Page 62 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
“My dean? I like the sound of that.”
“—and spanking,” I finish, ignoring her comment. “But to answer your question, my professors have been emailing me with coursework. I turn in my assignments through email. In lieu of my labs, I’ve been turning in essays based on the practical applications of the skills learned in the given week’s lab. When I have a test, a proctor gets sent over to the penthouse with the exam and hovers over me while I finish.”
I smirk at the last part. When one of the proctors got too close to me during a stats exam, Xavier had her pinned against the wall in seconds. She was married, but that didn’t stop her from enjoying his touch. I could see it in the way her pupils dilated and she pressed her body harder into Xavier’s. She sent flirtatious smiles Xavier’s way for the rest of the testing period. They went unreturned.
Aimee is silent for a moment. “It’s Asher’s connections that are giving you this hookup, right?”
I nod. “Probably. It kind of just happened. The professors just started to email me lecture slides, notes and assignments out of nowhere, and I never asked how they knew I’d be gone. I kind of just assumed it was Asher’s doing.”
There’s a foreign wariness in her eyes. “It doesn’t scare you that he has this kind of clout at Wilton?”
I understand her worries. I do. Wilton is notorious for valuing intellect over wealth and power. They don’t do favorites at Wilton, yet here I am, being given preferential treatment because of my connection to Asher. I doubt anyone will say a word about it when I get back either. Not even the students, though they have every right to complain about my special treatment.
I’m starting to notice that, when Asher does something, no one has the guts to question him. The only thing that makes me uneasy about it is the dooming inevitability of something going wrong. You can’t be untouchable forever.
“No,” I tell her. “Honestly, he doesn’t scare me.”
Her eyes narrow. “Bullshit. I’ve seen you around him. Even though you’re lusting for him, there’s fear there.”
I remember my conversation with him about running. “Of course, there was some fear at first. I would have been stupid not to fear him. But now, I’m comfortable around him. He has no reason to hurt me. In fact, it’s the opposite. I have a full protection detail. It’s not just Xavier in it.”
We both glance at Xavier, who somehow got his carne asada fries first. He’s already halfway done with his plate.
I continue, thinking about my app full of Asher flashcards, detailing his rough childhood. “I know him better now. I understand why he is the way he is. I’m not afraid of him.”
And a part of me never was, I realize. At any moment since I met him, I could have fled. I could have run from this country, but I didn’t.
I wonder if there’s more to that decision than my unwillingness to sacrifice my degree. As frightening as it is to admit, my fight or flight responses have never kicked in around Asher. Maybe my subconscious has never seen him as a threat.
Aimee’s eyes study me carefully. “Do you like him?”
“No!” I’m quick to deny it, but I have to admit, “I am more attracted to him than I was a month ago.”
Her eyes widen. “You were really attracted to him a month ago.”
“Yeah.”
“A month ago, you were dry humping him on the dance floor at Rogue.”
“Yeah.”
“And now you’re even more attracted to him?”
“Yeah.”
She leans back. “Whoa. Are you sure you guys haven’t had sex yet?”
I groan and am thankful when a server drops the food off, cutting off any further conversation. Because if I’m being honest, I won’t be able to say “no” if Asher asks. Sex will just make this arrangement far more complicated than it needs to be, so I almost hope he doesn’t ask.
But, then again, I can’t keep Horny Lucy away forever. Two more years without sex will be the death of me. I know this with absolute certainty. It’s even worse that I’m living with the hottest man alive.
Seriously.
Asher was named People Magazine’s Hottest Man of the Year both years I was out of the country. He’s probably a shoo in for this year, too.
The waiter comes by with an empty plate for Aimee. She puts all the carne asada from the top of the fries onto it and slides the plate over to me. Xavier leans over and steals the plate, reminding me that he’s not only paying attention to everyone else in the bar but also us, too.
I stare at her “carne asada” fries, which is just cheese, beans, salsa, and guacamole now. “Why don’t you just order the fries without the meat?”
