Page 36 of Too Late

He’s holding my hand.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I didn’t know holding hands could feel better than a kiss. Better than sex. Sex with Asa, at least.

I close my eyes and focus on the weight of his hand against mine. The width of his fingers between mine. The way his thumb occasionally runs back and forth.

After I’ve been pretending to read the textbook in front of me for probably fifteen minutes, he pulls his hand from mine. He doesn’t release me, though. He just begins to make circles with his fingertips against my palm. He traces every part of my hand, my palm, my fingers,betweenmy fingers. With every minute that passes, my mind begins to wonder what those fingers would feel like against my leg. My neck. My stomach.

My breathing grows heavier. I begin to take in shorter breaths with each minute closer we get to the end of class.

I don’t want class to end. I never want it to end.

When he’s explored every part of my hand twice over, his fingers slide to my leg. He begins to stroke my knee, about three inches up the inside of my leg, and back down to my knee. My eyes are closed and I’m gripping the book in my hands. He does this for several more minutes, driving me completely insane, almost to the point that I might have to get up and go to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face.

But I don’t, because somehow the fifty minutes of class are up and everyone is packing up to leave.

I find the strength to open my eyes and glance up at him. He’s staring at me, his gaze narrowed, eyes heated, wet lips that I can’t seem to look away from. He grabs my hand again and squeezes. “I know I shouldn’t …”

I shake my head. “You shouldn’t.”

I’m not even sure what he was about to say, but I have an idea of where his mind is at right now, because mine is right there with his.

“I know,” he says. “I just … I can’t be this close to you and not touch you.”

“And I can’t not let you.”

He inhales a deep breath, then releases it at the same time he releases my hand. He gathers his book and shoves it inside his backpack. He stands up and throws the backpack over his shoulder. I look up at him and he’s staring down at me. I wait for him to say goodbye or walk away, but he doesn’t.

We stare at each other for a few more seconds before he drops his backpack and falls back down in his seat. He wraps his hand in my hair and presses his forehead against the side of my head. I have no idea what he’s doing, but the desperation in the way he’s pressed against me makes me wince.

“Sloan,” he whispers, his mouth directly over my ear. “I want everything about you. So goddamn much. To the point that it’s blinding me.”

I gasp at his words.

“Please be careful,” he says. “Until I can help you get out of there. I don’t know when that’ll be, but please. Be very, very careful.”

I squeeze my eyes shut when he presses a kiss to the side of my head. What I wouldn’t give for those lips to be pressing against my mouth right now.

How can I have this many feelings for someone I just met? For someone I haven’t even kissed yet? For someone who is mostly everything I want, but also involved with everything I despise?

“If I come to your house tonight, I’m not even going to look in your direction,” he says. “But know that you’re all I see. You’re all I fucking see, Sloan.”

He releases me as quickly as he grabbed hold of me. He picks up his backpack again and stands up. I hear him walk away and I’m still sitting completely immobile, my eyes closed, my heart thrashing around inside my chest.

I want more of whatever it is he makes me feel. But I want it away from here. Away from this town. Away from Asa. I know Carter wants me to leave and I want to. I want to so bad, but I have to be more prepared for that to be able to happen. And if I leave—Carter has to leave, too. Not only does he need to sever ties with Asa, but I need him to sever ties with this corrupt lifestyle Asa has created.

We both need to leave.

Before it’s too late …

TWENTY-FOUR

ASA

I’ve never been the kind of guy who deals with excess bullshit. Another piece of wisdom my father taught me.

“If it doesn’t benefit you, it shouldn’t fucking matter to you.”

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