Chapter 34 Aslan
Aslan
Just when I thought he couldn’t possibly stick his tongue further down Trisha’s throat, he somehow did.
It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t accidental. It was the kind of kiss meant to be seen, meant to leave no room for doubt and look real.
I didn’t know what he was trying to prove.
That he didn’t feel anything last night?
That he wasn’t into me?
I didn’t buy it. Not for a second.
I knew what I’d felt. I knew what I’d seen in his eyes when everything had gone still. And whatever this was—whatever this shit was—it didn’t erase that.
Still, I tried to look away.
James didn’t.
I could feel him watching Garrett, then watching me, curiosity slowly edging into discomfort as the kiss dragged on longer than necessary.
“Is he… putting on a show for you?” James asked quietly.
“For me?” The words came out too fast. “Um—no. Of course not.”
James raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
And then Garrett looked at me.
Not a glance. Not accidental.
Locked on.
And James saw it too.
“Oh,” he muttered. “Ohhh. Never mind.”
The bell rang, breaking the moment apart like it had never existed. Chairs scraped. People stood. Noise rushed back in. Garrett pulled away from her and didn’t look at me again as he left.
James waited until we were out of the cafeteria before he nudged my shoulder.
“So,” he said lightly. “Anything you’d like to share with the class?”
“James,” I warned.
He stopped walking. Turned to face me fully. “You’re being weird, and Garret… well, he had never French-kissed a girl so publicly. Especially while staring into a guy’s eyes.”
“What you mean—staring? No, he didn’t—I mean, I didn’t…” I tried to dodge it. Tried to keep my answers vague. But the more I avoided his eyes, the more certain he became.
“Oh my God,” he said suddenly. “You two did something.”
“What? No—”
“You absolutely did.” His eyes widened. “You did. Oh my God, Aslan.”
I hesitated. Just for a second.
Then I exhaled. “You can’t tell anyone.”
James immediately raised a hand. “On my life. On my playlists. On literally everything I care about.”
So I told him.
Not every detail. Just enough. The fight. The moment. The fact that it had been messy and intense and nothing like anything I’d ever planned.
James listened without interrupting, which told me more than any reaction could have.
When I finished, he let out a slow breath. “Okay. Wow. First of all, sorry for not locking the door when I left—are you okay?”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “He didn’t push anything. I had control. Completely.”
That seemed to settle him a little, though concern still lingered. “I just—Aslan, he punched you yesterday.”
“I know.”
“And today he’s making out with someone in front of you like it’s performance art.”
“I know.”
James sighed. “You two are freaking out in… very different fonts.”
That almost made me smile.
“I don’t even know what came over me,” I admitted.
“Well, in case you want a repeat, I’ll be gone tonight too. I’m spending the weekend at home.”
“Funny… No thanks.” I shook my head.
“Hey, if you want, you could always come with…” he suggested.
“It’s okay, maybe another time. I have to practice for that recital.” I shrugged.
James pouted. “Awww… Well, if you change your mind, you know to give me a call. So, what’s the plan with him now?” He asked.
“If we ever talk again, I’ll probably just tell him it was a stupid impulse. That it shouldn’t happen again. That we should just forget about it.”
James stared at me.
Then, deadpan, “Yeah. Just forgetting about it sounds like a really solid plan.”
I sighed, because we both knew the truth.
Forgetting about it wasn’t going to happen. Not for me.
And Garrett?
He probably already had.
Classes sucked that day.
And since I’d already had to witness Garrett slobbering all over Trisha’s mouth at lunch—and then again between classes, and again in the quad, like he was running some kind of public-relations campaign—I was in a particularly bad mood.
I wasn’t upset because he’d decided to be a public menace for twenty-four hours.
I was upset because he clearly thought it would do something to me.
Self-defense class didn’t help. I got my ass handed to me more than once, my focus slipping every time my brain replayed all that kissing. Riding practice went even worse. I nearly lost my balance when I caught sight of Garrett laughing with the young trainer, leaning too close, too in-my-face again.
What was his deal?
We hooked up once.
Once.
He could chill and give it a rest. It wasn’t that big a deal. Garrett was a horrible person, and I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice—no matter how disturbingly much I wanted to.
After practice, I stayed behind at the stables longer than necessary, brushing down my horse, pretending I needed the time. Mostly, I just didn’t want to watch him anymore. I waited until the place emptied out, until the laughter and movement faded, until there was nothing left but the smell of hay and sweat and dirt.
By the time I finally headed back toward the main, nearly empty building, I was muddy, tired, and still angry.
I was reaching for my locker when my head slammed back against the metal with a sharp clang.
Stars exploded behind my eyes.
“Why are you still here, you filthy trash?” Garrett hissed, his hand gripping my jaw, forcing my face down—just like I’d done to him the night before.
The memory sent a shiver straight to my groin.
Seriously?
No. I was not doing this again. I was not making another decision based on the wrong head.
But he was angry. Desperate. Trying to claw back some of the control he’d lost, and that only made me want him more.
I drove my elbow back into his gut. He grunted, loosening his grip just long enough for me to twist free. I turned the momentum against him, slamming him back into the locker with a dull, echoing thud.
“Go back to your trailer,” he snapped, eyes dragging over my muddy clothes with open disgust. “To the mud. Right where you belong.”
I laughed.
Low. Sharp. Right in his face.
“You are so goddamn full of shit,” I said quietly. “You don’t want me gone.”
I hated him. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to break something just to hear it crack… And I wanted to kiss him just as hard.
I didn’t understand how those two things could exist in the same breath, but they did. They always did with him.
I was still deciding which one I wanted more when he shoved at my chest, trying to create space.
“I do want you gone,” he said.
I didn’t let him.
One move. Instinctive. Something we’d drilled a dozen times in class. I caught his neck, pinned him back against the metal, and used the moment to step in close—so close his arms dropped to his sides, trapped between us.
“No, you don’t,” I said calmly. “You want me near. Otherwise, why are you still here? Everyone else is gone. I stayed longer than anyone at the stables, and yet you waited. Didn’t you?”
His head shook, but it wasn’t convincing. Not even close.
I could feel my resolve of not repeating my very recent past mistake slipping, the promise I’d made myself unraveling thread by thread.
I obviously had a problem.
And it was standing right in front of me.