Page 32 of Feral Touch
“I don't need your pity! I can do this on my own.”
“It's not pity.” His tone changed, becoming serious. “You work hard. You're talented. You deserve to be at that school, Ivy. I'm not going to just sit back and watch your life fall apart when I can do something about it.”
“You don't understand.” I couldn't just let him throw money at me like I was some charity case. Even before becoming a rock star, Ren's family had been well-off, wealthy even. I didn't want Ren thinking I was just using him.
“Ivy, I care about you.”
My heart skipped a beat. I gripped my phone tight.
“You said if you couldn't pay tuition you'd have to leave. You'd have to go back home.” His voice turned low and smooth as silk. “I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay here. With me.”
My breathing became shallow, anger and frustration bleeding out of me.
“Why don't you come over to my place and we can talk about it. That way we won't be interrupted by fans.”
A shiver went through me. His place.
It would be just Ren and I, alone, at his place.
His handsome face flashed before my eyes and I could practically feel his strong hands squeezing mine, thumb rubbing over my skin.
I swallowed heavily. I was still upset with him.
“Sure. I'll come over.”
I followed the directions Ren texted me. I had to wheel my cello through the streets, but luckily he lived right in the heart of downtown near my college.
My phone beeped, letting me know I’d arrived. I looked up from the screen and found myself in front of double wide glass doors. I pushed them open and stepped inside.
My mouth dropped.
Ren’s place was incredible.
The marble flooring practically glowed, fancy furniture was arranged all around the waiting area and expensive looking art adorned the walls.
Never in a million years would I ever be able to afford to live somewhere so…lux.
“Hello? Can I help you?”
A young man in a business suit sat behind a mahogany desk—the concierge?
“I’m here to visit someone,” I managed to say.
He gave me the once-over, no doubt taking in my plain dress and scuffed shoes. Surprisingly, he didn’t give me a nasty or judgmental look. He simply asked, “Shall I call up?”
“Um. I have his phone number.” I turned around and texted Ren that I arrived.
Be right down, he texted back.
I had to wait several minutes. I hadn’t thought to check how many stories the building had. Was Ren taking the elevator from the hundredth floor? I felt almost sick thinking about it. I wasn’t afraid of heights, but I didn’t think human beings should live that high off the ground.
The elevator doors dinged and Ren stepped out.
I’d never seen him dressed so casually—black jeans and a plain white T-shirt so tight I could see every clearly defined ab. And dear god, those forearms. Ren had some muscle.
My heart beat a small thrill. I swallowed hard.
The internet said the guys of Feral Silence liked to strip on stage. Did that include Ren? Why had I never thought to search for videos of him shirtless? My mouth almost watered at the thought of his bare skin.
