Nothing to Fear (Wicked Games, #1)

by Jenn Plummer

“Fuck, you smell good,” he groans, his voice distorted as if he’s using a voice changer.

He pulls away for a moment, cocking his head to the side in that fucked-up way again that sends chills scattering across my skin. I miss his touch immediately.

He feels so good, and our skin hasn’t even touched. I never want this feeling to end.

Everything in my brain is telling me to run. But it’s the dangerous recklessness of the situation that is so thrilling.

Who the hell is this man? And why do I feel like he just changed my entire life?

Near-black eyes peer back at me, and I hate that he’s so fucking handsome.

Asher’s nickname stuck, I was pulled back into the closet, and my resentment toward him festered. I wanted him for myself, wanted to live the way he lived, and I couldn’t have either of those things, so my anger spread like a disease.

Here we are. Three long-ass years later, and I hate him. Hate him because after all this time, I’m still into him. Hate him because I’m so fucking jealous of him, which makes me hate him that much more.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I snap with barely contained rage, even if my heart is practically beating out of my chest at the sight of him, and I have to ...

Asher cards his fingers through his damp hair in an effortless way that looks way too good. My t...

His touch affects me, burning through the thick, wet cotton of my sweatshirt and searing my skin. The hell? Why does that keep happening? Am I that starved? I can’t have that. He can’t know how he affects me. He can’t know how I feel. No one can.

“What the hell is your problem, Silas? Why do you hate me so much?” Because you’re goddamn perfect and wholly yourself. Something I’m not.

handle my shit. There’s no way I’m spending a minute more than I have to with you. Stay the hell away from me.” I can’t do it. I wouldn’t survive being in such close proximity to him.

Asher stands in front of me, pieces of his black hair falling back into his eye as he blinks away rain droplets beading on his equally dark eyelashes. No one looks good in the rain, except for Asher Ambrose. Because of course he does.

My heart fractures in my chest, seeing the flash of hurt in his eyes. Why do I care that I clearly hurt his feelings? I don’t. I hate him. Lies. Lies. Lies.

Okay, mostly one-sided insults from me, while Asher just grinned and bared it all. None of it has ever seemed to matter. Then why do I suddenly feel like shit for it now?

“There’s nothing to say to you. We aren’t friends. Go back to pretending like I don’t exist, Silas.” As if I’ve ever been able to do that.

His scent engulfs me, a familiar scent of books, paper, and leather, and I realize I’ve never been this close to him before. The onyx of his pupils is so dark it’s captivating, and I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. I’m a rabbit caught in a snare, helpless to fight against him.

His fingers delicately flip a page as his dark, obsidian eyes flicker in the light of the lamp next to him. Dark hair, the color of midnight, falls into his face as he hovers over the pages. He’s beautiful.

When his head dips down, focusing on the page between us, I can’t help but lean in with him, breathing in his scent—all leather, paper, and ink. My resulting sigh is both silent and the loudest thing I’ve heard all day. If only things could have been different.

I found myself being pulled into his orbit while we sat in the hidden archives. He’s intriguing, and I was slightly fascinated by the way his voice softened when he dropped the dickhead attitude.

He’s wearing a pair of denim jeans and a Corvus College Rugby hoodie with a pair of black Converse. It’s casual and somehow really fucking cute. I pull out my phone for no reason other than wanting to see his reaction.

We can’t possibly be friends. We’re from two different worlds; we may attend the same college and share the same courses, but we’re still living separate realities. The jock doesn’t hang with the book nerd. It was stupid of me to think it could be anything but exactly what it is, an arrangement made out of our control.

Silas meets my eyes again, the crystal blues swirling with something that looks a whole helluva lot like disappointment. I’m not wanted here.

My eyes meet Silas’ again, realizing that I’m alone down here. The look on Silas’ face is making me want to run for the hills. I give him a subtle nod and turn to leave, no longer feeling the desire to party.

Especially when Silas is looking at me like he’d rather I be anywhere but here. I guess our unspoken truce was short-lived.

“Asher!” Silas’ deep voice practically growls from behind me. I turn to face him just as his thick fingers comb through his blond locks, pushing them back, only for the hair to fall back in his face. He really is handsome.

“Eh. Kinda puts me in a weird position, slacker. Being gay and all. Not sure if I’m wanted there and didn’t want to make it weird.” Not to mention the way you were looking at me.

fingers through his blond hair again. “You’re wanted.” His voice is barely a whisper, and if it weren’t for the silence around us, I would have missed it.

My eyes connect with his, a flash of something I can’t quite place reflected in them. He looks almost dejec...

“You want me to go back inside, Silas?” “Yeah,” he answers quickly, and based on the expression on his face, he didn’t mean to.

Another pass of his hand over his golden locks, and those crystal-blue eyes are boring into me in such a way that makes me feel laid bare in front of him.

Taking several steps until we’re toe-to-toe, my curiosity winning out, I lightly grip his fingers, my skin brushing over the rough skin of his hands, wanting to do something to calm and center him.

Thunder claps loudly overhead as a hum of electricity vibrates from the point of contact with Silas throughout my entire body. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I’m seeing Silas Blackwood as an entirely different person. The icy exterior has melted away, leaving a storm of vulnerability in its wake. Is Silas who I thought he was all this time? Or is he hiding who he really is to protect himself from something?

The thought makes my heart flip over in my chest, and that side of me that hyperfixates, hyperfocuses . . . obsesses, just found a clue to something I won’t be able to let go of. I want to peel back every layer that...

As Silas and I walk back through the house, it hits me that a stranger is about to get him off, and something about that image makes me feel sick. I can’t explain why.

haven’t seen Asher since Fright Night, and my body is vibrating with anticipation.

It’s not like Asher said anything inappropriate. He was being friendly. But when Dean saw it, I played it off like a dickhead. When Asher looked so hurt, dejected, lost . . . my heart split in two, and before I realized my feet were moving, I was chasing him.

Talking to him outside of Grimsley Hall had me losing my mind. He was different, as if he were reading me like one of his books, trying to figure me out. I didn’t hate it.

I thought having Asher tutor me would be a death sentence, having to maintain the persona I’ve perfected here, but spending time with him, alone in our little piece of the school where no one bothers us, has me excited for something I desperately need: a place where I can be whoever I want to be. A place where maybe I can just be myself.

“Who’s the lucky lady?” Ugh. This question. I can’t hold it against him because it’s not like I’ve told them otherwise. But why does everyone have to make assumptions?

Asher’s raven hair is tousled, like he’s carded his fingers through it repeatedly while he works. My own fingers itch to touch it, to feel the soft locks thread across my skin. I’ve always admired his hair. The dark strands and how they’d slip between my fingers like the finest silk.

Asher looks up quickly from his book, his eyes a bit wide, looking at me like he truly has no idea where I came from.

His eyes sear into my face as I stare down at where our hands meet. Just like last time, his touch is like a bolt of lightning shooting through my veins at the point of contact.

My heart trips over itself behind my ribs, my breath caught in my lungs. Slowly, I trace my eyes up where my fingers rest against his, meetin...

“Yep,” he replies with a light laugh. It’s short and cute, my body warming all over at the sound.

I tease again, this time earning me a slight smile. And damn if it isn’t a beautiful smile. Even though it doesn’t reach his eyes, the way his light blush lips turn up at the corners is enough to bring me to my knees. He’s so handsome.

Asher’s eyebrow rises in question, and I realize I just gave away the fact that I watch him sometimes, and that I remember things he’s said, even if they weren’t ever to me.

I realize how much I don’t know about Asher, even though I’ve semi-pined over him the last several years, and now that he’s given me a glimpse, I want more. I need more.

Why couldn’t things be different? Why couldn’t I have just had the balls to be who I am from day one? Why did I resort to falling back into the role that was chosen for me without giving myself a chance at being who I want to be?