“I belong to a gym near my house. Sometimes on off days, I like to get a break from the team gym. I could work out at my house, but I like being around other people, and sometimes I take a spin class. Or yoga.” He gives me a wry grin, and the thought of Asher in a yoga class makes me giggle. Actually giggle like a fucking teenager.
“Anyway, one day this guy at my gym came up to me and said he had something that could help me. I had no clue what he was talking about, but he told me he had been watching me and noticed I was having shoulder issues. It freaked me the fuck out because I had been able to hide it from the team trainers who are literally paid to notice shit like this, but a stranger saw it right away. But I guess when your income depends on selling things that help people not feel pain, you get pretty good at noticing who’s in pain.”
Asher stops speaking again. He runs his hands through his hair a couple of times and tugs at the cuffs of his sweatshirt. I can feel the anxiety pouring off of him. It’s a strange dynamic shift, but the more anxious he gets, the calmer I get. Almost like I was put here in this moment to help carry whatever isweighing him down. I want this burden, I realize. I want to be the keeper of his secrets.
Like he does for me, I take both his hands in mine, and wait until he looks at me. “It’s okay. Whatever it is. I swear, it’s going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
He takes another deep breath before he starts talking again. “His name is Danny, and for the last four or so years I’ve been buying anti-inflammatory injections from him that I use before every game. They aren’t narcotics or anything, and it’s the same painkiller the trainers use on players every day. It has worked pretty well, except this season it isn’t, and I’ve needed the injections before practice too. It was Danny who called and texted yesterday. I called him before we left but hung up before he answered because I don’t want to be the guy who can’t get through the day without injecting painkillers into his body. The pain isn’t terrible, but it’s always there lately—a kind of dull ache in the background. The thing is, I’ve never really had pain in the offseason before. I think it was already starting to get worse, and then with the hit I took in the playoff game…”
His voice trails off then. I can hear what he’s thinking as if he’s saying it right out loud, and my heart aches for him.
“You’re afraid of what this means for your career.”
His eyes fill with gratitude, that I said the words, so he doesn’t have to.
“I know how terrible it is. I know all about the possibility of long-term permanent damage. You must think I’m such an idiot for doing this, and trust me, I do too. But I do it anyway because football is my entire life. I have no idea who I am without it, and I think losing it would kill me.”
Asher’s voice breaks a little on the last word, and before I can even think, I’m moving towards him, straddling his lap and wrapping my arms around him. I feel his arms go around me and hold tight. He buries his face in my neck, his breathingharsh. I hold him until his breaths even out, and when I go to move off his lap, he grabs my hips and holds me in place.
“Can you stay here? I like you close to me.”
“Anything.” And I mean it. I like everything about cheerful, upbeat, howls with wolves, loves gummy candy and Dr. Pepper, and is fascinated by giant barbershop poles Asher. But it’s vulnerable, uncertain Asher that has my heart leaping out of my chest and straight into his hands. It’s not nearly as scary as I thought it would be.
I lean in and kiss his forehead, letting my lips linger there. My habitual instinct to fix the problem in front of me is nowhere to be found. Instead, all I want to do is offer comfort and a safe landing spot. To be whatever he needs me to be in this moment. He lets out a shuddering breath and lays his hands on my cheeks, bringing our foreheads together. We stay like that for a few minutes, breathing each other in, before I hear him whisper.
“Thank you.”
I lean back so I can look him in the eye. “For what? I didn’t do anything.”
“For listening. For not judging me for this. I know it’s pretty stupid.”
I shrug. “Ill-advised maybe, but not stupid. Look Asher, there is no one on earth who understands hiding vulnerability better than I do. I would rather eat dirt than show anyone my hurts. And for you, when your entire career and sense of self depends on you being physically able to throw a football better than anyone else? You did what you needed to do. I am the last person who would judge you for choosing your career.”
He doesn’t answer, just stares at me with a look in his eyes I can’t decipher. When he brings his hand up and tucks a strand of hair back behind my ear, gliding his thumb down my jaw before resting his hand on the side of my neck,warmth floods me and butterflies explode in my stomach. When he finally speaks, his tone is low and deadly serious.
“Juliette, you are my favorite person.”
“Because I didn’t run away when you told me something hard? That seems like the very least a person could do. Not nearly enough for favorite person status.”
“No. Because you’re you.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to answer, just grips my hip with one hand and with the other still on my neck, he brings my lips to his.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Asher
The kiss is meant to be one of relief and gratitude, but in two seconds flat it takes a turn right tonot that.
Having my lips on Julie’s is a shot straight to the dick, and I know she feels it too because I’ve barely glided my tongue along her lips before she opens for me, tangling our tongues together as I sweep mine inside her mouth to taste her. She lets out a moan that I feel all the way through my body. She moves her hands up my chest as I devour her mouth, my body straining to get as close to her as possible. When she wraps her arms around my neck, my hands start to explore, gliding down her ribcage, my thumbs grazing the sides of her tits. At the contact, Julie lets out a full body shiver and whimpers against my mouth.
The sound of this gorgeous, formidable womanfucking whimperingmakes me feral. Sliding my hands further down her body, I palm her ass through her leggings, yanking her closer so she can feel every inch of how she affects me.
“Asher,” she whimpers, rocking her hips against mine. And I suddenly hate every layer between us. I want to strip herdown, lay her out on these blankets, and catalogue every inch of her body so I see it every time I close my eyes for the rest of my life, but every instinct I have is screaming at me to take this slowly. Dragging my mouth from hers, I skim my lips over her jaw and down her neck, closing my mouth over her pulse and sucking gently. Her body jolts, her hands flying from my neck to my hips to grip on, her thumbs skimming under my sweatshirt to graze my bare skin.
“Can you…take it off?” she whispers, her voice quiet and a little uncertain. I want to wipe that uncertainty right from her consciousness.
“Take it off, huh?” I pull back slightly and flash her a cocky grin. “You want to see all of me, Juliette?”
