Catch or Fall

Chapter Nine

Ashton

When a chick comes crying to me, that's one dead giveaway not to get involved. It may seem like a dick move but I'm actually doing the chick a favor. I suck at intimacy and the only connection I'm good at is in bed. Engaging in long conversations is not part of my resume. So when Harper called to tell me she wants to talk about whatever's bothering her, my initial reaction should be dread with ABORT MISSION written in bold red. But Harper is not like any other chick. Before tonight, I actually believed she's invincible. So the moment I heard her sob, the first thing I did was to grab my keys and drive my ass to her dormitory.

Because my mind is preoccupied with different possibilities why Harper Silva is going through a major breakdown, I forgot to ask her room number. I fish out my phone and text her, hoping she's not changing her mind.

Me: Hey, I'm here. What's your room number?

She immediately texts back and a sigh of relief escapes my lips.

Her: 410

I climb the stairs because that's the only way to get to Harper's room. The elevator is not working and fuck, the management should do something about this. What if her room is up on the tenth floor? Jesus, I pity the chicks who are actually staying above Harper's floor.

Like the last time, Windsorville is eerily quiet. The fourth floor can pass as a setting for a horror movie where a dead nun is standing at the end of the hallway. If scholars are this boring, I'd rather live in hell. Actually, this is fucking hell.

The silence is even more deafening when I reach Harper's door. If I had no idea she's here, I might actually think she's gone out.

Or maybe she's pranking me. Harper is probably laughing her ass off right now at my stupidity. Anyway, there's one way to find out.

"Harper?" I call after knocking three times. No answer. "Harper?"

I hear footsteps and for a silly second, my eyes search for a dead nun or twin ghosts with bloodshot eyes. But it's no ghost or dead whatever because it's Harper opening the door.

"Hey, you're here," she whispers. Her eyes are still swollen from crying but goddamn, she's still hot as fuck. She's wearing skimpy shorts and a Darth Vader shirt. Fuck, she also loves the dark side and I shouldn't be lusting over her right now.

Harper leads me inside and the first thing I noticed are empty cup noodles in the bin. Don't tell me she didn't eat any real food for dinner?

"You're smart so I assume you know the bad effects of eating cup noodles."

She follows my gaze and shrugs. "Even if I want spaghetti or steak, I'm not in the mood to cook. Kat and Judy are out so I see no point."

"You should have told me. There's drive thru on the way," I scold her, or it sounds like I'm scolding her. Before she can scowl at me, I check the cupboard. "What do you have here? What do you want?"

"Do you know how to cook?" Her skepticism is obvious. She has every right to be skeptical though.

"No."

"Then drop whatever you're thinking. The last thing I want is for you to burn Windsorville down. I've got enough problems to even deal with that."

Harper sits down on the sofa and her long, skinny legs are distracting the heck out of me, making my dick twitch. I look away and clear my throat. "Nice room, by the way."

What a lame comment to hide my stiffy. Good thing Harper doesn't seem to notice. She's busy typing on her phone.

"Uh thanks?" Her tone suggests that she did not expect to hear that. She glances up to me and smiles. "You know, sitting won't hurt you. You can't just stand awkwardly the whole time you're here."