It’s just… irritation.
Annoyance.
Mild existential despair.
He was supposed to get pizza with
Just me.
That was the plan.
And now I’m stuck watching him laugh and joke with a bunch of people who couldn’t even pretend to like me if their lives depended on t
I sigh, digging the tot of my sneaker into a loose hall on the bleacher step.
I’m halfway through crafting a very dramatic mental speech about the betrayal of post-practice pizza promises when-
“Who are we hating?”
The voice is so close, so low, that it rolls down my spine like a slow thunderclap.
I jump – not a cute, startled jump, but a full-body flinch like someone just poked me with a live wire.
I whip around, heart hammering, and there he is.
Asher
Dressed in black cargo pants and a black long-sleeve shirt that fits him unfairly well, hinting at muscles and sharp edges and all the dangerous things good girls are supposed to stay away from. His face is freshly shaved, jawline rough and cut like it could wound you if you got too close. He’s looking at me with that unreadable expression – half amusement, half something heavier-like he’s trying to decide whether I’m a puzzle worth solving.
My body does that annoying thing again – goosebumps prickling across my arms, stomach twisting like it can’t decide whether to flee or freeze or throw itself into something deeply ill-advised.
“Seriously,” I blurt, glaring up at him. “How the heck do you move so quietly?”
He just stares at me, in that maddeningly casual way of his.
“I don’t,” he says. “You just don’t pay attention.”
I snort, crossing my arms. “No. You’re a ninja. Admit it. You get a weird thrill out of sneaking up on people and scaring them half to death.”
His mouth quirks, the barest hint of a smirk, and it makes something flutter in my chest that I refuse to acknowledge.
He doesn’t argue.
Which is somehow worse.
I turn back around with a huff, facing the field again, determined not to let him see me rattled.
A moment later, I feel him sit beside me, the bench shifting slightly under his weight.
He doesn’t say anything at first.
Just sits there.
Solid
Present
“Seriously though,” he says after a beat, voice low and almost amused. “Who are we hating?”
I sigh, pressing the heels of my palms against my forehead,
Is it that obvious?”
“Painfully,”
I drop my hands and let out a sleu, defeated breath.
*We,” I say, stabbing a finger toward the field, are not hating anyone. We mildly annoyed”
He nods solemnly, like I’ve just told him a grave national secret,
“Mildly annoyed,” he repeats. Got it.”
I glance sideways at him, and against my better judgment, the woods tumble was supposed to be getting food with Tyler and going home,” I say, “Instead tching……. whatever this is”
I wave vaguely toward the field where Rebecca is currently pretending not to understand the concept of hate foot-eye coordinatio
Asher hums thoughtfully, gaze following mine.
I don’t know why I say more.
Maybe because he’s quiet.
Maybe because he’s not trying to fix
Maybe because… I don’t know.
But I do.
The one with the long black hair,” I say, nodding toward Rebecca, “that’s Rebecca. She’s been bullying me since, stuff. Mean comments. Lockers getting accidentally slammed into me. Classic high school villain behavior.”
Asher’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly,
“And the one next to Tyler is Zoe,” Ladd. She used to be nice. But now she’s best friends with Rebecca, so… yeah.”
He glances at me, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
“Tyler’s friends with them?” he asks, voice even
I shrug, wrapping my arms tighter around myself.
“Tyler’s friends with everyone,” I say. “That’s just, who he is. He makes people feel good. Like they matter sen’s a long pause
There’s
“And you don’17” sophomore year. Suhtle
I laugh, but it comes out brittle.
“I’m not as good more honestly than I mean to. “I’m not good at being… easy.”
Asher doesn’t say anything.
Just sits there, solid and silent, like an anchor I didn’t know I needed.
The field hors a little in my vision, the laughter and shouts and fake Birting fading into background noise
I exhale slowly, dragging my bag into my lap.
“Whatever,” I mutter, standing up and slinging it over my shoulder. ‘I’m over it.”
I start making my way down the bleachers, not looking back to see if he follows
Not sure if I want him to..
I told myself not to we
Told myself to sit my ass down and leave her alone. Not my business. Not my problem.
But then she stood up.
Dragging that heavy bag onto her shoulder like it weighed more than she did. Shoulders tight. Eyes locked on the field like maybe if she stared hard enough, someone would come looking.
No one does.
She’s halfway down the bleachers before I even realize I’m following.
She doesn’t hear me.
Of course she doesn’t. She never does. I could have taken her a dozen times over by now. Bag over her head, hand over her mouth, gone in under ten seconds.
She’s a walking goddamn target.
I trained for years to move quiet. Step where the boards don’t creak, breathe where no one hears. Move. Kill. Disappear.
But you don’t need training to catch a girl like Penny Vale.
You just need patience.
She stops near the edge of the field, shifting her weight like she’s trying to make herself smaller. Her hair’s falling out of its tie, strands catching the light. Her hands clench and unclench at her sides, like she’s trying to decide if waving will make her look desperate.
Tyler doesn’t even glance at her.
He’s too busy showing off, dodging around some brunette who’s grabbing at the ball like it’s foreplay. She’s laughing, lake as hell, pretending she can’t play just so he’ll stay close.
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches.
Penny moves half a step closer. Hopes harder.
Pathetic.
Not her – him.
Him for making her stand there and wait.
I whistle. Sharp and loud, cutting across the field like a gunshot.
Tyler’s head snaps up immediately.
Penny jumps out of her skin.
Useless. Both of them. ing like an idiot, wiping sweat off his forehead like he thinks it makes him look good.
Tyler jogs over, grinning
“Yo! Bro! Didn’t know you were coming,’ he says, voice bright, stupid.
I shrug. “Wasnt planning to.
He claps me on the shoulder like were best friends. I barely hold hack the urge to break his hand. He’s my brother, but I hate when touch me without promission.
What’s up?
“Mom said your car’s overdue for an oil change,” I say, “I’m taking it.”
He frown like he can’t remember owning a car, then shrugs and fishes his keys out of his pocket. Tosses them to me without a second thought.
I catch them. Tight, Cold metal biting my palm.
“How you getting home?” I ask
He shrugs s again. Zee or lo can give me a ride,
Of course they can
He turns, throws his arm around Penny like she’s furniture he almost forgot. Presses into her side like he deserves to be there. She leans into him and for whatever reason, I feel like punching something
“What about you, baby?” he says, voice low. “Ready to come play with us?”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.