Page 10 of Lessons in Desire

Asher’s jaw tightens. “Evelyn. I want you to tell me what happened. Now.”

“Just some stupid drunk jock who pushed it too far.” I say. “I’m fine. I promise.”

He shakes his head. “No. You are the opposite of fine.” He takes the peas from my other hand and presses them against the bruises with a tenderness that makes my heart ache. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

I shake my head. “No, there’s really no need. It’s barely even a scrape, I’ll be fine once I clean and bandage them.”

“Evelyn, this—” he picks up my hand gesturing to one of my knuckles that is swollen and throbbing, “looks split. You need to have this looked at.”

“No hospital. I …” I wince. “I don’t have health insurance.”

“You haven’t set up a student plan?”

He looks confused, his face twisted in a quizzical expression as I shake my head. The thing is I’ve never had health insurance and it isn’t exactly in the budget either.

“Nope.” I say simply.

He stops for a moment and his eyes flicker, unfocused, as if they’re flipping through a book of options. After a moment, they dart back, the green settled. “I’m not letting you go home without it being seen to, but I have an alternative to a hospital.”

I stay silent, waiting.

“My brother lives close by and he’s a doctor. I’ll get him to meet us at mine to take a look at it. And before you try and say no, it’s this or the hospital because you do not want that healing wrong if its broken. Okay?”

I think on it for a moment as the muscles in my stomach coil uncomfortably tight. People rarely give help for free, no matter what they want others to think, but Asher seems genuine. Like he wants to help.

“Okay. I’ll accept.” I reach for him and squeeze the warm skin at his bicep, trying to ignore how the muscles coil, ready to strike. My pussy throbs, desperate and wet at the smallest touch of our skin, the energy zapping between us. I push it away with a smile. “Thank you.”

He nods before steering me through the store, placing me at his side as he pays for his groceries and my peas. When we’re in the parking lot, he points to a silver pick-up truck. “That’s mine. You can go hop in; I’m just going to call my brother.”

I do as he said, slipping onto the sticky leather seats and pulling the seat belt across my body, careful to avoid using my right hand too much. It’s not the car I would have pictured Asher having, though what do I know. I’ve barely known Asher long enough to _, never mind knowing what kind of car would fit him and yet, my body seems to respond to him as if it’s always known him. Like something deep and primal connects us together. Like we’re tied by a thread, fate weaving a sense of familiar comfort between us, linking us integrally together.

I shake my head, my thoughts spiralling. Don’t be ridiculous, Evelyn.

The driver’s door opens and then the car is filled with his scent, that intoxicating fresh, earthy smell like the forest after a rainstorm. It settles over me like a blanket, stirring my blood and I want to drown in it. To soak it in. To remember it for when I no longer have it.

“Are you going to help me track down the fucker who you punched?” He says into the dark car as it pulls out of the parking lot, the headlights shining over the trees on either side of us as we drive.

I shake my head. “Not a chance.”

“I’ll find them.” He says, voice low, and his fingers fist the steering wheel. “My brother said he needs to know how much you’ve had to drink, or around abouts.”

“I haven’t had anything.”

Asher glances at me before his eyes flicker back to the road. “Not a single drink?”

“Not unless diet coke counts.”

“You don’t drink?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Ever?”

I laugh. “Never. Is it really that unbelievable?” I shake my head and before I know what I’m doing the words are slipping from my tongue, gone before I can scoop them back in. “Addiction runs through my veins.” I silently curse, wondering why I even said that. I never talk about my parents to anyone, but Bree. I clench my jaw. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”

Asher’s eyes dart to mine once again, the green open and honest without a flicker of pity or judgement. “You can talk to me about it if you want.”

I shrug my shoulders. “There’s not much to talk about.”

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