Time and therapy had blunted the serrated edges of my anger. We would never be friends, but I didn’t curse him every time I thought about him either.
However, his abandonment had left me with deep-seated trust issues. It also stripped the shine from our relationship, and I saw the faults that infatuation had glossed over—the arrogance, the desperation for status, the desire for me as a trophy instead of a person.
They were things I’d overlooked because I loved him, but like the saying goes, a person’s true nature is revealed in the face of adversity.
Asher’s lips pressed together. “He’s the reason for your no-footballers rule.”
I nodded. “I was so heartbroken, and football was such a big part of who he was that I conflated his shortcomings with the sport as a whole. Besides my brother, every footballer I met reminded me of him, so I swore them off altogether.”
“I don’t blame you. Most of us are absolute wankers,” Asher admitted with a trace of a smile.
“Most are,” I agreed. “But you’re not.”
I used to think he was. Before we were forced to spend time together in training, I’d already formed an opinion about who he was based on what Vincent told me, what I read in the press, and the mere fact that he was Asher fucking Donovan. How could someone so famous and good-looking not be an arrogant playboy?
But over the past few months, I’d discovered that he was so much more than the words other people used to pigeonhole him. It wasn’t about what he did so much as how he made me feel—like I was safe, worthy, and cherished. Like I could share my deepest secrets and ugliest thoughts without diminishing myself in his eyes.
I expected a flippant response, but Asher’s mouth sobered as he regarded me across the table.
“I try not to be,” he said. “I don’t always succeed, but I try.”
I drew in a shallow breath. We’d barely touched our food, but my stomach was full of butterflies.
The silence stretched just long enough to end in a perfect, pinpoint period.
“Thank you for letting me ramble,” I said. “I know it’s probably bad etiquette to talk about an ex during a date.”
“You can talk to me about anything, anytime.” Asher rubbed a hand over his mouth. “You said he used to play with Vincent. Do you mind if I ask who it was?”
I hesitated for only a beat. “Rafael Pessoa.”
The Brazilian striker had been Vincent’s teammate at Chelsea before they both transferred. Luckily, Rafael left the Premier League for La Liga soon after our breakup, so I didn’t have to worry about running into him in London.
“Pessoa?” Asher snorted. “I always knew he was an arsehole. He dives more than an Olympic swimmer.”
I laughed. Rafael did have a penchant for feigning injuries. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He hates when people call him out on it.”
“I bet he does. You’re better off without him. He doesn’t deserve you.”
Emotions jumbled in my throat. Luckily, Asher saved me from the humiliation of crying in front of him again when he reached for the intercom again.
“I do have one more surprise for you,” he said. “I hope you’re in the mood for a double dessert.”
My brows knitted together when our servers returned and placed two cakes on the table. One was a raspberry cheesecake similar to what we’d baked during class. The second was…
I blinked, certain I was seeing wrong.
I wasn’t.
“Asher.” I covered my mouth with one hand. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t ask Sebastian Laurent to make that cake.”
“No. His pastry chef made it.” Asher grinned. “I wanted something memorable to cap off our evening. I hope you like it.”
“Like it? I love it.” I dragged the second plate closer so I could examine it in detail. My voice bubbled with laughter. “I’m just not sure I can eat it. It’s too beautiful.”
The buttercream-frosted cake was large enough for six people. A golden yellow fondant figurine of a certain cartoon dog adorned the top, next to a picture of a tiny planet. And beneath that picture, written in neat, blue frosting cursive, were three words.
Justice for Pluto.
CHAPTER 30ASHER
I hated to admit it, but my father was right. I was distracted.
I just didn’t care.
It was summer. I had a few weeks before the season started, I was in great shape training-wise, and I wanted to soak up every moment with Scarlett while I could.
Once the season was underway and her brother returned to town, our dynamic would change, so fuck focus. I’d worked my ass off for over a decade; I could afford a little time off.
“You’re unusually quiet,” Scarlett said, trailing her fingers up and down my thigh. “What are you thinking about?”
“You.” I wrapped my arms around her from behind and rested my chin on her shoulder. We were lazing in her bathtub, the lavender-scented bubbles barely covering her curves as we luxuriated in the quiet evening. It was Thursday so we didn’t have training, but I didn’t need that as an excuse to see her anymore. “Your practices are going well. You nailed the choreography yesterday.”
In addition to her Tuesday cast rehearsals, she was practicing pieces of Lorena on her own after our trainings.
“Do you even know what the choreography is supposed to look like?” She sounded amused.
