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“Okay, we’ll talk more about your crush then!” Selena called gleefully and grabbed her bag.
She’d already showered and put makeup on, while I’d been wasting time and panicking.
I watched her walk away. Damn it. She wasn’t going to let up now that she thought she finally had something to tease me about. I headed for the showers and washed quickly. A few minutes later, wrapped in a fluffy towel, I wiped the steam from one of the mirrors and stared at my reflection.
Was Selena right? Had I developed a crush on the guy who was determined to not have anything to do with me? The absentee daddy issues diagnosed themselves at this point. Had I had a crush all along, since that Parents’ Day moment, when he’d drawn me so beautifully and shared his homemade food? Even if I couldn’t eat it — the smell of cinnamon had been obvious as soon as I’d opened the box — I’d wanted to accept it.
It was the first time someone I wasn’t paying had given me food. I’d lived a life eating at the most expensive restaurants around, but the simple act of sharing food, with someone who barely knew me, had broken a vital part of my defenses around Asher. Like a slow-acting drug, he’d entered my system, and taken it over.
The sound of the door shutting broke me out of my reverie. I wandered back to the lockers, expecting to see someone else changing, but the room was empty. I’d taken so long to get ready, the entire squad was done and gone.
Drying off briskly, I pulled open my locker and stared inside.
It was empty.
I closed it and checked the number. Was I so out of it that I’d put my stuff in the wrong locker? I tried a couple of others. Some were empty, the others were locked.
I went back to my usual locker and opened it again. This time, I saw it. Lying against the white metal was a thin white rope, tied in an intricate nautical knot.
Asher. Asher had been in here and taken all my stuff, from my clothes and shoes to my bag with my cell and keys.
He thought he could score points this way? I had a towel. I wasn’t above going out in it and asking someone to get me some clothes. Besides, I didn’t even have to do that. Luckily, I knew Selena’s combination. I keyed it in and opened her locker.
On the bright side, there was an item of clothing she’d forgotten. Unfortunately, it was a football player’s spare jersey. I pulled it on regardless. It was just long enough on me to hit mid-thigh. Shoes were a problem, but I wasn’t above going into the hall in the jersey and begging someone to call Selena for me.
I strode toward the door, annoyance giving me energy. I pushed it, and it instantly stuck at an open angle. Caught by a big, tattooed hand.
Asher stood framed in the gap, waiting for me just outside the room.
My heart seemed to jump into my mouth, and I took a step back. He mirrored my movement, stepping into the room and letting the door shut behind him.
His eyes landed on the jersey and suddenly seemed darker than usual.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” he asked silkily. There was a note of threat in that tone that thrilled me and scared me at the same time.
“What does it look like?” I wet my lips, my mouth suddenly dry.
“Whose fucking jersey is that and where is he right now?” Asher advanced into the room. I backed up, heat working through me.
“Why? Jealous?” I asked breathlessly. The look on Asher’s face was burning into my mind like a brand.
He didn’t answer, and the skyrocketing tension pushed me to fill the tense silence.
“This is your move? Lame. This jersey covers more than my cheer uniform, so…” I rambled until he interrupted me.
“Yes,” he said shortly.
He was still backing me through the locker room, and I had the feeling that if I took my eyes from his, all hope was lost. Like a panther closing in on you, losing eye contact would mean certain death.
“Yes, your move was lame?” I asked, confused. It was hard to think when he was looking at me like that.
He shook his head slowly. “Yes, I’m jealous,” he clarified.
I stopped my slow escape, shocked into stillness. How was he able to turn me inside out so easily? He never said or did what I expected him to.
“What the hell?” I demanded, irrationally angry at him for making my heart flutter like a trapped butterfly in my chest.
“I said I’m jealous. I don’t like seeing some other fucker’s number on you. I really don’t fucking like it, and it’s not happening again. You want to wear someone’s jersey, you wear mine.”
