Chapter Two
Skye
As my roommate Adrian and I stroll across the quad toward the psychology building, I shift my backpack higher on my shoulder.
The cool morning air is tinged with the smell of coffee, which I need desperately to cope with Adrian’s rant about his statistics professor again.
Today it’s about how the guy assigns pop quizzes like he’s trying to ruin everyone’s grades, but honestly I’m only half listening.
I have a weird feeling creeping up my spine, like someone’s watching me.
Glancing back over my shoulder for the third time in five minutes, I scan the faces of the people nearby, but nothing seems out of place.
“Earth to Skye,” Adrian jokes, waving his hand in front of my face.
I feel completely ridiculous, but I’m not scared; instead, I’m excited. My heart beats faster, and there’s this little buzz running through me I don’t understand and don’t want to analyze too deeply.
It’s stupid—really, really stupid. Normal people don’t get a high from feeling like they’re being watched.
Normal people call campus security or even the police.
But I have never been accused of being normal, especially not by the daughters of Mom’s country club friends, who think excitement is all about which sorority gets to attend the best parties.
Adrian asks about a party coming up on the weekend, but before I can reply, Macey—my other roommate—appears out of nowhere and hooks her arm through mine.
“Sorry, Adrian, I’m stealing her,” she announces, already pulling me away. “Girl emergency.”
“I’ll meet you in class,” I call back to him.
Adrian just shakes his head and waves us off; we’re both used to Macey’s dramatic personality. She told me she let him move in with her because he’s hot and she thought maybe she could have dick on tap, but after a failed one-night stand, now they are purely roommates.
Once we’re out of earshot, Macey leans in close.
“Okay, so you know how I’ve been complaining about the lack of good sex?
” she starts, then glances around to make sure no one’s listening.
“Well, I found this website, and it’s called Wild Steps.
It’s completely different from those trashy hookup apps everyone uses. ”
I raise an eyebrow. “Different how?”
“You can live out any fantasy you want,” she says. “The security process is great, and the best part is that everything is anonymous.”
She pauses to check my reaction before continuing. “I met someone through it last week, and let’s just say I didn’t know you could pass out from orgasms.”
I chuckle. “I don’t even remember what an orgasm feels like. Everyone my mom sets me up with has a better skin care routine than I do.”
She snorts. Her family is well off but not in the caliber of mine, and she is very vocal against the idea of arranged marriages.
“Babe, your mom needs to chill. She’s out there like some high-end Tinder pimp, swiping right on every frat boy with a trust fund. One more setup and I’m staging an intervention.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “I would pay to see—”
The loud rumble of a motorbike makes us both look toward the parking area. The guy parks his bike over near the psych building and slides off, and my words die mid-sentence.
He pulls his helmet off and runs a hand through his dark hair, which sticks up in every direction. A leather jacket stretches across his broad shoulders as he moves, and when he turns slightly, I catch the profile of someone who definitely does not spend his weekends at country clubs.
“Okay, now that”—Macey elbows me hard enough to make me stumble—“is who you should bring home to mommy dearest. Can you imagine her face when he rolls up on that bike instead of in some trust-fund baby’s electric car?”
I try to laugh, but it comes out as more of a croak. “She would probably lock herself in the house and pretend she wasn’t home.”
Macey grins, then resumes spilling sordid details about her Wild Steps encounter as we make our way over to the psych building. When we get there, I hurry to the door and yank it open just as someone’s coming out, and we crash into each other. Hands grab my arms to keep me from falling on my ass.
I look up and see it’s motorcycle guy. Up close, he’s even better looking, with a little scar through his eyebrow that makes him look like he’s been in a fight or two. But it’s the color of his eyes that takes my breath away—pale ice blue. I can’t stop staring, lost in their depths.
He grins and lets go. “Gotta watch where you’re going, pumpkin.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m standing there staring at where he stood like some kind of idiot while my brain short-circuits.
“Oh my god, did you see those eyes?” Macey whispers, but then glances at her phone. “Shit on a stick! I’ve gotta run or I’ll be late for my marketing class.”
She rushes off, leaving me to stumble into the psychology classroom still feeling dizzy from my encounter with motorcycle guy. Right before we are due to start, I slide into my usual seat next to Adrian.
“Everything okay?” he asks, pulling out his notebook.
Before I can answer, Professor Dean walks in with someone I’ve never seen before.
This guy is the opposite of the leather-jacket-wearing guy I crashed into.
He’s impeccably dressed in a button-down shirt and perfectly pressed slacks without a single wrinkle.
His brown hair is neatly clipped, short on the sides, and styled with precision.
When his eyes scan the classroom, they’re so dark—almost black—and intense, so completely different from those pale ice-blue ones that recently scrambled my brain.
“Class, I’d like you to meet Silas Vexley,” Professor Dean announces. “He’s our new TA this semester and is working on his graduate research in criminal psychology.”
As the professor talks, I look over at the new TA. He must feel me staring, as his eyes snap to mine, and we sit in a staring contest for what seems like forever until he looks away. It feels like a small victory, even though I don’t know why.
The class flies by, but my mind isn’t in the room at all.
Macey’s revelation about the website keeps flicking in my brain, and I shift in my seat, my pen tapping against my notebook.
Would I actually consider something like that?
The thought makes my cheeks burn but also sends a weird flutter through my stomach.
I glance around the classroom at all the students taking notes.
None of them are probably sitting here thinking about .
. . this. I stop tapping my pen. Earlier, Professor Dean mentioned people who craved dangerous situations, and half the class made expressions of disgust. When he talked about “maladaptive behavior patterns,” I sank lower in my chair. My therapist would have a field day.
I press my palms against my thighs, rubbing off the light layer of sweat, and try to focus on whatever Professor Dean is saying about behavioral modification. Yet all I can think about is footsteps padding behind me in the dark, hands on my body, the fear and chase when you want to be caught.
As I leave class, my phone vibrates. I roll my eyes when I see it’s my mom.
Things have gotten slightly better between us, but it’s hard to forgive her for keeping my father from me, especially when he isn’t a terrible person.
Maybe he shouldn’t have cheated on his wife, though from what my half-brother—or half-adopted brother—Zeland told me, his wife wasn’t innocent either.
Two wrongs don’t make a right, but it’s not my business.
“Hello, Mom.”
Adrian slides up beside me and mouths, “I have to go to class,” and I give him a thumbs up.
“Skye Margaret Prescott—”
“Ellington.”
She huffs. “I did not call to argue with you.”
I move to the side of the corridor and shift my weight from one foot to the other, already knowing this conversation is going to cost me at least ten minutes of my life that I’ll never get back. “Then why did you call me? I’m between classes right now.”
I feel eyes on me, and my heart thumps wildly in my chest. Glancing around, I expect no one to be there as usual; I know it’s all in my head, a wish that there was someone watching me. But this time when I turn, the TA is staring at me, his face void of emotion.
“Skye, are you even listening to me? I need you to pick up your dress. Normally Collin would, but he is off sick, and my entire life is spiraling.”
Collin is my mother’s personal assistant. I scoff thinking about it because she doesn’t work, but he literally runs her life. I bet she didn’t even know how to get out of bed this morning without him drawing open her blinds and pulling the bedspread down.
“Just send me the address. I’ll get it.”
“You are a lifesaver. Also, Clara was asking me if your . . . Harrison, will he be attending the gala?”
She can’t even bring herself to say the word father.
Harrison accepting the invitation would help whatever this cause is, but he is married and living in his little loved-up bubble.
The entitlement of these rich women is something else, and also they have not welcomed his new wife into the fold—she doesn’t come from money.
“I have no idea. Though I know Ridge is going, and possibly Zeland.”
My mom makes a weird noise. It’s no secret that Ridge and Zeland are together, and that doesn’t sit well with her since my father adopted Zeland when he was a teenager, or close to it.
On top of that, they are also in a relationship with Aspen and Arlo.
If I’m honest, I thought it was weird at first—not in a bad way, just in a “Girl, how do you handle that many dicks?” way.
Did I ask her that question after I’d had too much champagne when we first met?
Yes. Zeland said it wasn’t a problem because he helped her out with the dicks.
My face is still probably red from being so embarrassed.
“Text me the address,” I tell her and end the call before she can make any prudish comments about my brothers and their relationship.
Calls with her sour my mood, and I decide to skip my last class for today. The professor uploads his lectures anyway, so I can catch up tonight. I flick off a message to Macey and Adrian telling them I don’t feel well.
After I pocket my phone, I look up to find that the TA is still leaning against the wall. This time he isn’t looking at me; he is staring toward the parking area, and I notice motorbike guy is back.
Silas smiles as the guy removes his helmet.
Ugh, new kink activated: I want someone who looks at me like that.