Page 27 of Her Ohio Old Flame

Zane rose from his perched position, brushing grass clippings from his hands. “We weren’t?—”

“Weren’t what?” she snapped, taking a step closer. “Talking about how I’ve messed up? About all the things I should’ve done differently?”

Her dad frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “Asha, that’s not?—”

She held up a hand, silencing him. Her gaze stayed locked on Zane, her anger swelling like a tide she couldn’t hold back. “You think you know me? You think mowing a few lawns and fixing a couple of things means you get to judge how I’ve lived my life?”

Zane’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?” Her voice rose, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “You want to play the hero? Sweep in and fix everything? I didn’t ask for that, Zane.”

“No.” The word was measured, steady but firm as he continued. “You didn’t, but maybe you should.”

The response landed like a slap, her breath hitching as she took a step back. For a moment, the air between them was thick and charged, the unspoken truths heavy.

Her dad shifted again, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms with a knowing expression. “Asha, you’re being disrespectful. You might be an adult now, but that doesn’t mean you’re too old to earn yourself a spanking.”

Asha whipped her head around, her eyes wide with indignation. “Dad!” Her voice cracked with disbelief, her face heating with mortification. “How can you even say that? And in front of—” She darted her gaze to Zane, who was watching her with an unsettling calm.

Before she could finish her protest, Zane closed the distance between them. His eyes, glinting green in the sunlight, locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “You know, sir,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “I think you might be right, but I also think the honor is mine now.”

Her father gave Zane an approving nod, his lips twitching as if fighting back a smile. “She’s all yours, son.”

“What?” Asha’s voice shot up in pitch, her temper boiling over. “You’re not serious?—”

“Dead serious.” Zane closed his hand with a determined but careful grip around her arm, his touch sending a jolt of heat through her despite her outrage. “And it’s about time we got a few things straight.”

She struggled against his hold, but he didn’t relent, guiding her toward the house with the unyielding force of a river carving a path through stone. “You can’t just?—”

“Watch me,” he said, in way that brooked no argument.

Asha shot a pleading glance over her shoulder at her father, but he simply waved them off with a bemused smile. “Don’t give him too much trouble, sweetheart. It’ll only make it worse.”

The screen door slammed shut behind them, muffling her sputtered protests as Zane guided her up the stairs with a steady, unyielding grip. Her heart pounded, a mix of anger, anticipation, and something deeper—something she couldn’t name.

“Zane, this is insane,” she hissed, twisting her arm in a half-hearted attempt to break free. “You can’t just drag me upstairs like some?—”

He stopped abruptly, turning to face her at the top of the stairs. The raw intensity in his gaze made her words falter and die on her lips. “Like what, Asha?” His challenge was soft but dangerous. “Like someone who cares enough to call you out when you’re running yourself into the ground? Like someone who refuses to let you keep shutting them out?”

Her breath caught, her chest tightening under the weight of his words. “I don’t need?—”

“Yes, you do.” He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “And deep down, you know it.”

Asha’s pulse raced, her defenses crumbling under the sheer force of his conviction. She hated how he could do this—how he could see straight through her walls, her excuses, her carefully constructed armor. And she hated even more how much she wanted to surrender to him.

Chapter Twelve

Zane’s jaw tightened as he guided her into the bedroom, his grip on her arm firm without being harsh. The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the house’s muted sounds and leaving them in a silence that felt heavy with tension. He released her and stepped back, taking in the room.

The space hit him like stepping into a time capsule. Posters of celebrities and boy bands clung to the walls, their edges curling with age, their once-vivid colors now subdued. A small desk sat under the window, its surface worn but organized, as if it was waiting for her to sit down and pick up where she’d left off. The bed—a narrow twin with a pale purple comforter—did not even look big enough for one person. Everything about the room screamed of a life that had paused.

He could see her here, years ago, hunched over her books, pouring everything into that perfect GPA she’d always strived for. Determined. Meticulous. Independent. He’d admired that about her back then, and he still did. But now, standing in this room with her, he could feel the weight of everything she’d carried—and everything she refused to let go of.

Zane turned his gaze to Asha, who stood in the middle of the room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her posture stiff and defiant. Her eyes flashed with anger, but he could see the cracks in her armor—the vulnerability she was trying so hard to hide.

He went to the bed and sat down, the mattress creaking under his weight. It felt too small, like the room itself, which made him wonder how she’d managed to confine herself here. Motioning for her to come closer, he waited. When she didn’t move, he reached out and gently took her wrist, pulling her between his knees.

“You’re being punished for being rude to me and your dad,” he said.

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