Page 50 of Alpha Varsity

“I have student loans to pay off, and I couldn’t find a job that paid enough to cover rent in Chicago. Basically, my parents starved me out as punishment for disobeying them. My mom lured me back with this temporary art job, but when she figured out I was planning on using it to get back on my feet and return to the city, she informed me that I have to pay rent to stay in their casita.”

“What? That’s fucked up.”

“So I have no hope of paying down the loans. I’m just saving everything I earn to try to get started somewhere else.”

Asher glances toward the windows, as if realizing for the first time that we might be seen together, and lifts me down from the stepladder. “Well, I’m glad you have your art.”

He picks up a small six inch by six inch painting of our two wolves and studies it then walks away with it in his hand.

“What are you doing? You can’t take that!”

Asher turns and gives me a slow smirk. I hate what his dimples do to my insides.

“Oh, I’m taking, sweetheart. Or are you gonna make me give it back?” He waggles it in the air as if to tempt me.

I have no idea why his taunt makes me wet. Maybe just his call-out to our size and power difference. To thefact that he can do whatever he wants with me, whenever he chooses, and I won’t stop him because I crave it.

I should be mad at his disrespect, but instead, a ribbon of warmth that streaks through me.

Asher wants my art. It does have some value to a shifter.

More than that, it means something to him.

“Unlock your phone, Ms. James.” He’s been in my purse, apparently, because he has my phone. He flashes it up to my face, and the phone unlocks.

“I’m putting my number in here.” His thumbs move over the screen. “If you want me to take care of your needs, you’d better tell me where you’re gonna be.”

“I’m sorry. I will.” I screw up my courage as I walk over to him on the other side of the canvases. “Asher.” I owe him a bigger apology. The explanation I’ll hold back, but an apology is a start. “I just want to say that I’m sorry about what happened with your da–”

“Don’t.” The blast of cold from Asher is palpable. His upper lip curls into a snarl.

Even knowing he’s my mate and should be incapable of harming me, I take a step back. His power is intimidating.

“I’m putting that shit aside to take care of your wolf’s needs. If you open that box”–he shakes his head– “You don’t want to see me when I get mean.”

Chapter Fifteen

Asher

I lie in my bed holding Lotta’s painting of our wolves standing in a meadow in one hand. In my other, I finger the little gold moon pendant I stole from her when I was thirteen.

I just returned from her place where we had a frenzied, wordless fuck over her kitchen table followed by a second, silent round that featured her face down on the bed, where I held her down by her nape as I took her slowly for as long as I needed.

I’ve been a dick to Lotta since she tried to apologize last week about my dad. I’ve kept up my end of the bargain–slipping over there after dark and satisfying her. I’ve given it to her rough. Avoided conversation.

I can’t seem to help myself. When his memory gets invoked, I become a version of him. I turn into that violent troublemaker everyone in this damn pack expects to see when they look at me.

I got written off by teachers and pack elders by third grade. Like my dad, I struggled with my temper. Theviolence at home transferred to violence at school. I was already getting into trouble for fights in elementary school. I threw my book at a teacher for scolding Seb for something he hadn’t done. I held a kid upside down by his ankles until he apologized for pulling Casey Muchmore’s hair.

Everyone assumed I would become a little hoodlum, so I met their expectations. My teachers hated me, so I hated them. Or who’s to say which came first? Regardless, that’s why I was doing so poorly in school at the time Lotta made me her tutoring project. The school had put my name on a referral list for volunteer tutors, and she chose me.

She met with me three times a week. It took me a while to believe that she really wanted to help, but she persisted.

I wouldn’t say she was the first person who cared about me because my mom cared. My dad cared in his own way. Mrs. Angelson cared.

Lotta saw my potential where others saw rebellion. She was invested in my success. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she was beautiful. Sometimes it was hard to focus on her lessons because I was mesmerized by the shape of her bowtie lips as she spoke. By the jade glow of her eyes. But eventually, I repaid her attention by actually applying myself to my work, and she brought me from failing to As and Bs by the end of the semester.

Tonight when I slapped her ass and walked out the door, she said, “I’m expecting you to turn in that self-portrait, Asher. Don’t make me fail you.”

---