Page 92 of Only Ever You

But when Kellan mentioned Michael has been watching me skate every morning, my stomach twisted into a knot.

Why would he do that? He chose to believe the worst about me. Ignored me. Blocked me. Erased years of communication. And now, he’s showing up at my practices? To do what?

I cover my eyes with my hand and breathe deeply again.

I’m not scared of him. He’d never hurt me. But the way he makes me feel, the way he shakes my world just by looking at me, terrifies me.

“What does he want?” I whisper into the quiet of my car.

One moment, he’s mocking me, calling me Ice Queen, then he’s in that closet with me—after he refused to go in with other girls—and telling me he cares? I don’t understand.

Is this a mind game? A way for him to pass the time? Is he hoping to catch me messing up so he can use it as ammunition against me?

The burning sensation in my eyes intensifies, fueling my irritation. I sit up abruptly and suck in a harsh breath.

“Enough. I’m not doing this again.”

I won’t allow him to mess with my head. If he wants something from me, he can damn well ask for it. I won’t let him hover around the fringes of my life, interfering with practice and my career. He has no right to play these games with me. I’m not a toy he can mess with. My emotions are not for his entertainment.

And I plan to tell him that. Today.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and tap out a text to Asher.

Me:

I’m cashing in on your offer to hang out. You free if I stop by tonight?

Asher:

Absolutely! Does 7 sound okay?

Me:

Yes!

Asher:

Fair warning: my roommate will probably be home If you don’t want to see him, maybe stop by closer to 8?

Me:

I’ll be there

I don’t like misleading him, but I need to nip this situation in the bud. It needs to happen tonight, and if I tell Ash why I’m really coming over, he’ll ask questions I don’t want to answer. We’ve always kind of skated around anything related to Michael, and it’s suited me well. If only we could continue that way.

But once I have a talk with the guy who was designed to torture me, Ash and I can hang out.

I focus on the sign that reads 312 as I work to keep my breathing even. I’m here to spend time with my friend and also potentially to tell his roommate off.

Asher opens the door, smiling like a Cheshire cat. He’s in a white tee and gray sweatpants, his blond hair damp. His eyes glisten with mischief as he props his shoulder against the doorframe. “Wow, you actually came. I was sure you’d bail last minute.”

“I said I would. I’m not one to back down.”

“True.” He steps back. “Though I’m surprised to see you before eight.” He lowers his voice as I step into the suite. “Michael is in his room.”

“That’s okay.” I shrug, scanning the room. “Your place is nice.”

It’s laid out like mine, but it’s clear two guys live here. There’s a huge black couch in the living area, along with a small coffee table and a big TV on the wall. A controller has been thrown haphazardly onto a cushion, and there’s a roll of stick tape on the coffee table beside a stack of textbooks. It’s chaotic, yet somehow cozy. And it smells like laundry detergent and pizza.