Chapter 8
ASHER
Fuck. Holy fuck.
That did not just happen. I rake a hand through my hair as I practically sprint across campus to get to my car.
I cannot fucking believe I just let that happen.
I did more than let that happen. I instigated it. I kissed her.
She could report me to the board. By this time tomorrow, the dean could pull me into his office and kick my ass out.
But she won’t, a dangerous voice sneers in the back of my head. She kissed you back.
That was so wrong. So inappropriate. A total abuse of power.
I nearly drop my keys as I’m trying to unlock my car. I hastily get inside and slam the door, letting my forehead rest against the steering wheel.
“Asher,” she sighed.
I grit my teeth so hard I’m surprised they don’t crack.
Why couldn’t that kiss have been awful? Why couldn’t we have had zero sexual chemistry?
It would be so easy to ignore if there had been nothing there.
But as soon as our lips touched, it was like a fire blazed up in both of us.
Neither of us could get enough; we kept trying to pull each other closer, like we were the only thing holding each other up, and if we weren’t as close as possible, we would crumble away to nothing.
I call my sister as I start to make my way toward home, the ringing pounds against a quickly forming headache as my cell connects to the speakers in my car.
The list of people I can confide in is extremely small. My parents would have a heart attack or possibly die of shame. Jared will be too accepting of what just happened and will try to hype me up into continuing to make possible career-ending mistakes.
Juliet is the only one who won’t judge me but will give sound, level-headed advice.
She answers just as I think the call will go to voicemail. “Hello?” she says, sounding out of breath. I can hear some sort of loud racket in the background.
“What on earth are you up to?” I raise my voice so she can hear me over the troops preparing for war.
“Sorry,” she sighs, sounding exhausted. “It’s been a crazy day at the bakery. This town does this crazy bid-on-a-basket thing, and I guess none of the women here bake, but they all want to include baked goods in these baskets.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “And are you partaking in this basket bidding?”
She guffaws. “Absolutely not. I have enough going on with Terra, the bakery, and renovating the house.”
“You’re managing to renovate a house yourself?”
“I don’t enjoy the disbelief in your tone right now, but no, not really.”
“What have you accomplished?”
“I painted the nursery.”
“Just painted?”
“Nothing else was wrong with it,” she says defensively.
A shrill grinding sound whines out from the speakers, and I wince. “What are you doing?”
Her breath picks up, and it sounds like she’s jogging before the ear-splitting sound comes to a halt.
“Sorry, my mixer is on the fritz. I’ve made four dozen cupcakes today, and I’ve had to mix all of them by hand.
I’m going to have to carry Terra with one hand because the other is going to be permanently stuck grasping a whisk. ”
“I’m sorry,” I say sympathetically. “Sounds like you’re due for a new one.”
“I would, but a decent one is a good chunk of change. I think it’ll have to wait until I’m more established here.”
I resist the urge to click my tongue at her as our mother does.
I pull up to a red light and drum my fingers against the steering wheel.
Juliet continues about some of the local townies in her area and how different it feels compared to growing up in a big city like Seattle.
I try to focus on how happy she sounds, how I haven’t heard that kind of joy in her voice for way too long, but all I can think of is that damn kiss with Summer.
How soft her lips were. The little noises she made when I did something she liked.
How badly I wanted to lift her in my arms and wrap those toned legs around my waist. The undeniable fact is that I want to do it all again.
I want to do even worse things to her than kiss her in an elevator.
Preferably, things that are done behind closed doors.
Juliet is still chatting my ear off, completely unaware of my inner turmoil.
“I kissed her,” I blurt out.
My confession is met with dead silence. It goes on for so long that part of me worries Juliet hung up on me before she clears her throat. “I’m sorry, what?”
I take a deep breath that does nothing to calm the nausea roiling in my stomach. “My student, the one I told you about, I kissed her.”
“How?”
“What do you mean, how?” I ask, exasperated.
“I mean, how did it happen?”
“We got stuck in an elevator.”
There’s a beat of silence before my sister bursts into laughter. “I’m sorry, that’s just really poor luck.”
I grit my teeth. “Trust me, I’m aware.”
She sighs. “Oh, Ash, how’d you let that happen?”
“I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, now was I?”
“Is it going to happen again?” she asks quietly.
“No,” I respond immediately, even though the idea makes my heart plummet. I know it shouldn’t upset me. It was a mistake that never should’ve happened, but damn if it doesn’t disappoint me thinking about the fact that I’ll never feel her lips on mine again.
“What’s her name?” she whispers.
“Does it matter?” I ask, rubbing a hand down my face.
More quiet, and I can imagine Juliet giving me a sad look and shrugging. “I just wanted to give you the option to say her name to someone where it wouldn’t matter.”
“Summer,” I murmur.
“Pretty,” Juliet muses.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “She is.”
We continue to talk while Juliet bakes. I watch the sun dip below the horizon as Juliet tells me all about Terra, who apparently is being babysat by the elderly woman she’s leasing her cottage from.
I’m about to reprimand her about letting strangers watch her kid before I remind myself that Juliet is an adult who is more than capable of making her own decisions.
After the promise of pictures of my niece, Juliet wishes me goodnight, saying that she has to get home to Terra, and we both hang up.
I make my way to my desk and open up a browser on my laptop before hastily researching semi-decent mixers. I pick one in pink—Juliet’s favorite color—and send it her way. It feels like the least I can do after unloading on her. I snap the laptop shut and drag my sorry ass to bed.
The next day, I try my best to make it through class without looking at Summer, and I fail spectacularly.
She, however, has managed not to look at me.
I know she can feel my gaze on her because whenever I look her way, her cheeks pinken, which gives me a completely inappropriate smug sense of satisfaction.
I also notice that today she’s chosen to wear a pair of high-waisted plaid pants with a short-sleeved turtle neck tucked into the waistband.
My ego wants to convince me that she’s not wearing her signature skirts because of me, but I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.
My bad mood bleeds into my class, and I decide to assign them their midterm presentation early. Sam Mitchell shoots her an exasperated look, which she meets with a roll of her eyes.
I clear my throat. “You’ll be working in pairs on a presentation covering one of the major counseling theories from the class texts.
This presentation is worth thirty percent of your overall grade.
Please pair off now and feel free to use the remainder of class to get started on your presentations. ”
I expect Summer to make a beeline for her friend, Sam, but before she can move, another student, Matt Edgewood, sidles up to her.
He leans against her desk, crossing his arms and tilting his head toward her as he says something.
She gives him a shy smile and nods, and I swear I can feel my blood boiling.
He holds out his hand, patiently waiting, as she pulls her phone from her bag and gives it to him. She puts her chin in her hand as he types his number in.
An unreasonable surge of jealousy shoots through me.
Summer starts to scribble something in her notebook, and I catch Matt shooting a wink across the class to one of his buddies.
My hands curl into fists, fingernails digging into the soft skin of my palm.
By the time Summer looks up at him again, he’s looking back at her and giving her a smarmy grin that she seems to miss.
I’m starting to regret allowing students to pair up, even though I’ve allowed it with this assignment since I started teaching this course.
The idea of her spending hours each week with Matt over the next few weeks makes me nauseous.
What if he flirts with her throughout the entirety of their project?
What if he invites her over to his place? Suggests working alone in his room?
Every move I used on women when I was younger flashes through my head.
I know this shouldn’t bother me as much as it does, but I can’t help it. This ugly, envious feeling won’t dissipate.
It takes everything in me not to say that I’ll actually be choosing the partners. Instead, I let them get started and spend the rest of the time working on the project before I dismiss the class.
I grit my teeth while I watch Matt pack up his belongings before hurrying over to Summer and walking her out.
She doesn’t look at me once.
It feels like rocks are sitting in my stomach as I watch her leave the classroom.
I know that I can’t be with her. But the idea of watching another man flirt with her for the remainder of the semester sounds like absolute hell. Even though she can’t be mine… I can’t stomach the idea of her belonging to anyone else.
After finishing up the day, I texted the guys and asked them to meet me at The Pour House.
I know it’s a bad idea. An awful idea. And yes, I’m hoping she’ll be here.
I won’t talk to her. I won’t approach her. We won’t interact at all. I just want to see her for a bit longer today. Even if it’s just watching her laugh across the room at something her friend says. Or occasionally glancing over at her while she studies or works on her assignments.
I nearly come to a dead stop on the sidewalk when it occurs to me that she could’ve invited Matt to join her here after class. I run a frustrated hand through my hair as I debate whether to cancel on Jared and Elijah.
Does my desire for a beer outweigh my disgust at possibly seeing the woman I like on a date with another man?
I shake my head. Don’t be ridiculous. I march toward the entrance, set on having a much-needed beer with my friends and hopefully not seeing Summer with Matt.
I pull open the bar door and nearly slam right into a small blonde girl.
My heart skips a beat as Summer looks up into my eyes, her whiskey-colored irises catching the light from the rapidly fading sun.
Relief floods through me, and a weight lifts off my chest when I confirm that Matt is nowhere to be seen.
“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” she mumbles as an adorable blush creeps up her cheeks.
I bite back a smile as I nod at her and Sam. “Miss Nyx. Mr. Mitchell.”
“Nice to see you, Professor Stirling,” he says with a grin. “Enjoy your night.”
They both slide past me, Summer’s scent of vanilla and lavender wafts over me, and I resist the urge to step closer to her. Holding my breath, I bolt inside.
I see Jared sitting at the table closest to the pool table, and he’s giving me a peculiar look. I plop down next to him and command myself not to look back at the door.
“Well,” Jared says, sounding rather chipper. “That was weird.”
“What was weird?” I grumble.
He uses a fry to wave at the door. “That entire interaction.”
“We continue to run into each other in doorways; that is an odd circumstance,” I state bluntly.
A mischievous smile spreads across his face as Elijah slides into the seat beside me with a full IPA. “Did you—”
“No,” I cut him off.
“Did he what?” Elijah asks after a hefty swig of beer.
“You don’t know what I was going to ask,” Jared says, ignoring him.
“Yes, I do.”
“You answered pretty fast.”
“Yes, I did. Because nothing happened.”
“What happened with who?” Elijah prods, looking back and forth between us.
“You didn’t let me finish my question,” Jared whines.
“No, I didn’t, and I don’t need you to finish it.”
“You seem rather testy over this.”
“Because I find it annoying and you both ordered yourself a beer without getting me one.”
“You’re right.” He nods. “That was rude. Let me grab you a beer, and then the interrogation can continue.” He bounds across the bar to Dave and leans against the counter as he talks animatedly to the bartender.
No doubt spilling secrets that he’s not even aware of.
“He’ll get it out of you eventually,” Elijah chuckles. “He always does.”
A sick feeling bubbles up from my stomach into my throat.
I can’t tell Jared or Elijah. It’s not because I don’t trust them, but if I tell Jared, I’ll be putting him in a tough spot: either keeping a secret that may risk his job or feeling he should report me.
I don’t know whether knowing about an inappropriate relationship between a professor and a student can be held against him, but it’s not something I’m willing to risk with Jared.
Inappropriate relationship? There is no relationship.
Summer and I kissed. Once. Was it the best kiss I’ve had in years?
Possibly ever? Yes. Did it make me wish we’d been somewhere more private so that we could have continued?
Absolutely. Will it ever happen again? No. I can say that with absolute certainty.
It was a lapse in judgment. One that I won’t repeat.