Page 18 of Lessons in Desire

Jake, a true football player, grins broadly, teeth flashing. “Brilliant. I was promoted from bench warmer to team player.” He turns to me, his eyes warm. “Excited for our date tonight?”

I force a smile. “Sure am. I’ve heard good things about that Italian.

“It’s going to be the best damn date with no pressure you’ve ever had.” He says firmly.

I stand. “It better be.” I swing my bag over my shoulder. “Anyway, I need to head. I have a TA meeting with Asher.”

Jake shudders. “That dude scares the shit out of me. I swear he always looks angry when he looks at me.”

I bite my lip. It’s true, Asher does look at Jake with contempt, but it’s not his fault, it’s mine.

“I bet he looks hot when he’s angry.” Bree teases with a smirk.

“Okay, that is my professor and boss you’re talking about.” I snap, the words sharper than intended, my jealousy turning them barbed. “I need to go.” I turn and walk away, ignoring Bree as she shouts my name.

I can’t believe I just let that happen. I got jealous over Bree, who has no interest in him, who has a boyfriend, who is my best friend. I shake my head as I walk to Asher’s office, anger and shame heating my cheeks.

I’ve known for a very long time that addiction lives under my skin, but I thought I could outrun it. Never drink, never do drugs, never pick up a single cigarette. But it turns out what I’m addicted to isn’t a narcotic, he just acts like one to me. When I see him, hear him, fucking smell him, my body reacts; my heart pulses, aching, my blood rushes, fogging my brain. He is my addiction.

I take a breath as I reach his office door and then I’m pushing through without knocking, needing that little bit of extra control. His smell washes over me instantly, feeding my need for him, but no more. I am not my parents. I do not have to bend to my want of him.

“Asher.” I say stiffly, placing my bag on the floor near the couch before sitting down, notebook at the ready for our briefing.

“Evelyn.” He smiles and my heart falters. “How are you?”

“Perfectly find.” I say. “So, what’s the focus for after thanksgiving then?”

“Art Nouveau.”

A tingle starts in my toes as an unwilling smile creeps across my face.

“Really?” I say, excitement bleeding into my tone. Art Nouveau is one of the most underrated forms of architecture and art, in my humble opinion. A movement focused on the beauty of the natural world, the curves, and dips that earth provides to us free of charge.

“I take it you’re happy about that.”

“I love Art Nouveau.” I say, reaching down for a pencil but I go too fast, too hard, because my bag tips, spilling the contents across his hardwood floor. I jump up, cursing as my art supplies roll across the floor, paint, pencils, charcoal, and oil pastels.

Asher smirk intensifies as he helps me retrieve the contents of my bag.

“What.” I grumble.

He says nothing, and instead, simply picks up my sketchbook that has fallen open in the flurry of activity. I yell out, but it’s too late, the sheets are all loose and they fall to the floor in a scattering of paper wings. I reach across, trying to snatch them all from the floor, but he’s picked most of them up already.

His eyes are wide, the gold flecks shining like molten gold. “Evelyn, these are amazing.”

I shake my head and hiss, “have you never heard of privacy?”

He shakes his head. “To keep these private would be a crime. These are fucking incredible.” My stomach warms at his words. “I cannot believe you’ve kept these a secret from me.”

Sitting down in a huff of embarrassment, I cross my arms. “You’re just trying to get on my good side.”

“No these are amazing Evelyn.”

He holds out one of my pieces. It’s the head of a girl, her face unravelling like a ribbon, who she is consumed by a viper of poison. I was in an especially dark mood while painting that.

“Fuck me.” He shakes his head once again. “You have to major in art.”

I laugh. “No way.”

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