Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Andy:
Whatevs. We were always free and easy.
Me:
I said not happening. Can you get me an intro or not?
Andy:
I don’t know, I was thinking of a favors for favors kind of trade.
Me:
Again–not an option.
Andy:
Kidding, babe. I’ll see what I can do.
Then,
You see what you can do, too
followed by a bikini emoji.
Not cool. Ugh. Did he not read the part about me seeing someone? What an asshole. Well, I was stupid to pin any hopes on help from him. I should’ve figured he was just after sex.
I text Olive instead.
Hey remember when you offered to visit galleries with me?
She responds immediately.
Absolutely!
Pack sticks together. My eyes smart a little with the relief of having someone on my side. The contrast of her friendship compared with Andy is marked.
Me:
Really? When would be a good time for you?
Olive:
Wednesday nights the galleries stay open late for Art Walk. We could grab dinner and make some visits.
Me:
Perfect! Does this coming Wednesday work for you?
Olive:
Yep. It’s in my calendar.
Awesome.
I send kiss emojis to Olive and head out the door right on time. I climb in my Mini–the one my parents bought for my sixteenth birthday that they refused to let me sell to pay for college tuition.
A motorcycle cuts me off as I try to turn into the staff parking lot and then pulls into the spot by the art room. My spot.
I know before his helmet comes off who’s driving.
I find another place to park, grab my sandwich, and walk toward him. As I walk, I slide the key to my casita off the key ring.
The same familiar dread at seeing him is still there, but in equal or larger part is excitement.
Heat.
Desire.
“You should watch where you’re going, Ms. James. You almost ran into me.” His wicked smirk brings out his two deep dimples. He leans against the Ducati, arms folded over his massive chest.
I raise my voice in case any other teacher or student is around. “That’s a staff parking spot, Asher. Move the bike.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, without moving.
“Now.” I’m right in his personal space now, dragging in his cedar and sexy man scent.
His nostrils flare and eyes glow green as he takes a slow pull of mine.
I drop my set of keys and look down without moving.
For a moment, I think my ploy isn’t going to work. Asher’s too committed to being a dick to follow along. He gives me a long, slightly disparaging look, but he eventually leans over to pick them up.
When he hands them to me, I swap the set with the key to my casita.
I get a blast of his power, but this time, instead of anger or rage, it’s lust.
“Move the bike,” I repeat, tossing my hair. “Thank you for the food,” I murmur as I strut past him.
I feel his gaze on my back–or more likely my ass–for my entire walk into the school building. I turn to look back when I get to the door. Only then does he cast a mocking salute my way and throw a leg over the bike to move it to student parking.
I find my own version of a smirk playing on my lips as I step into the school.
Chapter Fourteen
Asher
I slip out to Lotta’s place after football, dinner, and homework. The key to her apartment burned a hole in my pocket all day long, and sitting in her class was pure torture. She never looked at me–not once–but she blushed every time I got hard watching her strut around the classroom in her hip-hugging skirt and heeled sandals. She wore this fitted black crop top with a daisy over her tits that made me want to shred the shirt to ribbons and bury my face there.
Knowing that she knows she’s mine–that she’s admitted it, no matter how reluctantly– shifted things for me. I don’t have that sense of fury toward her.
The old anger and sense of betrayal still sits like a stone at the pit of my stomach, but it only gives me a sense of misgiving now–not full-on rage.
I stop outside Lotta’s door. Huh. I can tell she’s not around. Her jasmine scent isn’t there. But more than that–I just know. My wolf is already in sync with her. I try the key, anyway, just to be sure it works.
It does, but the place is empty. Her car isn’t parked under the carport next to her parents’ garage.
My wolf snarls at being denied. Is she doing this on purpose? Trying to take the reins back on our sexual encounters?
It doesn’t fit, though. Lotta felt different today. Less closed off. Her murmured thank you over the food was warm, and she proactively got me the key to her place.
Is she with her parents? No, the car wasn’t there, I remind myself.
Ah.
The image of her car still sitting in the parking lot when I left after football practice snaps into my mind. The night of the full moon, she’d shifted at school. She must stay there to paint.