chapter -1, part 2

CONTINUE

player, student body president, and homecoming king in high

school; Sigma fraternity brother and Big Man on Campus in

college.

I

was his opposite. Not un popular per se, but I shied away

from the limelight and would rather have a small group of close

friends than a large group of friendly acquaintances. Where Josh

was the life of the party, I sat in the corner and daydreamed about

all the places I would love to visit but would probably never get to.

Not if my phobia had anything to do with it.

My damn phobia. I knew it was all mental, but it felt physical.

The nausea, the racing heart, the paralyzing fear that turned my

limbs into useless, frozen things …

On the bright side, at least I wasn’t afraid of rain. Oceans and

lakes and pools, I could avoid, but rain…yeah, that would’ve been

bad.

I wasn’t sure how long I huddled in the tiny bus shelter, cursing

my lack of foresight when I turned down the Graysons’ offer to

drive me back to town after our shoot. I hadn’t wanted to

inconvenience them and thought I could call an Uber and be back

at Thayer’s campus in half an hour, but the skies opened up right

after the couple left and, well, here I was.

It was getting dark. Muted grays mingled with the cool blues of

twilight, and part of me worried the mysterious “he” wouldn’t show

up, but Josh had never let me down. If one of his friends failed to

pick me up like he’d asked, they wouldn’t have working legs

tomorrow. Josh was a med student, but he had zero compunction

about using violence when the situation called for it—especially

when the situation involved me.

The bright beam of headlights slashed through the rain. I

squinted, my heart tripping in both anticipation and wariness as I

weighed the odds of whether the car belonged to my ride or a

potential psycho. This part of Maryland was pretty safe, but you

never knew.

When my eyes adjusted to the light, I slumped with relief, only

to stiffen again two seconds later.

Good news? I recognized the sleek, black Aston Martin pulling

up toward me. It belonged to one of Josh’s friends, which meant I

wouldn’t end up a local news item tonight.

Bad news? The person driving said Aston Martin was the last

person I wanted—or expected—to pick me up. He wasn’t an I’ll do

my buddy a favor and rescue his stranded little sister kinda guy.

He was a look at me wrong and I’ll destroy you and everyone you

care about kinda guy, and he’d do it looking so calm and gorgeous

you wouldn’t notice your world burning down around you until you

were already a heap of ashes at his Tom Ford-clad feet.

I

swiped the tip of my tongue over my dry lips as the car

stopped in front of me and the passenger window rolled down.

“Get in.”

He didn’t raise his voice—he never raised his voice—but I still

heard him loud and clear over the rain.

Alex Volkov was a force of nature unto himself, and I imagined

even the weather bowed to him.

“I hope you’re not waiting for me to open the door for you,” he

said when I didn’t move. He sounded as happy as I was about the

situation.

What a gentleman.

I pressed my lips together and bit back a sarcastic reply as I

roused myself from the bench and ducked into the car. It smelled

cool and expensive, like spicy cologne and fine Italian leather. I

didn’t have a towel or anything to place on the seat beneath me,

so all I could do was pray I didn’t damage the expensive interior.

“Thanks for picking me up. I appreciate it,” I said in an attempt

to break the icy silence.

I failed. Miserably.

Alex didn’t respond or even look at me as he navigated the

twists and curves of the slick roads leading back to campus. He

drove the same way he walked, talked, and breathed—steady and

controlled, with an undercurrent of danger warning those foolish

enough to contemplate crossing him that doing so would be their

death sentence.

He was the exact opposite of Josh, and I still marveled at the

fact that they were best friends. Personally, I thought Alex was an

asshole. I was sure he had his reasons, some kind of

psychological trauma which shaped him into the unfeeling robot

he was today. Based on the snippets I’d gleaned from Josh, Alex’s

childhood had been even worse than ours, though I’d never

managed to pull the details out of my brother. All I knew was,

Alex’s parents had died when he was young and left him a pile of

money he’d quadrupled the value of when he came into his

inheritance at age eighteen. Not that he’d needed it because he’d

invented a new financial modeling software in high school that

made him a multimillionaire before he could vote.

With an IQ of 160, Alex Volkov was a genius, or close to it. He

was the only person in Thayer’s history to complete its five-year

joint undergrad/MBA program in three years, and at age twenty

six, he was the COO of one of the most successful real estate

development companies in the country. He was a legend, and he

knew it.

Meanwhile, I thought I was doing well if I remembered to eat

while juggling my classes, extracurriculars, and two jobs—front

desk duty at the McCann Gallery, and my side hustle as a

photographer for anyone who would hire me. Graduations,

engagements, dogs’ birthday parties, I did them all.

“Are you going to Josh’s party?” I tried again to make small

talk. The silence was killing me.

Alex and Josh had been best friends since they roomed

together at Thayer eight years ago, and Alex had joined my family

for Thanksgiving and assorted holidays every year since, but I still

didn’t know him. Alex and I didn’t talk unless it had to do with Josh

or passing the potatoes at dinner or something.

“Yes.”

Okay, then. Guess small talk was out.

My mind wandered toward the million things I had to do that

weekend. Edit the photos from the Graysons’ shoot and, work on

my application for the World Youth Photography fellowship, help

Josh finish packing after—

Crap! I’d forgotten all about Josh’s cake.

I’d ordered it two weeks ago because that was the max lead

time for something from Crumble & Bake. It was Josh’s favorite

dessert, a three-layer dark chocolate frosted with fudge and filled

with chocolate pudding. He only indulged on his birthday, but

since he was leaving the country for a year, I figured he could

break his once-a-year rule.

“So…” I pasted the biggest, brightest smile on my face. “Don’t

kill me, but we need to make a detour to Crumble & Bake.”

“No. We’re already late.” Alex stopped at a red light. We’d

made it back to civilization, and I spotted the blurred outlines of a

Starbucks and a Panera through the rain-splattered glass.

My smile didn’t budge. “It’s a small detour. It’ll take fifteen

minutes, max. I just need to run in and pick up Josh’s cake. You

know, the Death by Chocolate he likes so much? He’ll be in

Central America for a year, they don’t have C&B down there, and

he leaves in two days so—”

“Stop.” Alex’s fingers curled around the steering wheel, and my

crazy, hormonal mind latched onto how beautiful they were. That

might sound crazy because who has beautiful fingers? But he did.

Physically, everything about him was beautiful. The jade-green

eyes that glared out from beneath dark brows like chips hewn

from a glacier; the sharp jawline and elegant, sculpted

cheekbones; the lean frame and thick, light brown hair that

somehow looked both tousled and perfectly coiffed. He resembled

a statue in an Italian museum come to life.

The insane urge to ruffle his hair like I would a kid’s gripped

me, just so he’d stop looking so perfect—which was quite irritating

to the rest of us mere mortals—but I didn’t have a death wish, so I

kept my hands planted in my lap.

“If I take you to Crumble & Bake, will you stop talking?”

No doubt he regretted picking me up.

My smile grew. “If you want.”

His lips thinned. “Fine.”

Yes!

Ava Chen: One.

Alex Volkov: Zero.

When we arrived at the bakery, I unbuckled my seatbelt and

was halfway out the door when Alex grabbed my arm and pulled

me back into my seat. Contrary to what I’d expected, his touch

wasn’t cold—it was scorching, and it burned through my skin and

muscles until I felt its warmth in the pit of my stomach.

I

swallowed hard. Stupid hormones. “What? We’re already

late, and they’re closing soon.”

“You can’t go out like that.” The tiniest hint of disapproval

etched into the corners of his mouth.

“Like what?” I asked, confused. I wore jeans and a T-shirt,

nothing scandalous.

Alex inclined his head toward my chest. I glanced down and let

out a horrified yelp. Because my shirt? White. Wet. Transparent.

Not even a little transparent, like you could kind of see my bra

outline if you looked hard enough. This was full-on see-through.

Red lace bra, hard nipples—thanks, air-conditioning—the whole

shebang.

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