Chapter 7: Sera's POV
I couldn't focus on a single word in my textbook.
The weight of the hoodie was more than just fabric; it was him. It was heavy, lined with a thick fleece that felt like a permanent embrace, and it smelled so intoxicatingly of sandalwood and clean laundry that it made my head spin. Every time I breathed, I was inhaling Bash.
I sat hunched over my laptop, the oversized sleeves rolled up in thick donuts around my wrists. I felt branded. I knew that if I stood up to walk to the printer, every person in this library would see MONTGOMERY and the number 17 stretched in bold, block letters across my shoulder blades. They’d know exactly whose shadow I was sitting in.
Beside me, Bash was leaning back in his chair, his long legs stretched out under the table. His knee was pressed firmly against mine, a constant, steady heat that I didn't have the strength to move away from. He wasn't even pretending to study anymore; he was just watching me, his blue eyes dark and unreadable.
"You're doing it again," he murmured. The sound was so low it barely carried past our table.
"Doing what?" I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Fidgeting with your glasses. You’ve pushed them up six times in the last two minutes, Sera. They aren't even slipping." He reached out, his hand covering mine on the table, stilling my nervous fingers. "You only do that when you’re cornered. What are you so afraid of?"
"I'm not afraid," I lied, though my voice lacked any conviction. I pulled my hand away, tucking it into the deep front pocket of the hoodie. My fingers brushed against a stray gum wrapper and the cool metal of a locker key. It felt like holding a piece of his soul. "I just... I have a lot on my mind. This 'cleaning' job is a lot of work, and I can't afford to be distracted."
"Distracted?" Bash leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing mine. The scent of him was overwhelming now, a physical force. "Is that what I am to you, Cupcake? A distraction?"
The new nickname caught in my chest, sweet and sharp all at once. It was different from Little Bellwether—less about my studious nature and more... intimate. Playful. I hated how much I liked the way it sounded coming from him, like a secret we were sharing in the middle of the crowded stacks.
"You're a quarterback who should be watching film," I snapped, trying to find my spine despite the fluttering in my stomach. "And I'm a girl who needs to pass this class so I can get out of here."
"Out of here where?" He didn't flinch at my tone. If anything, he looked more intrigued. "To Seattle? Back to the dance floor? Or just away from me?"
The mention of Seattle made my throat tight. I looked down at my hands, lost in the grey sleeves. "I just want to build something of my own, Bash. Something that isn't defined by what I lost."
"You could build that with me," he said. It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact, delivered with the same chilling confidence he used to call plays on the field.
I looked at him, seeing the raw intensity in his face. He was a sledgehammer, and I was a vault that was starting to crack. I thought about the emerald corset waiting for me in my locker at the club. I thought about the way the men at the Velvet Room looked at me—appraising, distant, hungry.
Bash was hungry too, but it was different. He didn't want to watch me perform; he wanted to own the stage I stood on.
"I have to go," I said suddenly, packing my laptop into my bag with trembling hands. "The library closes in twenty minutes and I need to... I need to get ready for my shift."
"I'm walking you back," he said, already standing. He didn't ask. He just grabbed his bag and the damp, stained cream shirt he’d insisted on keeping.
"Bash, I can handle a five-minute walk to the dorms."
"I don't care." He stepped into my space, looming over me until I had to tilt my head back to see his face. He reached out, his fingers hooking under the drawstring of the hoodie—his hoodie—and pulling me a fraction of an inch closer. "You’re wearing my name, Sera. That means you’re my responsibility until you’re behind a locked door."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I followed him out of the library, the cool evening air hitting my face, but the heat of the Montgomery 17 hoodie kept me trapped. As we walked toward the dorms, I saw Miller and the rest of the guys heading toward the parking lot, shouting and laughing about their "guys' night."
I looked at the back of Bash’s head, at the broad set of his shoulders. Tonight, he was going to a club to see "talent." Tonight, I was going to a club to be the talent.
And if our paths crossed while I was wearing his scent and he was looking for a thrill, I didn't think there was a wall in the world that could stop what was coming.