And help him forget.

We’ve found that if we ignore the knocking, it goes away after a few minutes. It’s worked three times already. Now, as I lie in a twisted heap of flesh and soft white sheets with Ashton at noon, sore in ways I’ve never been sore before, I’m hoping that it will work for a fourth time. Because I don’t want to leave these four walls. Within these four walls, he and I have cast away all of our fears, our commitments, our lies. Within these four walls, we both have found our freedom.

“How are you feeling?” Ashton whispers in my ear. “How sore are you?”

“A little bit,” I lie.

“Don’t lie, Irish. It won’t be favorable to you.” As if to prove his point, he presses his erection against my back.

I giggle. “Okay, maybe a bit too sore for that.”

He sits up and yanks the covers off me completely. Adjusting my legs, he takes his time staring blatantly at my body, the heat in his eyes intensifying by the second. “I want to memorize every square inch of you and have the image branded in my brain and burning hot twenty-four-seven.”

“Wouldn’t that be distracting?” I tease, but I don’t shy away from his scrutiny. I think my body is starting to crave it. It’s certainly not as shy around him now, after twelve hours straight of naked Ashton.

Running his large hands up and down the sides of my thighs, he murmurs, “That’s the idea, Irish.”

“Even my feet?” With a playful giggle, I lift my leg to flick his chin with my toe.

He grabs my foot. With a sly smile, he grips it tight and runs his tongue along the bottom. I clamp my hands over my mouth to keep from howling with laughter as I struggle to break free, but there’s no point. He’s too strong.

Thankfully he stops that torture, crawling back over to lie on his side next to me, his hand brushing strands of hair off of my face as I let my finger run over the spot where I know my name permanently sits on his body.

“Tell me why you call me Irish.”

“Sure but, first things first.” His eyebrow arches pointedly.

“God you’re stubborn!” I release a heavy sigh. Given that I’m lying naked with the man, I figure I’ll humor him to get the truth. Pursing my lips to keep the grin from showing, I mutter, “Fine. I may want you.”

“May?” He grins at me. “You walked up and practically ripped my toga off as you pulled me down, shouting, ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish!’”

I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth as the words trigger the memory of Ashton’s shocked expression at that very moment, and the ensuing kiss he laid on my lips. My first real kiss. “Ohmigod, you’re not lying.” My cheeks flame, which only makes Ashton start chuckling.

“And then you just turned around and stormed off to dance.” A twinkle skitters through his eyes. “I was going to leave you alone, but after you did that . . .” His thumb rubs my bottom lip affectionately. “No way in hell was this mouth touching anyone else.”

I run my fingertip along his defined collarbone as I accept that I started all of this. My unleashed beast somehow knew exactly what she wanted from the very start, long before I could come to terms with it.

Taking my fingertips within his, he kisses each of them, his gaze burning with intensity as it settles on my face. “You do know why I dug through Coach’s dusty-ass attic for a week straight, right?”

My heart swells with the mention of that. Of what this sweet guy did for me. I’m not sure exactly why he did it, other than to make me happy. But I know what it meant for me. It helped me see the one thing that I know I want, buried amongst a pile of uncertainties.

“Because you’re madly in love with me?” I repeat what he said to me that day in class with a teasing wink to let him know that I’m just joking around.

But Ashton doesn’t response with a snort or a chuckle or anything close to humor. His expression is a mask of sincerity as he leans in to lay a tiny kiss on my bottom lip. “As long as you know.” And then he’s kissing me deeply again.

And I instantly fall back into oblivion.

“Maybe I’m not too sore,” I manage to get out around his hungry yet gentle lips. With a groan, he shifts his mouth downward along my throat, my chest, my stomach, stirring my need for the tenth, hundredth, thousandth time since we landed in his bed.

And that’s when the knocking begins again.

“Ace, open up! I know you’re in there.” There’s a pause. “I can’t find Livie. She’s not answering her phone.”

Shit.

Connor.

I haven’t thought of him once. Not once since stepping into this room last night.

“If you don’t open this door in two minutes, I’m going to use the damn key.”

Ashton and I look at each other, the fire between us doused like a bucket of cold water on a pit of flames.

“Fuck,” Ashton mutters under his breath, glancing around. My clothes are strewn everywhere.

We roll off the bed and begin collecting them. Connor may have been drunk, but I think he’ll recognize that outfit.

“Here.” Ashton hands me my jacket. I thank sweet heaven that I decided on my long black coat last night. It will hide everything but my heels and my black stockings on my way back to my dorm. “Go hide in the bathroom. I’ll try to get rid of him,” he whispers, kissing me gently.

I scurry in just as we hear Connor fiddling with the lock.

“I’m coming!” Ashton hollers.

Closing and locking the bathroom door quickly, I hold my breath as I quietly begin dressing. I can hear them outside perfectly.

“Jesus, Ashton, cover your junk. I already feel like puking,” I hear Connor grumble, and I roll my eyes. Is walking around naked an Ashton thing or a general all-guy thing? “What happened to you last night, man?”

I hear a dresser door slam, and I assume Ashton is pulling on at least a pair of briefs. Even in the present stressful situation, that conjures a visual—one where I’m prying them off him the second Connor is gone. “I wasn’t in the mood,” I hear Ashton murmur.

“You . . . alone up here?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Well, you missed a good party from what I remember. Which isn’t much.” There’s a pause. “I think I f**ked up with Livie.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath as anxiety slips through my core. I don’t want to be listening to this.

“Oh yeah? That sucks.” Ashton is phenomenal at pretending to sound uninterested.

“Yeah, I think I might have come on a bit strong. She left the party early and she’s not answering my calls or my texts.”

“Just give her time to cool down.”

“Yeah, I guess. But I’m going over there to see her today. I need to know things are okay.”

They’re not, Connor. They never really were. With a small sigh, I accept that I can’t hide out in Ashton’s room for the rest of my life, though the thought has crossed my mind more than once. I need to finish getting dressed and get back to the dorm so I can end this with Connor.

And he’s given me the perfect excuse.

I can blame Connor for the breakup. He pushed me too far. He knows I want to take things slow and he groped me like a thirteen-year-old boy playing the closet game. This is perfect. Then it won’t be my fault. He’ll think it’s his fault. He’ll . . .