“I can’t believe someone took a photo of me and Clive.”
Did Clive know about the picture? I hadn’t spoken to him since I thanked him for our date but politely insinuated that I wasn’t open to a second one. He’d taken my rejection in stride. I didn’t think he was that into me either.
“Yeah, he’s a C-list celebrity at best. The public doesn’t care who he dates.” Asher shrugged when I made an exasperated noise. “Sorry, but it’s true. I Googled it when you were talking to Vincent. The photo’s on a few gossip forums, but the only news outlet that ran it is some shitty online tabloid no one reads. I’m surprised your brother even saw it.”
Relief unwound the knots in my gut. “Thank God the photographer didn’t see you, or this would be a different story.” I tried to sort through our next steps. “Okay, so Vincent thinks I’m dating my colleague, and he’ll be training with us again soon. What do we do?”
“We make sure he’s not around sharp objects when we break the news to him.”
“Can you be serious?”
“I am serious.” But his confident smirk didn’t fully reach his eyes. “I’m not looking forward to the conversation either, but despite our differences, your brother and I have one thing in common. We both care about you. That counts for something, right?”
A warm drop of pleasure dripped into my pool of anxiety. “Right. You’re right,” I repeated. “Maybe it won’t turn out as bad as we’re making it out to be. He cares enough about what your coach thinks to return to London early and continue training with you, which is good. He doesn’t want a repeat of last season either.”
Last season had been a disaster because Asher and Vincent butted heads, but now Asher said he was willing to let bygones be bygones. If he extended an olive branch, Vincent would have to take it. He was the team captain. His job included boosting team morale and cohesion.
He was overprotective at times, but he had my best interests at heart. If I was happy with Asher, he wouldn’t begrudge me that.
“We’ll discuss exactly how to tell him over pizza.” Asher gave me a crooked smile. “Don’t want Pete’s Pizza’s state-of-the-art warming bag’s hard work to go to waste.”
I returned his smile with a small one of my own. “Best idea you’ve had all day.”
“Even better than the bath?”
“Second best idea you’ve had all day,” I amended.
His laugh settled over me like a warm blanket on a winter night. It was so rich, so strong and comforting, that it made it easy to believe everything would turn out all right.
“I’m sorry we didn’t finish our…activities earlier.” I glanced down at his sweats. The past half hour had killed our moment in the bathroom.
I felt bad since he’d given me an incredible orgasm (I’ll never look at my tub the same again) while I’d left him with blue balls.
“It’s fine. I’m used to Vincent fucking shit up for me,” Asher said sardonically. “And don’t worry, darling. I have ideas for how you can make it up to me later.”
Heat curled low at the velvety dip of his voice. “Do you now?”
“Mmhmm.” He broke off half a breadstick and handed it to me. “Later, once your brother’s stench is fully gone. It’s a mood killer.”
“Asher.”
“Sorry. I couldn’t help it.” He didn’t sound sorry at all.
I swear, men acted like boys half the time.
“How’re you feeling about the charity match this weekend?” I asked, switching subjects. “It’s at three on Saturday, right?”
Asher was participating in Sport for Hope, a football fundraiser organized by a nonprofit foundation of the same name. It provided mentoring and sports opportunities for kids in high-need communities.
I’d never heard of them until he mentioned the match last week, but I was excited to see him play in person. Football matches were usually too rowdy for me, so I hadn’t attended a Blackcastle match since he transferred.
“Yep. It’s always a fun time.” Asher hesitated. “I know Vincent is staying through the weekend, so you don’t have to come if it makes things dicey.”
“No way,” I said stubbornly. “I’ll bring the girls, and we’ll make a day out of it. But I’m not missing the match.”
A small smile graced his lips. The moment swirled around us for a gentle second before he cleared his throat and averted his eyes. “Speaking of the girls, are you excited for tomorrow?”
Carina, Brooklyn, and I were scheduled to have our poker-and-drinks get-together tomorrow night.
“Mmhmm. I can’t wait. I need more estrogen in my life.” I finished my pizza and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Between you and my brother, I’ve been around way too much testosterone. I need better company before I go absolutely bat—” I cut off with a squeal when Asher tackled me to the floor.
He swallowed my laugh with a kiss, and soon, I wasn’t thinking about my brother, my friends, or anything at all besides his touch.
ASHER
“We have a problem.” Finley removed his hat and rubbed a hand over his bald pate, his frustration visible through the screen. “Simon injured his foot and won’t be able to play tomorrow.”
“Shit.” I swallowed a longer litany of curses. “What about our backups?”
It was Friday night, and the big charity match kicked off in less than twenty-four hours. We didn’t have time to recruit someone new.
Fucking Simon. If I was reckless with cars, he was reckless with everything else. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’d injured his foot doing something stupid, like kicking a marble statue out of anger.
Finley grimaced. He was the head of Sport for Hope. I’d participated in their charity match for so many summers that I was basically a de facto advisor, and he often called me for advice when it came to marketing and recruiting players.
“We only have one backup, and his wife gave birth early last week. He’s not leaving his newborn’s side.”
