After fifteen minutes of staring at my closet and several frantic texts to Carina and Brooklyn, I settled on a cute top-and-skirt combo. I’d just finished my makeup when Asher returned, freshly showered and smelling like a delicious mix of soap and aftershave.
His appreciative gaze carved a trail up my legs and neck before settling on my face. Little fireflies danced over my skin, lighting me up.
“You ready?” The deep timbre of his voice ghosted down my spine.
“Yes.” I tamped down the flutters and followed him to his car, where he pulled out a baseball cap and black-rimmed glasses.
“Disguise,” he explained.
“Does that actually work?” It was so simple. It felt like Superman disguising himself as Clark Kent with similar glasses.
“You’d be surprised. Most people don’t expect to run into anyone famous on the street, so if you’re low-key enough, you can slip right by.”
“I hate to tell you this, but have you looked in a mirror?” I asked archly. “Your face is not slipping by anyone.”
Even if he weren’t famous, Asher was gorgeous enough to turn heads everywhere he went.
“Is that your way of calling me good-looking?” He sounded entirely too pleased about that.
“You know you are. Also, you get one compliment per day. Don’t try to fish for more.”
“Noted.” Laughter glimmered beneath his voice. “I’ll wait until midnight to fish again.”
Despite my skepticism, he was right. Most people didn’t spare us a second glance when we parked and walked to the restaurant. A group of female uni students did a double take as we passed, but I couldn’t tell whether that was because they recognized him or simply thought he was fit. Either way, they didn’t approach us.
The restaurant was packed for dinner, but we were able to snag a corner table near the kitchen. Since Asher was the expert here, I let him order for the both of us.
“Noah told me about this place,” he said. “Kind of embarrassing for a Londoner to get food recs from an American, but the food is so good, I can’t be mad.”
“Noah?”
“Wilson. Our goalkeeper.”
An image surfaced of a tall, scowly man with dirty blond hair and blue eyes.
Noah. Of course. There weren’t many Americans in the Premier League, so his signing with Blackcastle had been a big deal a few years ago.
“Are you guys close?” I ripped off a piece of naan and dipped it in chutney.
Vincent constantly partied with the team, but Asher obviously wasn’t part of those nights out.
“I wouldn’t say we’re best friends, but I talk to him and Adil the most out of anyone at the club. Adil’s one of our midfielders,” he added. “They’re the only ones who don’t act weird around me when Vincent’s there.”
I could only imagine. The team’s loyalties must’ve been split between their captain and their lead scorer.
“So who do you talk to when you need advice or have big news to share?” I asked. “Besides your family.”
Asher shrugged. “Depends on the issue. If it’s PR related, I talk to Sloane, my publicist. If it’s football related, I talk to Coach. Noah and Adil, too. They give good advice when they’re not being idiots.”
“I’m not talking about business stuff,” I said gently. “For example, if I hadn’t been with you on Saturday, who would you have told about your father’s heart attack?”
He stared at me.
The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness until he averted his gaze. “I don’t know,” he said. “No one, I guess.”
An iron fist squeezed my heart.
His old team hated him, his new team was wary of him, and everyone else probably either sucked up to him or wanted to use him.
I couldn’t imagine how lonely that must feel. Asher was surrounded by fans and hangers-on every day, but sometimes, people felt the loneliest in a crowd.
“Well, if you ever need a sounding board, I’m here,” I said. “Therapist in another life and all that.”
A faint smile wisped around his mouth. “Thank you.” Our server returned with our food, and Asher waited until he was gone before continuing. “If I gave you a pound every time I said those words to you, you’d drain my bank account.”
“I mean, if that’s what you feel called to do, I won’t stop you. London rent is expensive.”
His smile blossomed into a low laugh.
Pride unfolded in my chest as we dug into the food. Asher was right. It was delicious, and our silence as we ate was a testament to that.
I went in for seconds as my phone buzzed against my leg. It was probably Carina digging for updates or Brooklyn confirming our upcoming coffee date, but I’d text them back later.
I had something else to discuss, and we’d put it off for too long.
“So…” I snuck a peek around us to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “Should we talk about what happened on Friday?”
The look Asher gave me could’ve melted a glacier. “Which part?” he drawled. Velvet braided his voice.
Just like that, my mind hurtled into the past-past the hospital, past our drive to Holchester and my speech about Pluto, all the way back to when we were tangled in my bed, our bodies slick and hot against the sheets.
“You know which part,” I hissed, my cheeks flaming. “I’m talking about when we, um…”
“Gave each other mind-blowing orgasms for the first time?””Shhh.” My face was hot enough to reheat any leftovers from dinner. “Do you want to end up in the tabloids?”
The speech I gave him for why we wouldn’t work after our first kiss was rooted in truth. I didn’t want the press digging into my life for dirt. I didn’t want to relive the accident again, nor did I want them nitpicking everything I did and wore. The scrutiny wouldn’t be as intense as if I were, say, a member of the royal family, but it would still exist, and it made my anxiety want to run screaming.
“No. I don’t.” Asher’s expression sobered. “But you’re right. We should talk about what a relationship would mean.”
The clatter of plates and glasses around us filled the empty pockets of our conversation.
What, exactly, was our relationship? Were we dating now, or had Friday night been a one-time thing?
Both options twisted me with unease.
I didn’t want a one-night stand, but an official relationship sounded so, well, official. I liked Asher more than I’d ever liked anyone, but my last relationship had ended in disaster, and I wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.
He wasn’t my ex. But I couldn’t discount the little voice telling me that, no matter how well things were going in the present, they could always go wrong in the future.”Do you want a relationship?” It was like Asher read my mind. “Or do you want something else?”
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes were sharp and cautious in the face of my silence.
“I…” I hesitated, trying to organize my thoughts into a coherent response. “I don’t want to see anyone else, and I don’t want you to see anyone else. But I’m also not ready for a serious relationship until we’ve figured out our issues with my brother, the paps, everything. I just…everything’s happening so fast, and I’m…”
Scared.
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.