Page 5 of Group Studies

“It’s not, actually,” Ashe said. He opened his reading. “It’s a sign of a higher creative vocabulary and fucking emotional expression.”

I snorted, holding my hands in my lap to keep from brushing a few curly whisps of hair out of his eyes. We were just friends. I’d messed up enough men’s lives already looking for more. A sense of loneliness swept across my heart. I wanted a cuddle. Professor Garnet physically couldn’t give me one without my magic going crazy. And, as much as I loved Saffron’s dick, I wanted more from him, even if he didn’t.

Against my better judgment, I pulled out my phone and took a quick selfie with the mix of fall ‘flowers’ tucked behind my ear. Human technology sent it flying through the airwaves to Beryl.

By the time I found where I’d left off in my reading, he’d responded.

Beryl the Boyfriend: What do you call a peeing magician?

A: What?

Beryl the Boyfriend: A wizzzard.

I snorted, and a tear ran down my cheek. If Beryl were here, he’d wrap me in his arms. Although I still watched him from across the cafeteria working his black market, or whatever he did, that was it. He went from my best friend and lover to almost nothing. Because he didn’t want his bad reputation to rub off on me.

“Stop accepting the fucking flowers,” Ashe growled.

I realized I was just sitting, staring at the joke and the string of ones before it. Tears made my vision blurry, and I scrubbed them away.

Ashe reached across his desk, his large tanned hand covered my phone. “This fucking cycle. Every time. Flowers, pictures, giggles, and then tears. Kitten, it’s shit you don’t need.”

My heart fluttered at the nickname Kitten, but I ignored it. I pulled my phone out from under his hand. “Don’t watch it then.”

Ashe slowly leaned back, though he took up his own book, his unrimmed gaze flickered to me.

I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t even know how to deal with myself, much less the men in my life.

Beryl’s messages drew my attention again. We weren’t entirely out of each other’s lives, and I would do everything I could to keep it that way.

That started with getting control of my magic.

I put down my phone and focused on my reading, and the idea which had taken root in my brain a week ago.

‘Although storing magic is still not recommended by this author, the moral implications and unnecessary stockpiling of magic is to be warned against; theoretically, my experiments were successful to varying degrees and are outlined thus.’

I read through the outline three times before taking a picture of it just in case. Snapping the book closed, I jumped up. Ashe jerked, my sudden movement waking him. The Gentle Giant could catch a power nap anywhere.

“Ashe, will you check out this book for me?” I gave him a hopeful smile.

Ashe rubbed the corner of one of his eyes, before running it down his face, and holding it out to me. I pressed the book into his large grip.

While he engaged Alice, I slipped out and leaned against the wall next to the heavy wooden door to wait. The lighting of the halls dimmed as they did every night when it got late.

A brown paper bag, glowing a soft banana yellow, caught my attention where it peeked out between the wall and the open door. After a brief hesitation, I reached down and picked it up. The smell of warm chocolate chip cookies filled my nose. My stomach growled.

I’d skipped lunch today, opting to use my extra rations to give Gabe, my hairdresser, another payment toward my hair. Regrowing it would be expensive, but I wanted it back.

There was no note on the cookie, but Saffron left them for me often. Maybe they made him feel better about the distance he kept between us outside the professor’s office. Like he did when he arranged for my hair to get fixed after his girlfriend, Mercedes destroyed it. I didn’t know for sure who the anonymous donor was, but I’d bet every mystery cookie I’d eaten in the last three weeks it was him.

The Greek God boggled my mind. He felt like two different people. On the one hand, he was unbelievably kind, gentle, fiercely loyal, and always seemed to keep an eye on me. But on the other, the one the cameras saw, that same loyalty focused on Mercedes and his education. Although not mean to anyone, he held himself above the other students, probably to preserve his Aptitude score.

I’d never hated anything more than I’d come to hate the Aptitudes.

And that was saying something considering my past.

Frowning, I pulled a cookie out of the bag and nibbled.

Five times now, I’d fucked Saffron, with the professor joining us in various hands off ways, to relieve my loss of control. Saffron did it to protect the man he loved. Not because he cared about me. I couldn’t forget it.

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