Chapter 5 #3
Afternoon: She went to the basement to do her barre exercises (no jumping allowed yet). I went to the gym or the rink.
Evening: The Attic.
We didn't cross the line again immediately. We hovered. We lived in the "Almost."
I would tape her ankle, my hands lingering too long on her skin. She would study on my bed, her legs draped over my lap while I worked on my laptop.
We were fake-dating for the house (to keep the guys away from her), but it was feeling less fake by the minute.
I was currently sitting in the library—the actual campus library, which had finally reopened as the roads cleared. We were at a secluded table in the back stacks.
Ivy was quizzing me on Kinesiology terms for an upcoming exam.
"Origin of the serratus anterior?" she asked, twirling a pen between her fingers.
"Upper eight ribs," I answered without looking up from my notes. "Inserts at the medial border of the scapula."
"Function?"
"Protraction and rotation of the scapula." I looked at her. "Also known as the boxer's muscle."
"Correct." She smiled. "You're smart. It's annoying."
"I have to be. Unlike you, I can't rely on my charm."
"I have charm!" she protested. "I have buckets of charm."
"You have bratty energy and a nice ass. That's not charm. That's a hazard."
She gasped, kicking me under the table. Her foot—clad in a sneaker today—brushed against my shin.
"You think I have a nice ass?"
"It's an objective fact. Gluteus maximus development is critical for ballet. I'm just stating the science."
"You're a pig." But she was blushing.
"Hey! Sterling!"
I looked up.
Markus Thorne, the captain of the Lacrosse team, was walking down the aisle. Thorne was a rich kid, like Ivy. He drove a Porsche and thought "no" was a suggestion.
He stopped at our table, ignoring me completely and smiling at Ivy.
"Ivy St. James," he drawled. "I heard you were back in town. Hiding from the paparazzi?"
Ivy stiffened. Her "armor" slid back into place instantly. The playful girl who kicked me under the table vanished, replaced by the Ice Queen.
"Hello, Markus. I'm studying."
"You're always studying. Come on, there's a mixer at the Alpha house tonight. Come with me. Get you out of that... hockey slum you're living in."
He shot a derogatory look at me.
I slowly set my pen down.
"She's busy," I said calmly.
Thorne laughed. "I wasn't asking you, meathead. I was asking the lady." He leaned on the table, invading her space. "Come on, Ives. You don't belong with these guys. You belong with your own kind."
Your own kind.
The implication was clear. Rich. Elite. Not a scholarship kid from a mining town like me.
Ivy looked at Thorne. Then she looked at me.
She saw the tension in my shoulders. She saw the way my hand was curling into a fist.
She reached out and covered my fist with her hand. Her fingers were small, cool, and grounding.
"I am with my own kind," she said, her voice crystal clear.
Thorne blinked. "What?"
"I'm with Ben," she said. She didn't look at Thorne. She looked at me. And the look in her eyes wasn't fake. It wasn't acting. "And I'd rather be in a 'hockey slum' with him than at the Ritz with you, Markus. So... goodbye."
Thorne looked between us. He saw her hand on mine. He saw the look on my face—which promised violence if he didn't evaporate in the next three seconds.
"Right," Thorne sneered, straightening up. "Whatever. Slumming it. Have fun, St. James."
He walked away.
Silence settled over the table.
Ivy didn't move her hand.
"You didn't have to do that," I said quietly.
"Yes, I did." She squeezed my hand. "He's a prick."
"He's rich. He's your world."
"He's not my world," she whispered. "Not anymore."
She laced her fingers through mine. It was a simple gesture. Holding hands. We had done things much more intimate than this. But somehow, in the middle of the library, under the fluorescent lights, this felt bigger.
"Thank you," I said roughly.
"For what?"
"For defending me. Usually, I'm the one doing the defending."
She smiled softly. "We're a team, remember? You fix my ankle. I fix your reputation."
"My reputation is fine."
"Your reputation is that you're a terrifying monster who eats freshmen."
"It keeps people away."
"Not me," she said. "It didn't keep me away."
"No," I agreed, lifting her hand to my lips and kissing her knuckles, ignoring the fact that we were in public. "Nothing keeps you away. You're persistent."
"I'm motivated."
She looked at my mouth.
"Ben?"
"Yeah?"
"I think I'm ready for Lesson Three."
I groaned. "Ivy. We're in a library."
"Not now," she laughed. "Tonight. My ankle... it feels better. I can put weight on it."
"And?"
"And," she leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "I want to know what happens when you don't stop."
I stared at her. The challenge was there. The hunger.
The deal was shifting. It wasn't just about control anymore. It was about need.
"Tonight," I promised her. "But be careful what you wish for, Princess. Because once I start... I might not let you go."
"Good," she said.
And God help me, I think she meant it.