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I smoothed the paper. I still had the one he’d drawn of me in senior year. How was the guy who’d drawn such a detailed, stunning picture of me the same one who’d come and cut the most vital parts out of most of my clothes?
“Holy shit, you made the paper,” Selena exclaimed, banging into the room and shoving the gossip section of the Harbor Herald in my face.
Isabelle had taken my tip and run with it, adding to the buzz about the jersey stunt. It looked like I was well on my way to winning. Soon, everyone was going to think we were a couple. And then?
I couldn’t let myself think too far ahead. Hopefully, Asher would agree after graciously losing our little game. Yeah, right.
“What’s going on here?” Selena asked finally, staring around the room.
I blinked up at her. “Can I borrow something to wear today?”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
The most annoying thing that Asher had tampered with was my portfolio. It was missing. I needed that back, and I needed it now, before class. I went in the direction of the Hellion dorms. Honestly, I would be lying if I said that evening the score wasn’t high on my list of priorities. The audacity of that guy to fuck around with my stuff. That was thousands and thousands of dollars’ worth of clothing. I stormed over there, feeling like steam was coming out of my ears.
Inside, only Marcus was still hanging around, scarfing down cereal and rubbing sleep out of his eyes. I went in when he opened the door for me.
“Where’s Asher?” I demanded.
“You mean the other half of Winsher? He’s out. Why? Can’t last a whole night without missing him?” Marcus teased me.
“More like his scrotum is due for a trim, and I’m here to deliver.”
I grabbed a pair of scissors off a nearby desk and snipped them viciously in the air.
Marcus stepped back, looking amused, and nodded toward a room. “Well, his room is through there. Wait in there. Go nuts.”
“Thanks.”
Asher’s room smelled like him, so much so that electricity ran up and down my spine. That smell was hardwired somewhere inside me to turn me on. An unfortunate evolutionary response to a big, burly alpha male provider who could keep me safe in the wild and probably hunt with his bare hands. Well, screw that, he was a menace and a danger to my sanity.
I looked around for things to fuck with. First in the closet. It was empty. I sliced my scissors across the invisible clothing, wishing I was ruining his stuff as badly as he’d ruined mine.
Next, I checked the drawers. Empty. Suspicion stole through me. Had the asshole hidden his things?
I was just trying to get into his locked desk when a door slammed in the living space outside, and footsteps approached the door. Shit, he was back, and I’d wasted time by looking around for his clothes instead of searching for my portfolio. I folded myself into the closet and shut the door just as Asher strolled in. I watched him through the slats in the closet door, keeping my eye on his every move. He dropped his huge hockey bag with a sigh and threw himself onto his desk chair. After a moment, he stood and stretched this way and that, then shed the training clothes he was wearing. He’d fucked with all my stuff; he owed me a strip show.
He stripped down, leaving on just his tight, black briefs. He was like a goddamn underwear model. I could already picture the future sponsorships that would land in his lap when he made the NHL.
He lay back on the bed and pulled something out from under his pillow.
My portfolio. He flipped through it as I stood, agitated and seconds away from bursting out of the closet and raising hell. Slowly, the creeping feeling of tightness wound through me. I was in a small, dark room again. I had a few minutes until the panic set in.
“I can smell you fuming in there, Ice Queen, might as well show yourself,” he said after a long moment.
Crap. He knew I was in here? That bastard Marcus must have told him.
I kept still. It suddenly seemed very important that I not move or announce myself. Let him think he’d made a dumb mistake and was talking to no one.
He set my portfolio to the side and put one hand behind his head. “Hmm, I guess I’m all alone, then.”
His other hand worked down his stomach and over his black shorts, gripping his length. Was he going to jerk off right now? With me watching? I covered my mouth in shock when he slid his hand under the waistband of his briefs and moved in long strokes. I was transfixed. I couldn’t look away. With a flick of his wrist, his briefs were pushed down, just enough to lift out his cock.
No wonder he was so cocky. He was blessed, it seemed, not just in the looks and talent department, but in his dick size. No wonder the fucker acted like God’s gift to women.
“I suppose, since I’m alone, and there’s no one in my closet, I can do whatever I want,” he called toward me. “Either that, or someone who professes to hate me likes to watch.”
“I do not,” I heard myself say before I could help it. Well, what else was I supposed to do? Pretend I wasn’t there, when we both knew I was, and watch him?
