Page 23 of Devious Obsession
I whirl around.
Chase stands on the other side of the door, visible through the glass.
I wipe hurriedly at the tears on my cheeks, but it’s too late. I open the door for him—you have to fill out a form for access to the music practice rooms, and I wouldn’t suppose he has that. He frowns and enters the room, kneeling and righting the bench.
“Sit down,” he murmurs.
I follow his directions. My eyes still feel wet. I pull up one of my legs and wrap my arms around it. He picks up the papers, stacking them and setting them on top of the piano. He stays on his knees, his brow furrowed.
The longer I look at him, the more I realize something is wrong withhim, too.
“What happened?” My voice comes out hoarse and scratchy. I’ve always had a deeper, raspier voice, but this just makes it worse.
“Your knight in shining armor.”
I flinch.
He scoffs, rising and brushing invisible dust off his jeans. “O’Brien is tactical. He’s just implemented another move in his war, and the same probably goes for whatever he’s done to make you cry.”
Breaking into my room and fucking me istactical? I open and close my mouth, then shake my head. It would be insane if I blurted that out—and it would lead to questions about the party. Drawing the joker was stupid, I thought it then and I know for certain now.
Why did I do that?
When Chase showed me his card, the black nine, my gut reaction was that it wasboring. That nine is middle of the road. Not high, not low, just… there. Not kinky, not vanilla. And I really didn’t want that.
I still don’t.
But when Chase sits beside me and wraps his arm around my shoulder… I don’t mind it so much. I don’t mind that he’s safe—even if he doesn’t feel safe.
I let out a shuddering breath, and my tears stop, and finally, Chase releases me.
“Dinner?” He stands and waits for a moment, then holds out his hand.
I hesitate. I can’t even look him in the eye, focusing on his white shoes. They’re really white. Impressively so. Like he’s never accidentally stepped in a puddle, or cut across the quad after it’s been freshly mowed, or stepped off the sidewalk. Ever.
So maybe that’s why, ultimately, I lie. “My roommate and I are going off campus, otherwise I would.”
He nods and moves backward. “No problem, Aspen. I’ll let you get back to practice.”
The door clicks shut in his wake. I take a deep breath. I stare at the keys, the music, for another minute. Completely still. It’s like I’m locked into place, my muscles turned to stone.
Music has always been my source of comfort. My safe place. When I’m sad, when I’m lonely, when I’m scared. If I can play, if I can listen to it, then everything else fades away. It’s been my retreat for so long.
But it’s not working today.
Playing anyway.
I collect my things and shove them back in my bag. I have rather excellent headphones at home. The kind that go over your whole ear and block out the rest of the world. I’ll put on my playlist of instrumental music that doesn’t drive me crazy, I’ll lie on my bed… and I’ll try to forget.
I’m halfway home when my spine tingles.
I glance over my shoulder, my gaze sweeping the street. It’s getting dark—the sun is setting earlier now, and even though it’s only six o’clock, the sky’s light is fading fast. The streetlight over my head flickers on, and I check behind me again.
A car pulls out of its spot on the curb, and fear sweeps through me. It doubles when the car rolls to a stop parallel to me, and the passenger window lowers.
My uncle sits at the wheel. He leans onto the console to meet my gaze, and his eyebrow lifts.
“What are you doing here?” I shift my weight, deciding how best to play this.
