Page 13 of Nothing to Fear (Wicked Games #1)

“Hey,” I greet, leaning into his space slightly so he can hear me over the voices filling the large hall. His scent fills my nose, all books, leather, and ink. “You ready for Fright Night?”

“Yeah. Let’s see if your house can beat week one.”

Week one.

I wonder what Asher was doing during that party, that same party where I had the best sex of my life with a complete stranger.

The strangest rush of guilt washes through me.

Asher doesn’t even know I’m gay, and my little infatuation is one-sided.

There’s no guilt to be had over a hookup.

Especially when I know Asher has his fair share.

In fact, I practically convinced him to stick his dick into a glory hole at party number two, full well knowing that someone else would be getting him off.

There’s no harm in either of us having consensual hookups.

We’re friends.

I want him to be happy.

It’s fine.

Everything is fine.

“What’s with the costume?”

“Mad scientist thing in Alchemy. Professor Grimsley’s class.”

“Aren’t you worried about a chill?” I ask, attempting a joke. Asher raises an eyebrow, the corner of his lips pulling up on one side before he pulls his bottom one between his teeth. It’s sexy as hell.

“You worried about my dick, Silas?”

My face pales when the words hit my ears, realizing what I said and how it could be taken .

“No, I just, you’re not . . .” I stutter, waving my hand in front of his lab coat.

“Wearing anything under the coat?”

“Yeah?”

“You should try it sometime, Silas, it’s liberating .”

I’d like to try anything if it involves you, Asher Ambrose.

“I was thinking about going to the archives later to look for more information on how to get into the—holy fuck!” I yell as two of my teammates come from out of nowhere, one of them throwing their arms around my shoulders, causing my drink to rush forward, spilling into Asher.

“What the fuck, dude?” I set my tray down and shake my hands out, and then take in Asher, who’s covered in bright blue liquid.

“Oh, chill out, it’s not like any got on you.

I’m sure Asher here is used to having stuff blown all over him, aren’t you, ass-kisser?

” Eli teases, causing my hands to ball into fists.

Asher keeps his eyes on me, like he’s waiting, giving me an opportunity to speak up, to say anything, but I fucking freeze.

I freeze.

The worst fucking thing? I can’t even look at Asher’s face to see his disappointment. Two steps forward, one step back. Because I’m an idiot.

“Careful, Eli, sounds like you’re talking from experience. How’d you know what I like?”

“Fuck off, Asher. Unless you have a pussy under that coat, you’re not my type.”

“Aww, scared of some cock, Eli? I promise it doesn’t bite.” I nearly choke on my tongue as Asher brazenly mouths off to Eli with Rome and me right there. A funny feeling stirs deep in my stomach, my dick taking notice of the confident way Asher stands up for himself. I need to be more like him.

In so many ways.

I clear my throat, speaking up like I do on the field. “Alright, boys, let’s lay off, huh?”

“Of course you’d want us to play nice, you’ve got the ass-kisser on your side, probably have him taking your tests now.”

That hit of dopamine I had gotten while just Asher and I were talking?

It fizzles out as I stand here torn, unsure what the hell to do.

I didn’t even know news had traveled that Asher was tutoring me, but I suppose after our little display and showdown in the dining hall after I spoke to my father, people overheard.

Gossip travels around Corvus faster than anything else.

But Asher steps up to the plate, and my jaw falls slightly ajar.

“I barely need to do shit, actually. Turns out he just needed to study around someone who had more than two working brain cells. While you two asshats sit around and play with your balls, Silas is actually kicking ass in his classes.”

Asher Ambrose just defended me. Publicly.

My feet feel like they’re being weighed down with lead, my mouth full of cotton, but my veins are vibrating with a foreign feeling that I can’t place. I’ve never been defended before, never had anyone who genuinely had my back.

Sure, I get along with my teammates and have made good friends with some of them, but they’re friends with someone who I’m pretending to be. Would they stick around if they knew the real me?

“I’m heading out. See you later.” Disappointment rushes in as Asher announces his departure, leaving me with jackass number one and two. I take a step toward him, almost out of my own control, as if everything in me is being pulled to him.

Asher is looking at me with appreciative eyes and nods his head before taking a few steps away from me. A heavy arm slings over my shoulders, guiding me toward a group of our teammates on the other side of the room. The dining hall thrums around me, but I feel nothing but emptiness.

“At least you’re surviving hanging with him! C’mon, lighten up, bub, I know what’ll fix you! Now let’s get ready to party! We need booze and some pussay!”

My shoulders visibly deflate as I watch a head of black hair exit the front door of the dining hall, walking out of my sight. My legs itch to follow after him, to find out where he goes and what he does in his free time.

But that isn’t my world. It never will be. Sadness rushes in, threatening to take over until Asher’s words echo loudly in my head as if he were whispering them directly into my ear, his breath warm on my skin.

“You’re reading it too literally,” he says, his voice soft, the sound barely louder than the quiet flutter of pages as he sifts through a book with a faded leather cover. “Think about what you know about human nature, about the actions fear and terror can evoke.”

“I don’t know! This is hard for me! It doesn’t make sense. I need facts. Facts make sense. Interpretation is difficult.” Panic starts to claw at me, that feeling of wanting to climb out of my own skin building to the point of combustion.

Asher shifts forward, our knees brushing beneath the table, barely a graze, but enough to set off a lightning strike through my body, my breath seizing in my lungs, the panic ebbing quicker than it had rushed in.

Asher’s eyes dip, his finger tracing over the engraved title of the book like it’s something inherently sacred.

A heartbeat passes between us. Then another. And another.

“I’m broken. I’m never going to grasp Gothic literature,” I whisper, my voice low but so loud in the quiet stillness of the archives.

“The good news is that there’s beauty in the broken. Gothic is always about the broken.”