Chapter 15 #3
I spin around and come face-to-face with my professor. “What are you doing here?” I ask indignantly. I hate that I came out to a club of all places when I could have been sitting comfortably in my booth at the bar, and Asher clearly wouldn’t have been there.
“I came here for a drink,” he grumbles.
“I thought you usually went to The Pour House?”
“Yeah, well… I wanted to try somewhere else where maybe I wouldn’t…”
“Wouldn’t what?” I ask in a small voice.
“Run into you.”
Ouch. Even though it’s the exact reason I had forced Sam and Derek to come here tonight, I still feel a sharp sting in the middle of my chest. And yet, he’s the one to approach me. Again.
“Out of all the bars in Seattle, you came here?” I demand.
His eyes narrow. “My friend suggested it.”
“A Tuesday night for dancing?” I tease, lips curving.
“Is this your usual haunt for a weeknight?” he returns, voice warm with challenge.
“No, I also came here to avoid running into someone.”
Some unknown emotion flashes through his eyes, there and gone before I can pinpoint it. He crosses his arms, and anger flares through me. He could have left me alone. He didn’t have to talk to me. He didn’t have to start an argument, but he did.
Like a moth drawn to a flame.
“I’m sorry,” I say, needing to get away.
“Should you even be talking to me right now?” I spin on my heel, ready to be finished with this conversation.
I make my way to the side of the dance floor, where standing tables are scattered around.
I set my now-empty martini glass on the table with a clank.
I search the crowd for any sign of Sam or Derek, but come up empty. However, I do meet Asher’s intense stare. He followed me.
“I fucked up,” he says suddenly, and my heart drops like a stone.
I had expected the back-and-forth. I had expected the banter.
But I did not think we would be having any sort of serious conversation.
“I broke a lot of rules by kissing you. I probably broke even more rules by making a move on you at the bar and not reporting what had already happened between us. I’ve crossed every moral line when it comes to appropriate student-teacher relationships, and I do apologize. ”
My stomach plummets. The formality in his tone makes me feel sick.
“We’re both at fault here,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster.
Though each time we have one of these conversations, I grow more and more embarrassed.
And yet, you can’t stop yourself from throwing yourself at him whenever you get a chance.
“I’m an adult, and I can make my own choices.
You didn’t force me into it or hold my grade over my head.
I participated in those instances because I wanted to.
But you’re right, going forward we probably shouldn’t allow that to happen any longer. ”
His face falls, and I can’t help but get the feeling that he was hoping I’d push back instead of agreeing with him.
Then why did he say it?
“God, the beer here is disgustingly overpriced,” a deep voice yells over the music, interrupting whatever is happening between Asher and me.
An incredibly attractive man walks up to Asher before handing him a beer.
He’s what I would imagine a modern Viking might look like.
He is massive; he easily has over a foot on me and multiple inches on Asher.
He has golden-brown hair that catches the light in its brightest strands.
It’s shaved closer to the sides of his head and kept longer on top.
He glances over at me, and I am immediately mesmerized by the pale blue of his eyes, like a lake that has frozen over.
He has tanned skin, like he spends as much time outdoors as he can.
And tattoos cover his skin, both arms, I’m assuming his chest, and there’s even some climbing up the sides of his neck.
His biceps are huge—like he could bench-press-a-truck huge.
He’s wearing a dark blue button-up that highlights his eyes in jarring contrast.
In short, he’s beautiful. Even more beautiful than Asher. The downside? He looks like he’s fully aware of how good-looking he is.
The man gives me an appreciative once-over, which earns a dirty look from Asher, before he offers me his hand. “My name’s Elijah, and you would be?”
“Going,” Asher grunts before I can introduce myself.
“Oh, don’t be a spoil sport.” Elijah pouts.
A dark, petty part of me wants to watch Asher squirm, so I reach my hand out to Elijah and give him my best smile. “I’m Summer.”
His large hand envelopes mine as he shakes it. “I feel like I’ve seen you before, Summer.”
Asher’s glare gets even more intense. “She’s at The Pour House a lot,” he mutters.
Elijah snaps his fingers. “That must be it.”
“Funny,” I muse. “I think I would remember seeing someone like you there.”
Asher grits his teeth, and Elijah chuckles. “Oh, you are trouble, Summer,” Elijah says, shaking his head at me.
“Are you seriously flirting with my friend right now?” Asher growls.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say innocently. “Are you dating someone?” I direct this question at Elijah.
His grin grows wider. “No. I don’t date.”
“Funny, neither do I.”
“Care to dance?” Elijah asks, extending his hand to me.
I go to take his hand, but Asher clasps onto my wrist so hard it nearly hurts. “She’s not dancing with you,” he snaps.
Elijah puts his hands up in defense. “If you wanted to dance with her, you should’ve said something. There are always more fish in the sea,” he says before giving me a wink and waltzing off into the crowd.
I spin toward Asher, ripping my arm away from him before planting my hands firmly on my hips. “Is this going to be a recurring experience every time I encounter you outside of the classroom?”
He turns his glare away from his friend and back onto me. “What exactly are you referring to?”
“Men hitting on me and despite you consistently reminding me how much of a mistake interacting with me in any capacity is, you’ll growl and bark at anything paying attention to me?”
“Growling and barking seems a bit over dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Considering you just scared off one of the only people who seems to be able to put up with your surly attitude on a regular basis? No, I don’t think it’s all that overdramatic.”
“I don’t think anyone has ever referred to me as ‘surly’ before,” he says with a grin as he leans closer to me, bracing his arms on the standing table between us.
“Maybe not to your face,” I respond sweetly. “But I’m sure behind your back they have.” This back and forth—paired with Asher’s crazy mood swings—makes me dizzy.
His hand goes to his chest, pretending to be hurt. “You wound me, Ms. Nyx.”
Yes. Remind me that whatever this is, it is completely inappropriate.
“And on that note, I’m outa here,” I toss back, flashing a wave before heading to the dance floor.
As I’m shoving my way through the crowd of people, I catch sight of golden-brown hair towering above the people near him. A terrible idea starts to form in my head.
It’s a bad idea. A really bad idea.
“Elijah!” I call over the blaring music.
He turns at the sound of his name before his eyes land on me. His gaze darts behind me before a smug smile flits across his lips. “Ah, Summer. Fancy a dance after all?”
“I think I just might,” I respond, ignoring the fact that I can feel Asher glaring daggers into my back. “Your friend might kill you, though.” I smirk.
“You mean your professor?” he asks, and I give a slow nod.
“That seems inappropriate, don’t you think?
” His tone is mocking, and mischief glints in his eyes, but when he looks at Asher, there’s something else.
A look of genuine love and what seems to be understanding comes over him, as if he gets how Asher is feeling and sympathizes with him.
“Completely,” I say, dragging Elijah’s gaze back to me.
A cocky grin spreads across his lips, though the smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He looks hollow. The thought evaporates as he continues talking. “But we’re not attached in any way, shape, or form, so dancing together wouldn’t hurt anything.”
Though it might hurt someone.
“Does this make you a bad friend?” I ask coyly, taking a step closer.
He laughs. “I actually think this makes me quite a good friend. Maybe he just needs a little push to really go after what he wants.”
His hands lightly tug on my waist to pull me closer, but don’t drift any lower than my hips. He leans in, his breath ghosting across the shell of my ear. “If he punches me, you owe me, troublemaker.”
He pulls back, and something flashes through his eyes, like nostalgia or longing, but it’s gone before I can analyze it.
I drape my arms over his shoulders, and we move with the beat of the music, but very little of us is actually touching. However, it doesn’t appear that Asher seems to notice that.
He’s behind me, closer than he should be, considering the circumstances.
I feel his fingers trail lightly down my spine, and his head brushes the back of mine. I take in a sharp breath, and Elijah bites his lip to hold back laughter. He clearly finds his friend’s jealousy amusing.
The music is pounding, and Elijah’s eyes are such a vivid blue that they appear brighter than the flashing lights around us, but all I can focus on is the heat of Asher at my back and the sound of his breath against my ear.
My shoulder blades brush Asher’s broad chest, and my breath catches. Elijah must notice because he steps closer and lets his nose just barely brush against mine.
Asher rips me backward with an audible snarl—impressive considering how loud the music is.
My back presses against his front, and his arm wraps possessively around my waist, his hand splaying across my lower stomach.
Elijah snorts and shakes his head at Asher before backing away and being swallowed up by the mass of people around him.