Page 9 of Lessons in Desire

“No alcohol.” He looks confused, like he can’t comprehend the possibility.

I smile and shake my head. “Nope.”

“Okay. You wait here and I’ll go grab it.”

I go to stop him, because there is no way I’ll be drinking from a cup I didn’t see be directly handed to me, but he’s gone before I can stop him. Sighing, I pull my phone out. It’s only eleven p.m. but I can already feel the tiredness pressing in on all sides and all I really want to do is to go home.

I bite my lip as Jake reappears, water in hand. When he hands me the drink, I put it down on the table beside me and reach up on my tippytoes to shout in his ear. “Hey, I’m actually feeling really tired, so I think I’m going to head.”

He shakes his head. “You’re breaking my heart, Evelyn.”

“I’m sorry.” I pull out my phone, sending a message to Bree. “I’ll see you in class on Tuesday?”

He nods and leans forward, a small smile on his lips. “Thanks for the great night, no matter how short.”

Oh, he’s flirting. Swallowing, I push past the wince that wants to break free, and smile. “Right back at you.”

I turn, and head to the doors. The minute I’m outside, a cloud of perfume and cigarette smoke engulfs me, the night air biting compared to the humidity of the club. I could get an uber, but that will set me back on the finance front so after a second contemplation, I decide to walk – it’s only twenty minutes and it’s not that late.

Not even a few minutes down the road, I pass a group of three drunk frat boys and my stomach drops. They’re wearing matching jerseys with the letters Alpha Delta embroidered onto them in blocks of blue. When they spot me, they slow their steps.

One of them, the leader of their group from the looks of it, whistles loudly. “Hey there, baby. Where you off to?”

I still, keeping my shoulders back, the picture of unaffected. But on the inside, I’m terrified. But if there’s one thing, I learnt by working lates at the diner last year, it’s that men like these assholes, they like the fear, so you should never give it them.

“To my boyfriend’s place.” I say, looking passed them as if the imaginary boyfriend is going to appear behind them.

The guy’s brows raise, and he takes a step closer. “Well, he isn’t much of a gentleman if he’s letting a pretty thing like you walk alone at night.” He’s close enough that I can smell the beer on him, the smell a reminder of my father.

“He knows I can look after myself.” I say and take a step closer. “Now, I really should be going.”

“No, I don’t think you should.” He grins and walks further, throwing an arm around me. “Come with us and party!” His friends whoop but go silent when I shove him off me. He’s so drunk that he loses his balance. He’s on his feet a second later, crowding me, spitting in my face. “You fucking bitch.” He seethes.

And that’s when I lose it. I don’t think, I just act. Pulling back my fist, I punch him with everything I have and run. Leaving them to scramble, using the confusion as a head start. Because if sternness doesn’t work, then fighting and flighting does. I don’t look back, not until I hit the KMART that sits on the road to my dorm.

That’s when the adrenaline fades and I feel the throbbing of my knuckles. Motherfucker, that hurts. I curse, my steps veering into the grocery store to get something for them. I pass aisle after aisle of candy and chips, cereal, and coffee, until I reach the frozen section. Bending, I reach into the freezer, my hands grasping for a bag of peas, my ass high in the air. And that’s when I hear his voice, the tell-tale dip of my stomach, the flutter in my chest like a warning … or a promise.

“Evelyn?”

Asher

Chapter Six

Evelyn

Bolting upright, frozen peas in hand, I turn and comes face to face with the man who is apparently stalking my dreams and my reality. He’s standing a few feet away with a basket in his hand, his fingers clenched. He’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, slung low on his hips, and a black shirt pulls taut across his broad chest, and I swear I whimper at the sight of him.

How does he manage to make casual look so fucking good?

I bite my lip and wave uselessly as Asher takes me in. “Oh, hi.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just stares. He drinks me in slowly, taking in the dress and the heels and the messy, teased up hair and his eyes flash with something heated. But before I have a second to think on the impossibility of that his green gaze flashes to my knuckles, or more accurately, to the red, throbbing mess that used to be my knuckles.

In a flash of movement, he drops his basket to the ground and stalks forward, his fingers reaching for my hand, holding it tenderly as his fingers ghost over the bruises, the split.

“Who did this to you?” He growls, and the look on his face is murderous.

I swallow and my pussy throbs at the look I find in his face. “I … I mean technically I did it to myself.” I shrug my shoulders. “Apparently punching people hurts.”

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