Page 23 of Say It Slowly

Lux, it’s Ash. I hope this isn’t weird, but I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.

For a second, I wonder how he got my phone number, and then I remember—the flyers, maybe? Nathan and I put them up all over campus. I blink down at the text, and consider how I should respond before ultimately deciding to type out an honest answer.

I’m not sure how I’m doing, actually. It’s complicated, I guess.

I watch the typing bubbles pop up for a second before his response comes through.

Campus coffee shop? 10 minutes?

I smile down at my phone. He’s the only person who’s actually asked how I’m doing. Even Roman has been oblivious to the fact that I’m struggling. Either that or he just doesn’t care. Andeveryone else is too busy with their own lives, they only deal with me when they’re forced to. But the fact that Ash reached out is sweet, actually.

Sounds good.

I have a couple hours before my next class, anyway. Coffee and conversation with a sympathetic stranger wouldn’t hurt. Turning on my heel, I head in the direction of the campus coffee shop. It’s all the way across campus, so it takes me about 10 minutes to get there. As I walk up, I see him immediately—sitting alone at a table outside, staring down at his phone, a shock of blond hair falling over his forehead. He always has that windswept, just-been-to-the-beach look about him. Like he lives in the ocean, and just comes up to mingle with us humans once in a while.

When I walk up, he looks up from his phone and flashes those perfect teeth. There’s a coffee cup in front of him and one in my spot.

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I got you a mocha. It has chocolate in it, so I figured it’d be a safe bet,” he says with that friendly smile.

I lower myself into the seat across from him, and immediately take a sip. It’s still hot, which is heavenly. “Thank you. That was really nice of you.”

He leans back in his chair and studies me, those ocean-blue eyes moving over my face, which makes me self-conscious. He’s a little less polished than Roman and his crew, but in a casual, I-don’t-give-a-fuck kind of way. Jeans, flip flops, and a Hawaiian shirt that’s pulled open to reveal his tanned, muscled chest.

He takes a sip of his coffee. “You look tired.”

I laugh, uncomfortable with his honest assessment. “That obvious, is it?”

It’s true. Last night my thoughts had centered on Bree, and when I’d finally forced those thoughts away, they were quickly filled by Roman. And thoughts of him aren’t easily displaced. Like Roman in real life, he has a larger-than-life presence, and he takes upa lotof space in my head.

“It’s been a rough week,” I say vaguely, shifting in my chair. My ass is still sore from yesterday, and I can’t seem to get comfortable.

Leaning forward, he looks into my eyes. And unlike in Roman, all I see is sincerity. “Listen, I wanted to apologize for what happened at the club the other night. It’s all I’ve been thinking about, and you shouldn’t have been put in the middle of that.”

Yeah, understatement of the year, but I shrug away his apology out of politeness. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since it happened.”

I nod, and honestly, just to shift the conversation, I ask, “So, what’s up between you and Roman, anyway?”

I can tell by the way he leans back in his chair, that what I just asked is a loaded question, and that has me even more intrigued.

Ash shakes his head, like he’s sorting through everything in his memory, and trying to pick out the highlights. “Roman and I go way back,” he says politely. “I mean, fuck, our parents were friends when we were kids. We hung out practically every weekend from the age of five onward.”

“So you were close,” I surmise.

He nods. “Yeah, pretty close, until a couple years ago.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“I don’t know, I guess we just…grew up. Roman and I are very different. I mean, we just have different views on life in general. Like this whole campus royalty shit. It’s fucked up.”

I laugh at that, because I have a hard time believing Ash would refuse the crown if it were offered to him. It’s usually the guyswhoaren’tin power that have a problem with it. “I doubt you’d be saying that if you were a Sacred Son,” I say.

“My last name is Ashford,” he says pointedly.

I shake my head and take a sip of my mocha. “Okay, and?”

“Wow, you really didn’t read the ExU pamphlet, did you?” he laughs. “My great-grandfather was a founding member of this University,andthe Burning Crown. So by rights, I should be a Sacred Son.”

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