. She’s not worth the headache,” I mutter.
I head back into the house, Nova staring at me with a perplexed frown. “You’re home already. Everything okay?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know,” I grumble and flop down on the sofa next to her.
Ashton is sitting on the floor, stretching while Zeke climbs onto his back like a jungle gym and he flips him forward, catching him.
“Sounds complicated. So, tell me about this girl, Bristol.”
Eleven
Nova
Classes resume, and already, I’m in over my head with the course load. Ashton and I are both taking Criminology together. We’re in the same class, which might explain why I’m failing.
I suppose I’ve been paying more attention to him than the lessons.
He’s easy on the eyes, and I keep daydreaming about what I’d do to him with a pair of handcuffs.
Well, that’s not the only fantasy of Ashton fleeting through my mind, but it’s the most prominent in this class. It doesn’t hurt that he bought a pair of furry pink handcuffs this week, but we haven’t gotten time to use them.
It’s like I have an itch that desperately needs scratching.
Distracted?
Understatement of the century, and to top it off, the teacher also loves to give us pop quizzes, so it’s not like I can study before the exam. Ashton glances at the giant red F on my paper as the teaching assistant returns our quizzes.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath.
Ashton’s brow is furrowed, and he nudges my arm. “Don’t worry, we’ll study tonight.”
“You have practice,” I remind him. I liked early summer, spending time with Ashton, without worrying about school or his training camp for hockey.
Now, it’s like I have to compete for his attention, but at least it’s not against other girls.
The teaching assistant, Henry, grabs the seat next to me, as we’re in the back row against the wall.
I continue to take notes, trying my best to pay attention after the lousy grade.
I start packing up my things as class ends, and Henry leans toward me, invading my personal space. His voice is low, rumbly, and barely above a whisper, like what he’s saying is meant only for my ears. “Do you want to grab lunch together? I could help you study this evening or another night at my place.”
My mouth drops, and I’m stunned.
Henry has spoken a handful of words to me, but it’s always a polite hello or if he can borrow a pencil. He’s never blatantly asked me to grab a meal with him—and he’s the teaching assistant for this class. Isn’t that against some kind of code of conduct?
Ashton is staring at me, wondering what the hell is going on, and I don’t blame him.
I force a reassuring smile his way, and then my face falls slack as I stare at Henry. “I have plans with my boyfriend, Ashton, for lunch.” I shove the rest of the papers haphazardly into my backpack and zip it up, wanting to get the hell out of there, pronto.
I’m a bit disheveled after what Henry asked me. It’s not like he suggested a study group he was hosting. He asked me about studying with him, at night, at his place.
