Chapter 1: Asher Freed and Almost Deaths
How To Be A Writer-
Step 1: Hate everything you ever write.
Step 2: Keep writing.
Chloe and Asher’s relationship can only be described in two words: Destructive and oblivious. In the time it takes to walk across one street, the lives of two headstrong people are changed forever. Chloe Carlin — with the obscene amount of books in her backpack and cardigans in her closet — has only ever wanted to live in the shadows, knowing it was better for everyone, including herself, that she stayed far from the spotlight. Things start to change when she’s almost mowed down by the school’s walking, talking and breathing catastrophe. Asher Freed — with his dizzying appeal and chaos causing nature — has only ever lived by one rule: Emotions, strong ones, in particular, will get you nowhere. With a less-than-simple bet, they’re yanked into each other’s lives. Underneath all the sweaters is a girl in need of a little instability. Underneath all the invincibility is a boy in need of the exact opposite. They may both be stubborn, but neither one realizes they’ve met someone who’ll bring them to their knees.
And it all begins over one dolphin keychain.
“You really know how to make a girl feel special.”
He scoffed, sending a glimpse in my direction before settling his eyes back onto the road. “You should feel special. You’re beautiful, smart and you get to hang out with someone as hot as me.”
His thumb drew mindless circles on my skin and slowly, without meaning to, he slid his hand farther up my inner thigh. Something unfamiliar inside me pulsated, and I had the intrusive thought to take his hand and move it where I thought I needed it. That thought only lasted a second, and it was followed by a God, Chloe in my own head.
“You think I’m beautiful?” My smile wide, I looked over at him with broad eyes. My once-normal legs turned to jelly as he continued those delectable circles on my thigh.
Asher looked over at me in disbelief, my statement seemingly more important than the freeway in front of us, before removing his hand from me and regripping the wheel. I forced a neutral expression from the instant lack of contact. “Did you miss the part where I called myself hot?” He frowned.
“You’re always cocky, it’s nothing new. You think I’m beautiful?” I repeated.
He glimpsed at me, a smirk catching the corner of his kissable lips. “Very. You think I’m cocky?”
The story contains violent scenes, strong language, scenes of questionable appropriateness, and will make you angry, sad, happy, in love, irritated, along with numerous other emotions that I take no account for. <3
I spent eighty-seven years and looked through around twelve other stories for inspiration on what to write for my authors note only to come out with nothing, so this is me ad-libbing. I published part of this story months ago only to realize that it was actual trash and I was surprised my computer had yet to catch on fire because of how embarrassingly terrible it was. So I re-vamped it. This is my new and (hopefully but most likely not) improved version of this story. If you already read the fifteen chapters I’d posted before this, I recommend re-reading them seeing:
One — It’s been a hot minute since they were initially posted and if your memory is anything like mine, you probably forgot the storyline.
Two — I’ve changed and added minor/major story details/scenes that you might want to know.
Regardless, I hope you enjoy the story and thanks for clicking on it. Enjoy my hot-trash-can-on-fire-story!
© 2018 Wriiter
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Destructively Oblivious — Chapter 1
1. causing extreme and irreparable harm and damage to people and objects around you.
When she was a little girl, bedtime was a fairytale. Each night was a different adventure she’d partake in. The words on the page would transform her wonderous imagination into new worlds, and she was always thrilled to be anywhere but where she was. Sometimes she was clad in a beautiful yellow dress, dancing the night away as Tale As Old As Time played her into oblivion. Other times she was jolting down red-carpeted stairs, losing her glass slippers in the process, only to have them returned to her by Prince Charming. Once in a while, she was eating a poisonous red apple, ready to be awakened by her savor with a True Loves Kiss.
Despite her young age, and her absolute joy for each book her mother read her, she knew the stories weren’t real. She was aware women could do more than sit back and wait for their one true love. Fairytales were outdated, but she still listened to them every night.
In stories, boys were princes in the bodies of frogs. They were perfect men disguised as beasts. They were knights in shining armor who would travel the world and back to be with the woman they loved. And then everyone lived Happily Ever After. In real life, boys were... well, boys were boys. They would yell and drink and gamble and hurt others. Or at least that was what she saw at home.
When she was sixteen, her opinions on what a boy was changed. Her boy seemed different. He didn’t yell or drink. He didn’t gamble, and he certainly didn’t hurt her. Not physically. It was only when he was on her porch, begging for her forgiveness, telling her that the girl she’d caught him with was merely a mistake, that she realized she’d never be the type of girl who could turn beasts into princes.
That year, she packed up all her old fairytales from under her bed, filling up two boxes in the process of ridding them all. She carried them up to the tiny attic above the house that held old baby clothes and her brother’s old baseball equipment, hoping the rats he’d once swore he saw up there were long gone. She tossed the boxes onto the ground and flipped off the light switch, closing the door on a decade of memories.
It had been nearly a year since she’d packed them all up. She didn’t read fairytales anymore. Because frogs stayed frogs and beasts stayed beasts. Because her father was the first boy to break her heart and a seventeen-year-old cheater was the second. Because stories were stories, and this was real life. She didn’t have it in her to fix someone who was broken when she was already far past destroyed. Or so she thought.
*Chloe’s Point of View*
Monday, December 3rd.
Some say money is the root of all evil. I’ve never come across a reason to disagree. Though its use can be very beneficial — things, like feeding the poor, building schools, and donating to charities, all come to mind — it’s regularly probed as a downright destructive entity that encourages people to do absolutely anything to obtain it, including gambling, fraud, blackmail, and shipping parents away on three-month long trips to maintain their careers. All of which I’d seen, and lived through, first hand.
I’d learned two weeks ago that my mother would be heading out of the state of California, taking an extensive trip to Utah to prepare the corporate office, and being paid very generously to do so. Normally, she wouldn’t have batted an eyelash before declining the request, but she was easily convinced when they showed her the large check she’d be receiving when her plane landed.
Though weeks had passed since I’d heard the news, the majority of my mother and my conversations still sounded a lot like
“Mom, it’s irrational.” And insane. And stupid. And absurd. And one million other adjectives that we’re flying through my brain a mile a minute.
My mom had been patient with me throughout the weeks, which I appreciated while I went through meltdown after meltdown about her approaching absence. Her tone was soft, gentle as always when she countered back against my ongoing complaints. “Sweetie, you’re only making it harder for me to leave.”
“Good, then my plan is working.” I dropped overdramatically onto her bed, a bed that would be unslept in for three months, legs crossed, and brain battered. With a jittery exhale, my mom took a seat beside me, smoothly pressing her hand against my leg.
“Chloe,” she spoke my name softly. “You understand this trip is going to be hard on me, right?” She iterated the sentence with hesitation as if she needed the confirmation before she could continue.
“It doesn’t seem hard on you.” I couldn’t look her in the eye as I spoke. Instead, I took in the sight of her half-packed suitcase, one she pulled out of storage a little too fast for my liking. It wasn’t that I wanted to spend our last few days together saturating my mother with a pang of guilt, but I couldn’t seem to stop the comments. My remarks made me feel unsatisfactory, and I hugged my knees to my chest, resting my chin atop them. “I’m going to miss you,” I finally mumbled, the first kind thing I’d said all morning. Or possibly all week.
“I’m going to miss you too.” She drew my face to hers. “You know how much we need the money.”
Money. I frowned, remembering that was what this was all about. The stupid necessity of which nobody could get enough.
“I told you I’d pick up more shifts at the diner.” My frown depleted, shifting to a scowl. “I’ll get a second job if I have to.”
My mom’s lips tilted downwards with exasperation. Or maybe it was frustration. Perhaps both. “And I told you that wasn’t an option,” she snapped. A breath escaped from my lungs in the form of a wavering sigh, and once more, my mother’s patience revived itself. “It’s only a few months, and then everything will be taken care of.”
I nodded, contrived. I wanted to argue about it. I wanted to beg her to take me with her or not to go at all. Sadly, all I could do was nod and look away as I wiped the tear that was slipping from my eye. I hated crying in front of others, and my mother was no exception. Reflecting on how she and I would spend the last week we had together, an invasive thought pierced my already popped reality bubble.
“Are you actually going to make me stay with some random lady?” I winced, almost like I’d felt physical pain from the thought of staying with a nearly complete stranger.
With a playfully offended chuckle, my mother tore her eyes from her empty dresser and settled them on me. “Amy is not random. You’ve met her plenty of times.”
I’d met Amy from work parties and certain special occasions, nothing significant. She was sweet from what I’d deciphered, but staying for three whole months with a partial stranger seemed more than a little strange to me.
“And I don’t have all the time in the world to plan like I wish I did. You know how I get.” She laughed. I laughed too. I knew how she got. Many of my mom’s traits passed down to me, from her brown hair to her over planning nature. We were similar in many ways.
She followed her laughter with a sigh, her cheery, hazel eyes reverting back to gloomy. Her eye color was one of the few things I hadn’t inherited from her. Unfortunately, I had been stuck with my dad’s intensely blue eyes, one of the few things he’d left me.
“Maybe I can stay with Jamie.” My mom’s eyebrows dipped at my idea to stay with my best friend which, in my opinion, sounded far more enjoyable than staying with my mom’s favorite work buddy.
“I’d have to speak with Jessica about it.” She paused, contemplating over one of her many thoughts. After another moment, her cheeks dimpled, and she leaned in, puckering her lips against my head. “We’ll decide by the end of the week.” She lifted my wrist, peering at my watch. “School’s starting soon. I’ll take you on my way to the office. Are you ready?”
As ready as ever to distract myself with seven classes, I shuffled out of the room. I grabbed an apple out of the fruit bowl, a fruit bowl I’d miss for three months, and made my way to the car. Sitting in the passenger seat, gnawing on the piece of fruit, I listened as my mom explained the suitcase I would need to start packing. The one that I’d been ignoring on my bed for a week. The one I didn’t fill in the hopes my mom would change her mind about leaving. Lucky me; I hated packing.
My mother spoke again, her tone far more hesitant than when she was discussing the empty suitcase on my bed. “And Tate called this morning. He doesn’t know if he’ll be home for Christmas in a few weeks.” My head instantly snapped in her direction, and she peeked a glance at me, her words slowing. “School is taking up a lot of his time. I think he’s trying to get a head start on all his projects.”
“You’re both gonna be gone for Christmas..?” My question came out as a comment, and her silence confirmed the inquiry. With my mom and my brother out of the city for the holidays, a new surge of sadness came over me.
I’d never been so grateful to see my school building when my mom pulled up against the curb. Sending her a small smile, I got out of the car, shutting the door behind me. She waved as I passed in front of it, watching me glance down at my wristwatch and study the time.
“You’re going to be late,” I called through the windshield. She glanced down at her own clock along the dashboard, a look of panic passing over her face. Blowing me a quick kiss, she pulled out of the spot and promptly sped away from the curb. I chuckled, rolling my eyes at her before I crossed the street.
Or attempted too anyway.
Too focused on the breakfast I had yet to finish, I failed to notice the black Corvette that was speeding down the road, coming one inch away from knocking me out. Making no effort to move out of the way of the car, I screamed, covering my eyes with a hand to hide from the painful death I’d soon experience. After dropping my breakfast onto the cement, I stuck my other hand straight out as if the flimsy limb would stop a vehicle from plowing me over.
A beat went by before I’d heard the loud screeching noise of a car halting. Slowly, metal grazed my fingertips. I peeked up from my makeshift shield, glancing down at my hand on the hood of the incredibly nice car, staring into a vehicle packed with giggling guys, all of which entertained at my expense. Five boys took up the seats, but the only one who caught my attention was the driver of the muscle-car: Asher Freed.
The boy whose car I was almost splattered across flashed me a heart-stopping smile, lifting the sunglasses plastered on his face to reveal big brown eyes. Warm, big brown eyes. Those eyes were filled with one thing: amusement. Unadulterated amusement. His hair, dark and lustrous, had a shine to it like hardwood. That comparison wasn’t entirely accurate, I thought. Hardwood didn’t sway gently as his hair did. It was a thick, wild mess, and he sent his hand back through it, leaving me wondering if it was as soft as it looked.
As his friends continued to laugh at his mistake that almost cost me my life, his chiseled jaw raised as those same warm, big brown eyes looked me up and down, before dropping the sunglasses back into place.
Asher Freed was disarmingly attractive. His good-looks were fascinating, and I was almost sure that he was the inspiration behind the appearance of each knight in shining armor in every storybook across the nation. He was unquestionably one of the more desired boys at the school, and he knew it. Asher was fully aware he was at the top of the social-food-chain.
Suddenly, the air was stabbed by the sound of a horn. I realized the boy in the car, with a hearty dose of rebellion, had honked at me, signaling me to get out of the street. The noise startled me and mortification hijacked my body as I huffed in annoyance, trotting my way into the school building, trying to shake the thoughts of the brown-haired boy.
Heading straight for my locker, I wasn’t surprised to find my best friend in front of it. Jamie, with her blonde wavy hair and bright eyes, was, in my opinion, as close to perfect as one could get. She had the prominent bone structure, the fantastic smile, and many people hanging off her every word, myself included. A smile stilling in place, she watched me as I walked up and yanked me into a hug.
Pulling away, she frowned. “We might need to have a little chat about your communication skills. You didn’t text me once this weekend.” She sighed, melodramatically. “Not even when I texted you about the Starbucks barista with the tongue piercing! Talk about drop off the face of the earth.”
My eyes crinkling at the corners, I put the combination into my locker as she rambled on. “Sorry, Jame. I was spending time with my mom before she leaves on that forever long trip for her butthole boss.”
“Butthole boss.” She snorted unappealingly, although it didn’t exactly sound or look as unattractive as it should have. “You know, it’s a lot less lame if you just call him an asshole.”
A smirk hitting my face, I took out the necessary binders I needed for the day. “Maybe, but I have a clean mouth, unlike some people I know, jerk.” I gave her a pointed look, hoping it was clear who my statement was about.
“You’re right, this mouth is anything but clean.” She winked. I recoiled. Ew.
“Charming.” I banged my locker shut and turned to her once again. “Speaking of that trip and that butthole boss, I was wondering if I can stay with you until she comes back...”
Jamie cringed, and soon, my expression mirrored hers. “Oh... maybe! C, you know that would be so much fun. And my mom loves you! But you know my parents. They’re assholes to each other. They’d make sure your stay is less than pleasant. Even I debate going home at night.” Jamie watched my shoulders plummet and sent me a small smile. “But I’ll ask, promise.” She gave me an army salute, standing up straighter to make her promises even more pronounced.
I sighed, then nodded, trying to cover up my disappointment. Jamie’s parents always seemed to be in some state of arguing with each other. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a good idea to stay...
I shook the thought out from my head and forced a grin to change my expression. “Guess who almost died this morning.” I pointed both thumbs back towards myself. The bell rang at that very moment, and Jamie grabbed my forearm, dragging me forward.
“This atta’ be good,” she pressed, “Tell me on the way to class.”
He had wanted to be a writer when he grew up; that was one thing he knew for sure. He strived to change the world with literature; to create imagery using words. As a young child, he never imagined he’d become such a careless, absentminded man, if he could even call himself a man. Age-wise, eighteen was the supposed number that made one an adult. He certainly didn’t feel like an adult. Similarly, as a presumably, full-grown human, he no longer wanted to be a writer. He wanted to be happy.
Regardless of life goals and future career paths, he still wrote whenever he could. He still jotted down notes whenever he felt some sort of mindless joy or hopeless sadness. Still wrote stories about the first time he’d witnessed heartbreak in person, watching his parent’s marriage fall apart. That topic was one he could never stray far from. He was young then. Too young to know what was going on, too old not to be a part of the separation. After the court hearing that ruled in favor of his mother, he never saw much of his dad, not that he minded.
He was different after that. His house felt like a foreign place and he, the misguided kid whose life was a continuous loop of the same heedless actions, was an outsider. His days seemed to blend together after a while.
That little boy who wanted to make something of himself was ripped to shreds, littered across several different memories of times better than the present, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be the person he’d once wished to be. He’d never had a problem with personal self-reflection. It was saying the ridiculous things he thought aloud that fucked with him. Though it wasn’t always obvious, courage had never been his best attribute.
In the years to come, he learned how to turn good opportunities into complete mistakes, how to create cement blocks out of loneliness and stack them in between him and the relationships of everyone he knew. He learned how to turn friendly flirts into women he’d bedded, but was never educated on how to turn those encounters into healthy romantic relationships. He taught himself how to turn built-up sadness into a vacuous rage, and he turned anger into his loudest instrument. Slowly, each day he grew farther from who he once was, turning into the teenager he never wanted to be, and he didn’t know how to stop. He probably wouldn’t have recognized a photograph of himself.
But that was the way life had worked out for him, and he’d never had a problem with it. Until the day he’d come face to face with her.
Until the blue tint in her eyes was all he could see and the softness of her voice kept him up at night. Until his name escaping from her perfect lips was all he ever wanted to hear. The moment he saw her, his heart became claustrophobic. He needed her close, hoping friendship would satisfy the ache to have her near. Friendship, that was all it was supposed to be. That was all he thought he needed. He couldn’t deny his growing feelings for a woman who taught him that even the most destructive instruments could still produce a sound worth listening to.
*Asher’s Point Of View*
Monday, December 3rd.
“Andy! I swear to fucking god. I’ve told you this. Eat your breakfast before you get in my car.” Hand on the wheel, my concentration was not on the road like it should have been. The crumbs my best friend was spilling on the seats of my Chevelle had caught my attention.
“I didn’t mean to eat it! I was trying to save it for Mae,” he mumbled through a full mouth. Mae was some chick who Andy had been attempting to woo for a few days now. She seemed into him, which wasn’t surprising. Andy was a thin guy, who had a mom from Los Angeles and a dad from Uganda, leading him to an olive skin tone that he had time and time again described as perfect. That, alongside his green eyes, gave him an annoying amount of confidence and a fair amount of women at his side.
“Eating her food will definitely get you on her good side,” I deadpanned, gesturing for him to clean his mess.
His solution to the food on the perfect leather was to dust them off onto the car mats on the floor. Instantly pissed, I shifted towards my jackass of a friend, three seconds away from slapping the muffin out of his hand and through the window, tearing off his dark-curly head and tossing it out too.
“Asher! Watch out!” My one was delayed by Danny’s booming voice and his finger hovering over my shoulder, pointing out towards the road, his pale eyes wide with fear. By habit, the shout caused my foot to slam down on the brake, and it’s a good thing it did.
Snagging my focus, the girl on the road diverted any anger I’d had towards Andy and his messy ass breakfast, replacing it with worry that I’d freaked her out with my three-thousand-pound car.
She concealed her eyes from my Chevelle and me, and I couldn’t help but crack a grin. The girl I’d almost hit had a series of options in her situation: try and get away, or stand there and wait. Process of elimination would tell her which was most efficient. Lucky for her, I wasn’t trying to go to prison for vehicular homicide.
Suddenly, all I could hear was my friends laughs around me, chuckling at the poor girl I’d probably scared the hell out of. My eyes traveled from the jeans that hugged her ass quite notably towards the cat sweater she was wearing, stopping on her face that was slowly being uncovered by the hand-shield.
With the face of the victim revealed, I took her in. Her eyes were the most striking blue I’d ever seen. The reflection of the sun caught them for a single second, shimmering them like crystals. Those expressive eyes rolled in irritation towards my friends, who were still finding massive amounts of humor in my incident.
Wavy brown hair bounced along her shoulders, and I stared at the strands as if I’d never seen hair like that before. Looking at it on her, I felt like I hadn’t. The girl seemed to be admiring me as much as I was her, those eyes flickering over each feature of my face. Her side of our mutual gawking paused as she delivered me another hot, fucking eye roll.
Her lean-runner-like body was hidden under that ugly sweater, and my mind cart-wheeled over what else was concealed underneath the thick layer. The baggy material on the sweater made it difficult to gauge what kind of tits she was sporting. Damn.
Knowing it had been far too long since I could function properly, and apparent that I was clogging the street of cars behind me, I gave the stranger one more scan, dropping my sunglasses. Pressing my palm against the steering wheel, I honked the horn at her, hoping to startle both her and myself from the joint staring. Finally torn from her ogling, her eyes rolled one last time, and she and her red-hot face scurried across the street and up the entrance stairs.
I saw many different girls throughout my day, none of which managed to get that type of reaction from me. Almost embarrassed over the trippy state I had been in, I shook my head as if that would help rid any lingering stages of whatever disposition I’d managed my way through.
“Who the hell was that?” I asked anyone who would answer, pressing the gas as I watched the annoyed girl shimmy her way up to class, her jeans tugging with each swift turn of the hip.
Danny, using one hand to scratch through his near-white-2008-Justin-Beiber-style-hairdo, applied the other to the back of my seat, tapping away in thought. With slim features, sky-blue eyes and skin as pale as paper, Danny was the parent of the group. He was more like a mother than he’d ever admit.
“What’s her name? She’s in our English.” After one more hard slap to the backing of my chair, one that almost got him yelled at, he smiled, his already bright eyes lightning. “Right, Chloe. Her name’s Chloe.”
Andy, with blueberry muffin covered fingers, pointed towards a parking spot as I heard Blake chuckle behind me. “Not gonna lie, she was hot as fuck,” he admitted. Blake, who had hair and eyes as dark as a night sky, was the crudest man I’d ever met, which made me laugh a lot of the time. Sometimes though, I wished he’d just shut the fuck up.
Although yes, she was hot, that wasn’t the word that came to my mind. I tip-toed over the memory of her. She was wearing a cat sweater, eating an apple, and between watching her shocked expression to her three eye rolls, the word that came to mind was beautiful.
I slid into the parking lot, ready to enter the book-filled-prison, wondering how I had pulled the word beautiful out of my personal dictionary filled with words far too crass. I agreed with my midnight-haired friend. “Yeah, she was hot.” I extended to look at Danny. “She’s in our second period?”
He nodded, opening his door. “How do you not notice someone in your own class, genius?”
Shifting to click my own door open, I tilted my head back towards him. “It’s Mr. Lawson. I sleep my way through half that class.” And still manage an A-average, I thought, though I kept that part to myself.
Andy, finishing off the muffin that was the complete fucking bane of my cars existence, chuckled at my lame excuse for not noticing the beautiful classmate. “Even if that’s true, she’s also in our APES class.”
Blake laughed, adding on with, “And our AP Gov.”
What the fuck? Well, now I felt terrible. How could someone as good looking as her fail to enter my field of view? Maybe I did need to pay more attention — I was clearly missing out. Upon that note, I hopped from my car, yelling something at Andy about cleaning his crumbs.
Crossing the street, I was stopped in my tracks, dipping my brow at the concrete. Leaning down, I plucked the gem covered keychain from the ground, surprised by the coolness of the plastic, admiring the small baby blue dolphin on the end of it. I couldn’t contain my grin, but I did manage to minimize the size of it. “This is hers... Chloe’s,” I heard myself say.
Suddenly, I was convinced there was a God, and that he loved me.
My friends, who had assumed we were finished talking about the girl who was in at least three of my classes, squinted at it. Blake tilted his head. “Are you gonna give it back to her?”
I wrapped the blue chain around my finger, shoving it into my pocket, for the first time anxious for second period to begin. “Fuck yeah, I’m gonna give it back to her.”
I spun to trudge towards the stairs, Danny’s hand on my shoulder anchoring me in my spot. “I don’t know if you should go for this girl, man. From what I’ve seen, you’re not exactly her type.”
“Pfft,” I sounded, stepping towards school, and Chloe. “I’m everyone’s type.”
*Chloe’s Point Of View*
Explaining to my best friend about the car incident that could have ended poorly in front of the school, I listened as her voice hit octaves I didn’t realize were manageable.
“He looked you UP AND DOWN! Are you kidding? That's hot!” she screeched. I hurriedly shushed her, looking around for anyone who might have heard what I considered an outburst.
I answered her excited question, not at all upset when the teacher began talking, and I was happily yanked into the lesson. Trying my hardest to take notes, I could barely focus on them with Jamie yell whispering at me every two seconds, “Oh my God, Asher Freed wants to have sex with MY best friend.” I couldn’t even count the number of times I rolled my eyes. Naturally, I’d lost track after twenty-five.
As class dwindled to an end, so did my patience. It took all my energy not to yell at Jamie as I heard the phrase, “He could look me up and down any day,” for what felt like the three-hundredth time. Class ended, and I essentially bolted from it before I could hear one more crude statement from my dramatic best friend. She caught up to me on my way to second period and dragged me to her locker.
“Jamie, if I hear one more thing about him, I’ll scream. He does not want anything to do with me. He literally honked his horn until I got out of the street.” I sighed.
She had already opened her locker, digging through it. I stood next to her, holding my binder in my arms, shifting nervously from foot to foot, watching the students release themselves in and out of classrooms. She turned to lecture me again on the God that was Asher Freed, but before she could say anything, she glanced to my right and gasped.
Mouth still hanging open, she stared straight over my shoulder, and I couldn’t help but look back at what she was staring at. Shifting suddenly, I almost ran face-first into someone else’s shoulder. I peered at that leather-covered shoulder for what felt like an eternity before gradually looking upwards. My eyes first landed on a smirk, and then a nose, and then two warm, big brown eyes...
Asher Freed was standing right in front of me. And, though I was taken back by the honed planes of his face and captured by the way he wore a smirk as perfectly as he’d wear anything else, I made an effort to make sure my mouth was closed, and my breathing was even as I stared into the eyes of the insatiable beast.
Authors note: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of the story! There is a lot more to come :) I absolutely love everyone’s comments on the story, they really make my day, so please keep them coming! <3 Don’t forget to like the chapter and review! Thanks!