Page 16 of Nothing to Fear
I don’t stop until Thorne Hall is behind me, my steps echoing off the stone walls. Breathing heavy, the sharp sting of the autumn air makes my lungs feel like they’re closing in on me. I quickly scan for an empty seat.
A head of blond hair sits in the back row, the cap of a pen between his teeth. His eyes are already trained on me, like he noticed me the moment I walked in. Everything freezes around me, my heartbeat slowing down, calm washing over me. Silas arches a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly around the pen cap. Then I notice it—the only free spot in the entire lecture hall,right next tohim.
I may have almost been late to class, but between the raven and this, it’s as if fate is on my side with some things. I quicklyclimb the steps to Silas’ row, stepping past people and feeling so out of place it makes me sick. I’m always early.
Always.
I practically collapse into the chair, dropping my bag between my legs with a huff.
“Never seen you so disheveled, loser,” he quips, giving me a sexy-as-hell smirk, his blue eyes lit up like fireworks. My heart does somersaults, making me feel lightheaded from the foreign sensation. I should be mad at him for the way he stormed out on me yesterday, but I clearly struck a nerve with my comment. Silas seems like he has a shitstorm brewing inside of him and just may be one of the most lost people I’ve ever met. I want to know why, and punishing him for his reactions isn’t going to help either of us. I’m not going to meet fire with fire.
“Yeah? Never seen you on time before, slacker,” I tease back.
I fumble with my backpack, cursing the damn day as I tug my laptop free from its confines.
“Are you okay?” he asks me in a hushed whisper, just as Professor Thorne takes his place at the podium, his domineering voice booming through the lecture hall. “Ashe?—”
“—Shh. Pay attention,” I snap from the corner of my mouth.
To Silas’ credit, he doesn’t push; he sits in his seat with that damn pen back between his teeth. Professor Thorne moves quickly through his lecture, but my mind is preoccupied with that damn pen. The way his fingers loosely hold the end, the periodic tap-tap-tap of the cap clinking against his teeth. I can’t decide if I want to shove it down his throat or replace it with my mouth.
I struggle to keep my attention on the lecture, typing away notes as I hear important information. Silas hasn’t moved,doesn’t have his laptop open, and hasn’t written a word. How is he not worried he’s going to miss something?
“Aren’t you going to take notes?” I whisper, keeping my head facing forward toward the front of the classroom. When he doesn’t respond, I make a grave mistake by turning to look at him, just as his lips close over the pen cap, his fingers slowly pulling it free. Jesus. Why is it so hot? But then he goes and ruins it by opening his mouth and speaking.
“Seemed like you were doing a good job at it, figured you’d just show me later,” he says with a smirk that I’m sure he thinks is sly and suave.
“You’re a piece of work, slacker.”
“So are you, loser.”
I hide my resulting smile behind my hand as I focus ahead, meeting a pair of familiar dark eyes boring into my skull with all the malice in the world.
“Mr. Ambrose, Mr. Blackwood, do you have something more important to discuss than listening to me talk about the exploration of fear in Gothic literature?”
I swear time freezes. I’ve never been called out before, but I feel Silas’ leg start to shake next to me, see his posture stiffen, and I speak up without thinking to prevent him from having to.
“I apologize, sir. My computer wouldn’t turn on, and I asked Silas for help.”
“It’s unwise to be unprepared for my class, Mr. Ambrose. That is disappointing.”
“It won’t happen again, sir.”
“See that it doesn’t.”
Fuck.
“Thank you . . .” Silas whispers, and I nod my head once in reply.
The rest of the class drags on, Professor Thorne’smonotone voice practically lulling me to sleep, but his ever-present eyes fixated on me keep me awake, even if I’m not alert. It isn’t until the chatter of students starts to rise that I realize it’s over, and I have fuck-all idea how much I missed while I was spacing out.
Distractions aren’t something I can afford to have, not this late in the game when I’m so close to the finish line. But there’s just something about Silas that calls to me that I’ve never noticed until now. Even after Professor Thorne called us out, I couldn’t get my head on straight, couldn’t focus on anything but the man next to me.
As I’m packing up my bag, Silas drops his pen onto the tabletop, turning to talk to someone next to him. I don’t know what makes me do it, but while Silas is distracted, I swipe the pen off his desk, quickly shoving it into my bag.
My mood lightensby the time I’m walking through my dormitory that afternoon. Once I was away from Silas, the brain fog I was experiencing in Fear and Ink had simmered, and the irritation I had over being late dissipated. Being late actually ended up working in my favor, anyway.
Starving, I walk into my apartment, dropping my bag and beelining straight for the kitchen for a frozen pizza.
