His Curvy Obsession

Chapter 5

The walk down the main hallway felt miles long. The regular hum of students changing classes had faded, replaced by the heavy, echoing thuds of Asher’s boots against the floor. 

He didn’t say a word, but the tension radiating off him was palpable. His fists were shoved deep into his varsity jacket pockets, his broad shoulders tense enough to snap.

I kept half a pace behind him, clutching the straps of my backpack like a shield. My mind was racing, throwing out worst-case scenarios. Had someone seen me leaving his house yesterday? Had Miller opened his big mouth to the hockey team, spinning some toxic rumor that made its way to the administration?

When we reached the administrative wing, the secretary didn’t even make us wait. She just pointed a stern finger toward Principal Vance’s frosted-glass door.

“In,” Asher muttered, pushing the door open and holding it for me with a sudden, tense politeness that felt completely unnatural.

Principal Vance sat behind a massive mahogany desk, surrounded by glass display cases filled with state championship trophies. Sitting in the corner of the room, looking exceptionally smug in a tailored gray suit, was a man who looked exactly like an older, harsher version of Asher.

Asher’s father. The wealthy booster who basically funded the entire school’s athletic department.

“Sit down, both of you,” Principal Vance sighed, gesturing to the two leather chairs in front of his desk.

I took a seat, my knees shaking slightly. Asher sank into the chair beside me, crossing one heavy leg over the other, trying to look completely unbothered. But I could see the muscle ticking violently in his jaw.

“Elena,” the principal began, his tone surprisingly soft. “I brought you in because of your position as the head of the peer tutoring committee, and as the top student in AP English. I’m sure you’re aware of Mr. Vanguard’s current academic situation.”

“He’s failing, sir,” I said plainly, not looking at Asher.

Beside me, Asher let out a soft, dry chuckle. “D-minus isn’t failing, Vance. It’s just... minimum.”

“It is failing when the NHL draft scouts are coming to the regional match in three weeks, Asher!” his father boomed from the corner, slamming his hand down onto a side table. “You are one bad grade away from being benched, and if you don’t play in that match, your entire career is done before it even starts.”

Mr. Vanguard stepped forward, his cold eyes sweeping over me. He didn’t look at me like a person; he looked at me like a tool. “I looked at your file, young lady. You want to go to an Ivy League school, but your family can’t afford the tuition without the full-ride academic scholarship this school nominates you for.”

My stomach dropped. “How do you know about my financial situation?”

“I know everything that happens in this district,” Mr. Vanguard said smoothly, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a sleek, expensive fountain pen. He laid it on the principal’s desk. “Here is the deal. You will not just be Asher’s classroom partner. You will be his personal, mandatory academic handler until graduation. You will ensure he passes every single class with at least a B. If he misses a study session, you report it. If he fails a quiz, you fix it.”

I stared at the pen, indignation flaring hot in my chest. “And if I refuse, sir? I have my own life, Mr. Vanguard. I work a part-time job at the diner, and—”

“If you refuse,” Mr. Vanguard interrupted, his voice dropping into a chillingly calm tone, “I will ensure the board reviews the scholarship nominations. There are plenty of qualified students in this school who would be happy to accommodate my family’s requests to secure their future.”

It was a blatant threat. A rich man using his power to squeeze a girl who had nothing.

Tears of pure frustration stung the corners of my eyes, but I forced them back. I wouldn’t let them see me cry. I opened my mouth to tell him exactly where he could shove his scholarship, but before a single word could leave my lips, Asher slammed his feet flat onto the floor and stood up.

“That’s enough, Dad,” Asher growled, his voice dangerously low.

“Sit down, Asher,” his father snapped.

“No,” Asher said, stepping directly in front of my chair, effectively shielding me from his father’s suffocating gaze. The sheer size of him filled my vision, his broad back a wall between me and the sharks in the room. “You don’t come into my school and threaten my partner. You want me to pass? Fine. I’ll pass. But you don’t touch her scholarship, and you don’t speak to her like she’s something you bought at an auction.”

The room went completely dead silent. Principal Vance looked terrified. Mr. Vanguard stared at his son, his eyes narrowing in complete shock. Asher had never defied his father before—especially not for anyone else, let alone the plus-size girl he used to mock.

“You’re out of line, boy,” Mr. Vanguard warned.

“I’m the one holding the hockey stick, Dad. If I don’t play, your little ego trip at the country club is over,” Asher countered, his voice dripping with venom. He turned around, grabbed my wrist in a firm, unyielding grip, and pulled me out of my chair. “We’re leaving.”

He dragged me out of the office before the principal could even protest. We burst through the heavy glass doors into the empty hallway, the bell for lunch ringing overhead.

Asher didn’t stop until he pulled me into the secluded hallway behind the gymnasium, where the janitor’s closets were. He spun me around, pinning me against the brick wall, his hands resting on either side of my head. He was breathing heavily, his dark eyes frantic, wild, and intensely focused on my face.

“Are you okay?” he demanded, his voice rough.

“Am I okay?” I laughed, a sharp, breathless sound. “Your father just threatened my entire future, Asher! He’s going to take away my scholarship!”

“He’s not touching anything,” Asher growled, leaning closer until his chest pressed firmly against my curves, trapping me completely in his heat. His gaze dropped to my trembling lips, a fierce, obsessive darkness taking over his eyes. “I told you yesterday, Elena. You’re mine to deal with. Nobody else gets to mess with your life. Not even him.”

“Asher, let me go—”

“I can’t,” he whispered, his voice suddenly dropping into a raw, desperate register. He lowered his head, his sharp jawline brushing against my cheek as his breath coated my ear. “If I let you go, you’re going to walk away from me. And right now... I need you to stay by my side.”

Before I could process the sudden, overwhelming vulnerability in his voice, the heavy fire doors at the end of the hallway clicked open.

“Elena?” Cole’s voice echoed through the corridor, his footsteps approaching fast. “You in here? The secretary said you left the office.”

Asher’s entire body went rigid. The vulnerability vanished, replaced instantly by a lethal, territorial fury.

He didn’t pull away from me; instead, his grip on my waist tightened, pulling my hips flush against his as he turned his head to glare toward the opening doors.