Chapter 25

Asher

Why haven’t you made the moves on me?

I froze.

Of course I wanted Cynthia. With her generous breasts, curvy hips that fit so well between my hands, and those shapely legs she’d shown off wearing that dress at dinner. Added with her fierce determination, her competitive spirit, and her damned stubborn streak…

Want was not a strong enough term to cover half of the desire I felt for her.

Even now, I wanted to take her pouty bottom lip between my teeth.

So yeah, I wanted her.

But I would take that desire to the grave before I ever acted on it.

She was Dylan’s little sister. I had vowed I would protect her, and that included from people like me. I was not the sort of man Dylan would approve of for his sister.

Elena hadn’t been wrong about my reputation. I’d taken my pleasure and left a string of broken hearts in my wake.

Though it seemed word hadn’t gotten out yet about the changes in me. Lately I’d turned down more than I’d indulged. A lot more.

It was Cynthia’s fault. Her pink kissable lips, her hot tight body, her biting remarks, the way she said my name…

I could tell none of this to Cynthia herself.

So when she had asked, upset, “Why haven’t you made the moves on me?”

I had to tell her, “You’re my best friend’s sister.”

The words angered me as much as they did her. But facts were facts. Lines were lines, and I would not cross them.

Besides, she had someone else to attempt to satisfy her now.

That nervous little boy.

Like he could actually please her. That he even got to try – where I didn’t – sent ice water through my veins.

“Don’t you have a boy to text?” I asked.

I kept my voice measured, controlled. She would never know about the ache in my bones to claim her as my own.

“You wouldn’t want to break that boy’s fragile little heart.”

She blushed hard and fast. Desire and anger spiked in me. I wanted that blush for myself. But what right did I have?

“Asher, you…!” She clenched her hands into small harmless fists. She could throw a punch at me and I wouldn’t feel it.

“Don’t get mad at me,” I said, “when you are the one lining up dates with other men.”

I crossed a line. I knew it the instant I saw tears dampening her eyes. They didn’t fall, she blinked them back.

“Cynthia,” I started, trying to smooth it.

Too little, too late.

“I turned him down!” she shouted at me. “Just like you wanted me to. Are you happy now?”

“Yes,” I said instantly. I’d been stunned by her outburst. I hadn’t thought to conceal or lie.

Her eyes widened in surprise, before a new look twisted her face. It wasn’t quite sadness. She almost seemed hollowed-out. Defeated.

This was much worse than anger. Worse than sadness too.

She turned from me. I felt like a door was being shut.

I didn’t know what to say or do to make her stop looking like that.

When my phone buzzed in my pocket, I was thankful for the distraction. I just needed a minute to think, and I could fix it.

I checked my phone, but it was just an email about an assignment due next week.

When I looked up again, Cynthia was gone.

Looking for her, I waited by the locker room but when one of the other cheerleaders came outside, she said Cynthia never joined them inside.

When Elena appeared, I left before she could butt herself into the conversation. She had inserted herself into my business too much already.

The girl made my skin crawl.

She wanted to be next in line? She was going to wait forever.

I went to Cynthia’s dorm room next, but it was empty.

I searched places I knew she liked – favorite coffee shop, favorite pizza place, favorite spot in the park where she sometimes sat in the grass and watched the birds. I even returned to my own room to see if she’d made her way there.

She was nowhere to be found.

My desire to clear the air between us meshed with the growing worry I felt in her absence. How could I protect her if I didn’t know where she was?

I checked my phone. My only message was from one of my teammates on the hockey team.

Where are you? Practice started ten minutes ago.

I looked at the time. Shit, I was late.

This wasn’t like me, I needed to get a grip.

But what if something happened to Cynthia or the baby? All because of my careless words.

She was sensitive. I needed to be gentler with her.

I called in sick for practice, and continued my search.

My last stop should have been one of my first: the dance studio where she oftentimes practiced. After training, I’d assumed she would be done with exercise for the day.

When I stood in an open doorway and saw Cynthia dancing alone, I realized my mistake.

Her eyes were squeezed shut. She hadn’t noticed me yet. I should let her know I was there, but interrupting her did not seem the best way to start an apologetic conversation.

Especially since… I wanted to keep watching.

She moved like water, fluid and steady. Her steps were confident. There was something soft and beautiful with the way she glided across the room in her dance. Her legs held strength. Even with more demanding postures, she never wavered.

Her whole body was strong.

Maybe I didn’t need to worry about her as much as I did. With that strength, she was capable of protecting her baby when dancing or cheering.

I had insisted she trust me but I never trusted her.

“You’ve been unfair to her,” my wolf whispered in my mind. “You must make amends.”

“I will,” I promised.

Then, the song she danced to shifted. Her movements slowed. Her hands went to her heart.

This… was a love song.

When she told me she had turned that boy down, the rush of relief I felt had overwhelmed me into stunned silence. But the echo of my burning hot jealous lingered, like the crackle of distant thunder after the storm had passed.

I was powerless but to watch her beautiful dance and feel each moment of longing.

When she finished, she knelt on the ground and opened her eyes.

She looked right at me. Surprise rounded her face.

“Asher?”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I said.

“You aren’t. I just finished.”

She pushed herself up to her feet, then moved to where her phone sat at the corner of the room. She stopped the music as it started playing a new song.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Looking for you,” I admitted, approaching her.

Lowering her phone, her eyes found mine again. She searched my face for an answer to a question I didn’t know.

“Earlier, I said things…” I started. I had no practice with apologies.

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “I did, too.”

Maybe she did. Maybe we could forget the whole thing.

Still, even pushed to the back of my mind, my jealousy was an ugly storm. I should have let it go. She might have let me.

Instead, I stepped closer to her and asked.

“When you dance to that love song, who are you dancing for?”