Chapter 5: The Hockey Captain Who Washes Panties

Asher's POV

Three in the morning.

I was flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, convinced I'd completely lost my mind.

The scene in the locker room kept replaying like some virus I couldn't purge — her ice-cold stare, the pale expanse of her bare skin, and the memory of her hand closing over mine, pressing my fingers against her chest.

"Fuck."

I swore under my breath and sat up hard, grabbing the bottle of cold water off the nightstand and drinking half of it in one go.

It didn't help.

The second I closed my eyes, I could still smell her — that faint, maddening scent that clung to her skin.

I've known Serena for over a decade. As Julian's best friend, I'd spent half my summers at the Kincaid estate. In every memory I had of her, she was the same: chin lifted, eyes sharp with that particular look she reserved for people she considered beneath her — the Kincaid princess in her natural habitat.

I hated that condescending act. I hated how she was always so goddamn perfect.

But what I hated most was the way my body responded every time she looked at me like that — that cold, dismissive glance that made me want to shove her against a wall and tear that flawless composure apart piece by piece.

When I found out she wasn't Julian's real sister, I thought my moment had finally come.

I told myself I was going to make things right — for Julian, for Chloe. I was going to put this pretentious princess in her place and watch her beg.

And instead?

My gaze drifted to the balcony door.

Two hours ago, I'd been standing over the bathroom sink, holding that pair of underwear up to my face like a goddamn freak. Her scent was still in the fabric — warm, sweet, obscenely intimate.

"Jesus Christ…"

The word came out low and wrecked. My legs were barely holding me up against the edge of the counter, and the situation below my waistband had gone from bad to painful — hard and insistent, tenting the front of my sweats in a way I couldn't ignore.

I squeezed my eyes shut. The image behind them was immediate and merciless: Serena in that locker room, thighs parted, taking my hand and guiding it exactly where she wanted it.

I shoved my sweats down and wrapped my hand around myself — already burning hot, embarrassingly desperate. I balled the thong in my other fist and dragged the thin lace across the most sensitive part of me, and started working myself in long, rough strokes.

I had made Julian a promise. I was supposed to make this woman pay for everything she'd done — every lie, every stolen year, every moment of suffering she'd caused Chloe. Julian was my brother in every way that mattered. I was supposed to be on his side.

And here I was.

If Julian could see inside my head right now, I thought, jaw clenched, he'd bury me.

"Serena—"

Her name scraped out of my throat in a half-bitten groan, swallowed by the empty bathroom walls.

I kept telling myself to stop. To think clearly. This was Serena — the woman who'd stolen another girl's life without a second thought. Julian's most hated enemy. Someone I was supposed to despise.

But my hand only moved faster. The lace dragged hot and delicate against my shaft, and I sank into the filthy fantasy I had no right to want — her, tight and slick and clenching around me, pulling me deeper—

"Ah—"

The sound I made wasn't something I'd repeat in daylight. I came hard, whole body locking up, release hitting me in long, shuddering waves before the high collapsed into something hollow and ugly.

I stood there for a moment, staring down at the wreck in my hands.

You are a sick bastard, I thought. An absolute, irredeemable sick bastard.

I turned the tap to cold and spent the next several minutes washing the small scrap of fabric with a thoroughness that bordered on obsessive — three full rinses, hands going numb under the ice water while my palms still felt like they were on fire.

Then I dried it. Folded it neatly. And like the complete idiot I apparently was, I slipped it back into her room before I could talk myself out of it.

I had to be losing my mind.

Early morning, I'd just changed into my practice gear when I heard a few teammates huddled in the corner, laughing lewdly.

"Holy shit, that body's insane."

"She usually dresses so conservative, didn't expect her to be so hot under those clothes. Look at those legs..."

"She owes three million now, heard she's even doing maid work. You think if we pay up, we could get her to try on our jerseys too?"

I frowned and walked over, snatching the phone from one guy's hand.

On the screen was a viral post on Blackwood's forum.

In the photo, Serena was wearing my jersey, her long pale legs exposed, walking out of the hockey rink.

Someone had clearly snapped it from the parking lot.

My head exploded with a buzzing sound.

"Captain, did you hook up with her last night?" The guy was still grinning stupidly. "How was it? Is a fake heiress more wild than those socialites..."

The thought of every bastard on campus seeing her like that, imagining what I'd seen last night, made something snap inside me.

I didn't say a word, just grabbed him by the collar and slammed him to the ground.

The loud crash silenced the entire locker room instantly.

"C-Captain..." He was terrified, stammering as he looked up at me.

"Say it again. I dare you."

"I... I was just joking..."

"Shut your mouth." I warned through gritted teeth. "Anyone makes another joke about her, I'll break his jaw. Got it?"

I let him go, threw the phone at his chest, and stormed out of the locker room.

It wasn't until I was outside that I realized what I'd just done.

I was protecting her? I was actually protecting that woman?

I grabbed my hair in frustration. I was supposed to hate her.

But just thinking about other guys looking at her that way made me want to gouge out their eyeballs.

I pulled out my phone and opened the contact with no name saved.

My fingers hammered at the screen so hard I nearly cracked it. Then I typed the one thing I never thought I'd say to her.

---

Serena's POV

"Don't go to tonight's charity auction."

Morning, macroeconomics lecture. I was walking into the lecture hall when my phone vibrated in my pocket.

The room was packed, but as I made my way down the aisle, students shifted away, leaving a wide circle of empty seats around where I'd sit. Everyone was looking at me strangely, whispers buzzing in my ears like flies.

I didn't bother acknowledging them, just pulled out my phone and opened the messages.

"Those people don't have good intentions. They just want to see you embarrassed."

"If you need money, you can talk to me."

I looked at the screen and raised an eyebrow.

Asher Hays.

This rabid dog had learned to show concern?

I typed back leisurely: "Is the captain worried about me?"

A full five minutes passed before he replied: "Can you act normal for once."

I let out a quiet laugh and typed back: "No."

I put my phone away and looked up just as Chloe walked over from the front row. Several girls followed behind her, glaring at me indignantly.

"Serena." Chloe stopped at my desk, her voice pitched just loud enough for everyone around to hear.

Her eyes were slightly red, looking pained.

"I saw the photos on the forum... I really didn't think... if you needed money, you could've told me. You didn't have to go to Asher too..."

She bit her lower lip without finishing the sentence, but the implication was enough for everyone to fill in the dirtiest possible scenario.

"Oh my God, how does she have the nerve to show up to class?"

"Right? Coming out of the men's locker room dressed like that, she's shameless."

"Chloe's too kind, actually caring about someone like her."

The murmurs around us grew louder.

I leaned back tiredly in my chair, watching Chloe's performance in silence.

When the tears in the corners of her eyes had glistened enough, I slowly stood up.

I was a good head taller than her, and she instinctively took half a step back.

"Chloe." My voice was calm. "

By your logic, if wearing a jersey with someone's name on it means what you're implying, then the tens of thousands of Blackwood hockey merch sold every year would make this campus one giant brothel."

The girls who'd just been insulting me turned various shades of red and white.

I picked up my assignment from the desk and walked past Chloe, who stood frozen in place.

"Also."

I paused and glanced back slightly. "Drop the fake concern. You don't pity me. You're just jealous that even when I have nothing, I'm still the center of attention."

I placed my assignment on the TA's desk and walked out of the classroom under everyone's shocked stares.

Eight PM. Blackwood University, Alumni Hall.

Tonight was the school's annual charity auction. I wore a very simple black slip dress. No jewelry, no designer labels, but the cut fit my waistline perfectly.

I'd just reached the steps outside the hall when I saw Asher leaning against a black SUV.

He wasn't wearing his jersey today, but had on a black motorcycle jacket instead, an unlit cigarette between his lips, his expression sour as if someone owed him millions.

When he saw me approach, he straightened up, his brow furrowed.