Page 48 of Burning Deceptions
The pair turned toward the center of the room, and William and I followed their gaze toward the quartet. I wasn’t sure which one was the boyfriend and didn’t actually care. Answers had been given, and the pieces fell into place.
My cheeks burned.
What in the hell was wrong with me?
I didn’t do this. I wasn’t some adolescent without a hold on his hormones or his better sense. But apparently, I was. Now that the jealousy had been reined in and caged, a new warmth burned. One that wanted to grab Asher and fit him against my side. One that wanted to announce he was mine as he’d so easily announced Tate’s boyfriend.
William, to his credit, didn’t bat an eye at the proclamation of the couple. “Which one?” he asked.
“The cello player,” Tate said.
Said cellist had his eyes closed, leaning into the music. Aside from his intimidating size, even behind the large instrument, there was a notable scar on his cheek. It was just the sort of uniqueness I’d have found devastatingly attractive two months ago. However, my preferences, neglected as they’d been, had locked onto the man directly across from me. The one with lovely hazel eyes who had been a beautiful woman but, as a man, had awoken my soul.
“He plays well,” William said, reminding me I wasn’t in a dream, that this was reality, and I was staring like a fool.
“He does,” I added.
Tate straightened his shoulders and smiled even wider. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell him. He’s a student now, but we’re hoping he’ll make it professionally.”
“He’s talented,” I said sincerely. “I hope he makes it as well.”
William returned his attention to Asher. “So where’s your sidekick tonight?”
“Percy?” Asher asked.
“Oh no.” Tate laughed. “He can’t be the sidekick. He’d hate that.”
“Hello, boys.” The four of us turned as Asher’s cousin joined us.
Percy was all but forgotten as William took in the woman who was exactly his type. At least now he was distracted, so I could ogle Asher as much as I wanted.
Words were said. Chuckles were had. I huffed in appropriate moments but only had eyes for Asher. The blush was long gone, and in its place was the confidence he’d shown facing off against my father and when he held me prisoner against a darkened club wall.
Those coy moments weren’t him. This was. This was the man who’d read me better than anyone else. The man who’d now proved he wasn’t going to out me, wasn’t going to publicly chastise me for whimpering while riding his leg.
Safe.
This was the man who’d made me come with ease and self-assurance.
I want a fucking taste, he’d said.
God, help me.
Luke
Meet me for breakfast?
Thequestioncameshortlyafter I’d arrived at the dorms around one in the morning. Tired as all get-out, I barely remembered agreeing, but I must’ve and set an alarm before I crashed.
How did rich people party every damn weekend? Savannah was glad to have me with her at these events. If she hadn’t been, I might’ve skipped a few.
Actually, nah, fuck that. I would’ve gone to see Luke.
The little bakery he’d sent me a link to was easy to miss in the middle of a short strip mall. Luke’s Range Rover was parked at the side of the lot, facing a thick row of trees, and I parked beside it. Would he be inside already, watching me as I walked in?
“Ugh, I’m gonna be sick,” I breathed and laid my head on the steering wheel. At least the nerves hadn’t hit while driving. I rubbed my palms on my ripped jeans and took a few deep breaths. Today, he was getting plain Asher. No suits or makeupor posh events or club strobe lights. Just a nineteen-year-old in baggy jeans and a faded Superman T-shirt under my equally faded hoodie.
I got out of the car and shoved my phone and wallet in my pocket. I could do this. I had to do this. The bakery was fairly busy and seemed to be the only thing open this early on a Sunday. A small patio of tables sat out front, and at one of them was Luke.
