10: A Hasty Retreat Part 01

Later, needing a desperate break from the suffocating tension, I joined Liv in the bustling university cafeteria. The air was thick with the clatter of trays, the murmur of countless conversations, and the mingled aromas of pizza, fries, and something vaguely floral from the salad bar. We found a small table near the window, the bright sunlight doing little to dispel the gloom that clung to me. As we settled in, Liv launched into a cheerful recap of her morning psychology seminar, and Julian spotted us from across the crowded room near the salad bar. He waved us over with a friendly, unguarded grin. “Hey! Over here!” Julian called, waving enthusiastically from a table near the window, his voice carrying easily over the lunchtime din. I forced a smile, the familiar warmth of it feeling strained around the edges, and waved back, leading Liv through the crowded cafeteria towards him and a couple of his soccer teammates, their boisterous laughter a stark contrast to the tight knot of anxiety in my chest.

“Hey, stranger! Haven’t seen you since… well, the other night,” Julian said, pulling out a chair for me, his brow furrowing slightly with a hint of concern. “Everything okay? Maya said you weren’t feeling great.”

“Yeah, just a touch under the weather,” I mumbled, avoiding his direct gaze, the lie sliding off my tongue with an ease that both disturbed and relieved me.

“Rough week for the best player on the team,” one of Julian’s teammates, a burly guy named Marco, joked, nudging Julian playfully. “But hey, at least Asher’s been carrying us.”

“Speaking of Asher…” Liv began, her gaze drifting towards the drink dispensers, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.

Just then, my own gaze snagged on him. Isla approached him, her movements fluid and confident, and then she linked her arm possessively through his as they talked, both smiling easily, their heads bent close in what looked like an intimate conversation. The casual, intimate gesture, the easy way she touched his arm, sent a sharp, unexpected pang of jealousy through me, a hot, unwelcome flare in my groin that surprised and disgusted me in equal measure. I clenched my thighs together beneath the table, a subconscious, futile attempt to quell the sudden, traitorous stirring of desire that Asher’s mere presence seemed to ignite within me now, a shameful echo of the forbidden pleasure we had shared just two nights ago.

They spotted our group and headed over to join us. “Hey, guys,” Isla said brightly, her long, curly brown hair bouncing slightly as she moved, her blue eyes sparkling with easy confidence as she reached the table, her arm still linked firmly with Asher’s. Her smile radiated a warmth I suddenly envied, a stark contrast to the icy knot in my stomach. Asher nodded a general greeting, his gaze flicking briefly towards me – a fleeting, intense look that seemed to burn right through my carefully constructed facade, a silent, knowing acknowledgment of our shared secret and the potent intimacy of the other night – before immediately settling on Julian, his expression shifting to one of easy camaraderie. The brief, searing eye contact sent a shiver down my spine, a confusing mix of guilt, a visceral awareness of the forbidden connection between us, and a shameful jolt of recognition.

The group settled into a comfortable, familiar arrangement. “Man, practice was brutal this morning,” Julian groaned, reaching for his water bottle. “Asher and I were practically dead after those sprints.”

“Worth it, though,” Asher replied, a small smile playing on his lips as he glanced at Isla. “We’re gonna crush State next week.”

Isla squeezed his arm affectionately. “That’s my boys,” she said proudly, leaning into him slightly. “Speaking of crushing things, you should have seen Professor Mallory’s face when I told him I accidentally deleted my entire linguistics essay.” She rolled her blue eyes dramatically, and a ripple of laughter went around the table.

Liv chimed in, recounting a similar academic mishap from her psychology class, her usual witty remarks lightening the atmosphere. I tried to participate, offering strained smiles and occasional, carefully chosen comments, but I was acutely, painfully aware of Asher’s presence beside Isla, the casual intimacy of their linked arms a constant, unwelcome visual. The sight of Isla’s hand then sliding from his arm to rest casually on Asher’s thigh beneath the table, her fingers almost possessively splayed against the denim, sent another wave of jealousy through me, a clenching in my chest and a frustrated, undeniable ache between my legs. I subtly shifted in my seat, the friction against the denim of my jeans a torturous reminder of the slick heat of Asher’s body against mine, and desperately tried to ignore the unwelcome fantasies of my own hand exploring that same forbidden territory.

What was becoming increasingly, agonizingly noticeable, however, was the distinct, deliberate lack of direct interaction between Asher and me.

“Remember that time we tried to bake that ridiculous cake for your birthday, Cece?” Julian chuckled, turning to me with a fond smile. “It looked like a culinary disaster zone.”

My gaze flickered involuntarily towards Asher, a ghost of a shared laugh rising in my throat, a memory of flour-dusted faces and Asher’s teasing grin. But Asher was focused intently on something Isla was saying, a polite smile fixed on his face. “Yeah, that was… memorable,” I managed, my voice flat, the easy camaraderie we once shared feeling like a distant dream.

“You guys were always a chaotic duo in the kitchen,” Isla added, squeezing Asher’s arm affectionately. “Like a comedy show waiting to happen.”

“Hey, we had our moments of brilliance!” Asher interjected, finally meeting my eyes for a fleeting second, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths before he quickly looked back at Isla. “Remember that time we actually made edible cookies?”

“Barely edible,” I corrected, the words sharper than intended.

A subtle tension hung in the air. Liv, oblivious as ever, continued her story. “So then, Professor Thompson literally signed ‘confused potato’ instead of ‘complicated problem.’ We were all trying so hard not to laugh.”

As Liv’s animated tale unfolded, my hand reached for my water glass at the exact same moment Asher’s did. Our fingers brushed briefly, a fleeting, accidental contact that sent a jolt of unexpected electricity shooting up my arm, a visceral shock that made me quickly retract my hand, my pulse leaping erratically. Across the table, Asher’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of something unreadable in his intense gaze before he deliberately focused his attention back on Isla.