Page 9 of Nothing to Fear (Wicked Games #1)

Silas

P ractice shouldn’t be as ruthless as it was today. Or the last few weeks. Our coach is missing the plot if he thinks this is how he’s going to create a winning team. We all walk off the field again on wobbly legs, my arms feeling like they were put through a wood chipper.

“I don’t know if I can take much more of this. I think Coach hates us. Which one of you pissed him off?” Eli asks. The group of us audibly groans out our discomfort.

“We’ve got this. See the trainer if you need it, get a massage, take an ice bath, do what you gotta do to recoup; tomorrow is coming whether we’re ready for it or not.

We can bring home a win, and maybe he’ll lay off a bit.

” My attempt at encouragement seems to work, as everyone nods their agreement or cheers.

Once the hot spray of the locker room shower is pelting down on my sore shoulder blades, I relax slightly. I haven’t seen Asher since Fright Night, and my body is vibrating with anticipation.

When I got his text message while standing with my teammates, I was so damn worried about someone seeing it or seeing the reaction that was humming inside me.

Irrational. Ridiculous. It’s not like Asher said anything inappropriate.

He was being friendly. But when Dean saw it, I played it off like a dickhead.

When Asher looked so hurt, dejected, lost .

. . my heart split in two, and before I realized my feet were moving, I was chasing him.

Talking to him outside of Grimsley Hall had me losing my mind.

He was different, as if he were reading me like one of his books, trying to figure me out.

I didn’t hate it. Electricity crackled between us, and when he stepped into my space, his scent engulfing me, all I wanted to do was take him back inside into the glory hole, anonymity be damned.

And after that? Take him back to my single apartment and spend the rest of the night talking.

When I found myself walking blindfolded into the glory hole room, a large, thick, hard cock waiting for me through the hole, I knew I had stumbled into the wrong section.

My heart nearly plummeted into the pit of my stomach as panic started to claw at my throat.

But there was also excitement as arousal thrummed through me.

There was a familiarity about the situation and the man waiting for my touch, even if I couldn’t see him, I felt it, and instead of freaking out, I dropped to my knees with images of Asher Ambrose behind my eyes.

Was I supposed to put my mouth on him? No.

But my eyes couldn’t look away from the beads of precum I was pulling from his shaft as my hand stroked up and down.

I knew it was a gamble, but when his fist pounded once against the wall in response to my wet mouth engulfing his swollen head, his loud groan flowing through the wall between us, I about came in my pants like an eager teenager and knew I had made the right decision.

Jesus. And the way he came for me? His cock heavy in my hand, throbbing as pearly white ropes of cum spurted from his slit.

And like the desperate man I am, I collected it in my hand and licked it clean after he pulled away.

Corvus College Fright Nights are turning out to be wilder than ever before, and everything I need. I didn’t think anything could replace the constant erotic montage playing in my mind of Fright Night with my masked stranger, but the glory hole at Grimsley Hall just might.

After my needed shower, I get dressed quickly, ready to get down to the archives.

We decided to meet three times a week, and I’ve been looking forward to tonight since the Halloween party three days ago.

I pull on actual clothes instead of my typical after-practice sweats—jeans that I feel good in, a dark navy sweater over a white T-shirt, and my brown boots. I even spray some cologne.

I thought having Asher tutor me would be a death sentence, having to maintain the persona I’ve perfected here, but spending time with him, alone in our little piece of the school where no one bothers us, has me excited for something I desperately need: a place where I can be whoever I want to be.

A place where maybe I can just be myself.

“Whoa, gotta date there, Blackwood? You smell pretty!” Eli taunts, stepping in front of me with a towel wrapped around his waist, dipping his head toward me, and taking a deep inhale.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I reply as I shrug him away.

“Who’s the lucky lady?”

Ugh. This question. I can’t hold it against him because it’s not like I’ve told them otherwise.

But why does everyone have to make assumptions?

This is how you make people uncomfortable and feel like they can’t be themselves.

I know it’s my job to correct him, but he’s already got me pegged for straight in his head; hell, everyone has.

Now we’ve got to have the awkward conversation that I’m not.

The conversation I’ve avoided like the bubonic plague for the last three years.

That feeling starts to rise, where my veins heat, my skin becoming too tight and itchy, making me want to climb right out of it.

“No one you know,” I snap, rougher than I mean to.

“Whoa, whoa! Touchy! Must be someone special! Haven’t seen you date in years, Blackwood! We were beginning to wonder if you were holding out for marriage!”

Fuck my life.

Asher is already sitting in the same spot at the very back of the archives when I arrive.

My mood is still sour, no matter how hard I tried to thaw out on my walk over here.

My teammates’ comments dug under my skin, and I can’t shake them.

I went from excited anticipation to regret, annoyance, and anger in two seconds flat, all because I don’t have the balls to correct someone’s assumptions about me.

But the longer it goes on, the harder it becomes to speak up.

Asher’s raven hair is tousled, like he’s carded his fingers through it repeatedly while he works. My own fingers itch to touch it, to feel the soft locks thread across my skin. I’ve always admired his hair. The dark strands and how they’d slip between my fingers like the finest silk.

Spending time with Asher has clearly brought buried feelings for him to the surface, something I need to get control over before I do something fucking stupid and fuck everything up.

I force myself to think about the masked stranger instead of Asher, focusing on the dark black holes where his eyes were supposed to be, his gloved, skeleton green hands sliding over my body.

My dick rises to attention, and I internally groan, forgetting where I was .

I take a seat across from him, dropping my bag to the floor and pulling out my laptop.

Asher still hasn’t acknowledged my presence, and I inwardly cringe, wondering if I’ve done something to fuck up again.

It seemed like things were okay between us at Fright Night while we talked outside of Grimsley Hall, but did I see what I wanted to?

Should I have reached out this week? Fuck.

“Hey?” I finally say, breaking the silence stretching uncomfortably in the room, my hand reaching out to gently touch his knuckles. Asher looks up quickly from his book, his eyes a bit wide, looking at me like he truly has no idea where I came from.

His eyes sear into my face as I stare down at where our hands meet.

Just like last time, his touch is like a bolt of lightning shooting through my veins at the point of contact.

My heart trips over itself behind my ribs, my breath caught in my lungs.

Slowly, I trace my eyes up where my fingers rest against his, meeting the darkest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.

One eyebrow is slightly raised, his bottom lip pressed tightly between his teeth.

There’s no missing the confusion written all over his features, but the heat dancing behind his eyes and the sexy way he worries his lip are undeniable.

What would it be like to taste that lip? Would he open for me and accept my tongue? Would he reach for me and give it right back? I cough into my fist, turning my head and pulling my hand back into my lap. What the hell has gotten into me? I don’t want him , I lie to myself.

You’re just desperate for the attention, especially now that you’ve had it.

“Damn, man, you really get lost in those books.”

Asher’s shoulders deflate slightly, his head dropping and shaking slowly as if to rid himself of the thoughts he was having .

“How long have you been here, slacker?”

I debate fucking with him, lying to him and freaking him out, but decide against it.

“Just a few minutes. What’re you reading?”

“History.”

“Of?”

“Why weren’t you in class yesterday?”

Shit, how did he know that? I skipped class because I couldn’t get my ass out of bed. Practice the night before killed me, and then Eli dragged me down to his dorm room to play video games.

“We have the same class now, slacker. Professor Thorne has absorbed all of Professor Mortwood’s students for the semester until they find a replacement. Where were you?”

I choose not to answer him and throw out a question of my own.

“What are you studying?”

“I don’t think you’d be interested in knowing, Silas.”

“I just asked, didn’t I? Try me,” I lightly tease with a smile pulling at the corner of my lips, trying to turn the conversation around.

Asher looks up at me, leaning back further into his chair and crossing his arms. I focus on his face, even though it’s taking all my willpower not to slowly trace over every inch of him. “So?”

“The history of Corvus College.”

“Okay. Now the real question for the bookworm, for pleasure or school?”

“Yep,” he replies with a light laugh. It’s short and cute, my body warming all over at the sound.

“C’mon, man, give me a little more than that.

What does Asher Ambrose read the history of Corvus College for?

” I tease again, this time earning me a slight smile.

And damn if it isn’t a beautiful smile. Even though it doesn’t reach his eyes, the way his light blush lips turn up at the corners is enough to bring me to my knees. He’s so handsome.

“Pleasure. Even though I’m majoring in gothic literature and history, I go a little above and beyond because I find it all wicked fascinating.”

“Everyone needs a little hobby. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Do you have any?”

“Me? Nah. Rugby. If that counts.”

“Definitely counts. But you’re forced to play, even when you don’t feel like it. What do you do that’s just for you?”

I think about his question for a second, turning it over in my head a few times and coming up with nothing. Which doesn’t make me feel great.

“Where are you from? I thought from your accent you lived in Mass., but I wasn’t positive,” I ask, changing the subject, my eyes boring into the old wood of the tabletop, tracing over every indent with my pointer finger.

When I look up from the written note, I find Asher’s eyes back on me, a smile tugging at his lips, a pink hue on his cheeks as if he’s blushing.

“What gives it away?”

“I heard you say ‘wicked pissah’ a few times and didn’t know what the hell that meant because you seemed to be enjoying yourself when you said it.

” Asher’s eyebrow rises in question, and I realize I just gave away the fact that I watch him sometimes, and that I remember things he’s said, even if they weren’t ever to me.

“It stuck out ’cause I’d never heard it before, and you use ‘wicked’ as an adjective. ”

“Yeah, born in Boston, raised there by my mom and nana. My sister, Allie, is a senior in high school.”

I realize how much I don’t know about Asher, even though I’ve semi-pined over him the last several years, and now that he’s given me a glimpse, I want more. I need more .

“They must miss you.”

“Yeah. Especially Allie. I’m her favorite person on earth,” he says with a chuckle.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Where’re you from? Got any siblings? Do you know how conversations work?”

Nope. Because no one fucking asks. It’s all superficial bullshit. Frustration starts to rise in me. I’m trying to stay calm, but the comments from my teammates, trying so hard with Asher and realizing I’m no good at this at all . . . it’s all just too much.

“Upstate New York. Mom lives there. I’m the youngest of three; my brothers are all out in the world doing their own thing,” I answer, my jaw tight as my chest starts to ache and my palms get clammy.

“Ahh, the baby. Everything is so much clearer now.” He meant it as a joke, and I could sense it in both his delivery and his facial expression, but it still slices across my heart, and that defense mechanism that is an old friend of mine weasels its way in, taking over.

My skin gets tighter, my muscles ache, and blood rushes between my ears.

Why the hell is vulnerability so hard for me?

Of course he would think that because I’m the youngest, it means I’m a spoiled brat.

That my outward behavior has to be because of that, there couldn’t possibly be any other explanation.

Oh, how about I let fear run my life, Asher?

The aged stone walls of the archives start to close in, the quiet of the room deafening, and I rub my clammy hands on my jeans and struggle to get in a breath of air. I need to get out of here.

“Gonna have to cut this short,” I say on a rushed breath, my voice coming out more of a croak .

“What?” he yelps. “We’ve got things to do; you have an assign?—”

“—I know what I’ve got to do, Asher. I’ll get it done. I’ve got to go,” I snap.

I don’t bother looking at Asher’s reaction, and I don’t wait for him to say anything more.

I haul ass out of the archives, practically jogging up the tight spiral staircase, not stopping until the brisk autumn air pierces my lungs.

I nearly collapse to my knees on the cold, stone ground as I gulp in lungfuls of air, willing my panic attack to ebb.

Why couldn’t things be different? Why couldn’t I have just had the balls to be who I am from day one? Why did I resort to falling back into the role that was chosen for me without giving myself a chance at being who I want to be?