by Kendall Ryan
Draping one arm around my seat, Asher shifts the car into reverse and twists to look over his shoulder, careful not to get too close to the car parked behind him.
I know it’s just a practical move—he’s not even touching me, after all—but that doesn’t prevent the goose bumps from racing down my arms. And those don’t disappear until we’re a solid mile down the highway, when the bridge over the canal comes into view. It’s my absolute least favorite part of going downtown.
But I’ve hardly registered that I’ll be facing my fears from Asher’s passenger seat again, when I feel his hand resting palm-side up on my thigh, ready to offer a reassuring squeeze to my clenched hand. And despite my fear, a smile forms on my lips as I lay my hand in his, holding on tight.
“How well do you know the coffee scene around here?” he asks, a pretty obvious attempt at distracting me from the fact that we’re surrounded by water on both sides.
But I don’t mind. Maybe subtlety isn’t his strength, but a guy who remembers that I need to be distracted while on bridges is still golden in my book.
“I spent most of med school shutting down the same coffee shop almost every night. I haven’t really been anywhere else.”
He lifts a brow at me from behind his aviators. “The one by Aubree’s yoga studio?”
“How did you know that?”
A smirk tugs at his lips. “I did my research. I had to make sure I was taking you somewhere you’ve never been before. We’re being tourists, after all.”
Once we’ve cleared the bridge, I expect Asher to put his hand back on the wheel, but he leaves it where it is, occasionally stroking my knuckles with his thumb as he steers one-handed through the streets of downtown. It’s a few quick turns until he pulls the car up to the curb, parking at our destination—a weathered brick building containing one of Seattle’s most popular coffee shops. Or so I’ve heard. I’ve never been.
I follow him inside and up to the counter, taking in the contrast of the bright white tile against the black bistro tables, each one surrounded by coffee drinkers sipping out of bright red ceramic mugs. It’s cozy in here, and the delicious smell of fresh grounds hangs in the air like warm, familiar fog. Asher has to speak up over the whirring of the grinders to place his order.
“Two large vanilla lattes, please. Extra hot.” He slips his wallet out of his back pocket, shooting me a knowing wink over his shoulder as he inserts his black card into the chip reader. “Need anything else?” he asks, but I’m too dumbfounded to respond.
How did he know my exact coffee order, right down to the temperature specifications?
“I told you I did my research,” he reminds me on a whisper, squeezing my side as he drops a ten into the tip jar.
Damn. This guy is good.
The weather is too good to waste inside, so we agree to take our lattes to go and enjoy whatever the city throws our way today. I take slow, measured sips of my latte as we walk, stifling my laughter when Asher burns his tongue on the extra-hot milk. Despite his scalded taste buds, he agrees with me that this has to be the best cup of coffee within the city limits. It’s the perfect mix of milk and espresso, and whatever vanilla syrup they’re using has to be homemade, because it’s next-level awesome.
“Can you believe I’ve been drinking mediocre vanilla lattes for four years?” I ask, licking foam off my lower lip. “And the whole time, I could’ve been drinking an actual dream in a cup.”
Asher slides one arm around my waist, resting his hand on the small of my back as we walk. “Sometimes the best things are right under our noses. It just takes some time to find them.”
As we make our way south down the street, hand in hand, I find myself noticing things I’ve never seen before. Have there always been this many murals here? Since when has there been a stationery shop on this block? With Asher at my side, wandering through Seattle feels like exploring a brand-new city.
When we pass an upscale baby boutique, he’s the one who suggests we go inside and pick out an outfit for Hannah. Instantly, my heart clenches with intense feelings for this man.
We take our time in the store, perusing the adorable outfits and fuzzy baby blankets as we sip our lattes. After a little while, we agree on a precious red cashmere onesie meant for six-month-olds, meaning his baby niece will fit into it just in time for Christmas. He carries the little pink bag out of the store with pride. It’s really freaking adorable, and just another tick in the pro column for Asher Reed. And, yes, there is absolutely nothing listed in the con column.
We walk for a little while longer, chatting about his family, and the team. He answers every question I have, and intersperses the conversation with questions of his own about my job and family. It’s interesting how you can know someone casually for years, but never get to know them on the deep level like I’m starting to connect with him now. I want to know every single thing about him, and he’s willing to give me that.
“I guess we should start heading back.” I sigh, gesturing to the sun sinking low in the amber and orange sky. Just the suggestion of wrapping up our outing puts a knot in my stomach. But he suggested an afternoon date, so I’m guessing this is it.
“I’ve got a better idea.” Asher looks over toward the shiny apartment tower just down the block. “It’s a much shorter walk back to my place. And I’ve got a bottle of wine and a takeout menu with our names on it.”
I plant a hand on my hip and give him a knowing look. “It’s almost like you planned it that way, huh?”
“Yeah,” he says with a smirk. “Almost.”
It’s a five-minute walk and a quick elevator ride up to Asher’s apartment, which is as clean and polished as his car interior. While he looks for a safe place to store our present for baby Hannah, I settle into his black leather couch, admiring the expensive bottle of cabernet and two stemless wineglasses waiting for us on the coffee table. Moments later, he reappears with a wine opener and a charcuterie plate.
“So I’m guessing you had a feeling this date would go well?” I tease, nodding toward the spread.
“Can’t blame a guy for being confident.” He takes a seat beside me and uncorks the bottle, filling the first of the two glasses and passing it over to me.
“Did your research tell you that cab is my favorite wine?”
“Nope, that was just dumb luck.” He laughs as he fills the second glass. “Let me know how it is.”
I take a slow, careful sip, letting the rich velvety taste wash over my tongue. “Delicious. Although it can’t compare to Lolli’s special juice.”
Asher laughs, a loud, deep sound that makes my heart swell. “I don’t think anything could compare to Lolli’s special juice. Not in alcohol content, anyway.”
“Hey, if not for those drinks, I might not have made a move on you that night,” I remind him as I set my glass down on a coaster, leaving my hands free to rest on his thigh. “And then where would we be?”
He shakes his head, wrapping one muscular arm around my waist and pulling me snug against him. “Trust me, gorgeous. The moment you walked out in that little pink bikini, I was a goner.”
He pauses to set his wine down next to mine before pressing a gentle kiss onto the top of my head. It’s sweet, delicate, and soft . . . so many things that, before our trip to Coronado, I never thought Asher Reed could be. But here, cozied up in his strong arms, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat as it syncs with mine, I know that the bad boy from the ice is long gone.
The silence is comfortable, pleasant even, but it doesn’t last long before he breaks it.
“Well?”
I blink up at him, waiting for a more complete question. “Well what?”
“How did I do? Should I consider you properly wooed?”
I tap my chin with my index finger, looking up at the ceiling. “Today was pretty much perfect. And you were pretty helpful when I had that rough period last week.”
He gives a firm nod. “Yep. That stuff still doesn’t scare me, and won’t. Three sisters, remember?”
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br /> “Oh, I remember.” I laugh. “Maybe you remember that your three sisters spent their whole vacation trying to set you and me up.”
“They know a good thing when they see it.” His tone becomes serious as his blue eyes lock with mine. “Let’s face it, Bailey. We have chemistry. I know you have your doubts, but I’m crazy about you. Let’s just give this thing between us a shot.”
“Having chemistry isn’t the same thing as being ready for a relationship, Ashe. Hell, how do I even know I want a boyfriend? I have a pretty full plate as it is.”
“Then let me be your dessert.”
I scrunch my nose. “What do you mean?”
“Bailey, I know you don’t need a boyfriend. Your life is already full without one. And I have to say, I love that about you. You’re not out chasing guys, trying to find your other half. You’re whole on your own. So, I don’t want to be your other half. I just want to be the guy on the side who gets to take you out on the weekends. And maybe the guy who gets to make you scream in bed sometimes too.”
I shift out of his arms, crossing mine over my chest. “The guy on the side? Do you think I see you as some kind of side piece, Asher?”
“I don’t know, Bailey. What do you see me as?”
It’s a question I don’t take lightly. Inhaling deeply, I organize my thoughts the best I can.
“I see you as one of the sweetest, most caring guys I’ve ever met,” I admit on a sigh. “Not to mention totally out of my league. But I also see you as a professional athlete with a million adoring fans who could have any girl he wanted.”
“But I want you, only you,” he says, his voice hushed and sincere. “If you’ll have me.”
His words hit me like a semi-truck against my windpipe, and for a moment, I’m speechless.
He wants you, stupid. There’s nothing left to analyze or overthink anymore. All that remains is just one little question.
Am I brave enough to set aside the pros-and-cons list and just go for it?
The answer comes out on a shaky exhale. “Yes.”
His bright blue eyes flicker in excitement. “Yeah?”
“Yes. Let’s do this. You and me.”
The words are hardly off my lips before Asher’s mouth is crashing into mine, kissing me again and again, each pass of his tongue against mine more passionate than I’ve ever been kissed before. My hands find their grip on his shoulders as he tugs me into his lap, working his fingers into my hair as he tilts my head just so.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers between eager, hungry kisses. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”
His fingers trail down my hip, tugging the bow of my shorts loose, like he’s unwrapping a perfect present. Before he can shimmy them down over my hips, I stop him, gripping his wrist in my fingers.
“What about your car?” There’s genuine concern in my voice, but Asher just smiles.
“For all I care, they can tow it.” He laughs, shaking his head as he runs his thumb along my lower lip. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”
He kisses me then. Really kisses me. Like it’s a foregone conclusion that I’m already his.
21
* * *
No Regrets
Asher
One month later
I don’t like this. But being away from Bailey for three days is going to be my norm soon, once the season starts up, so I guess this is good practice. I thought I had more time with her this summer, but when Coach Dodd asked me to attend the training camp for our minor league affiliate team in Wisconsin, I couldn’t exactly say no.
Which means I’m currently standing in the center of a foul-smelling locker room, watching twenty dudes lace up their skates. I call out for their attention and check the notes I took on my phone after watching their practice yesterday.
“Listen up!” I shout when the back of the room still hasn’t quieted down. Silence finally settles around us, and all eyes swing up to meet mine. “Things got off to a slow start yesterday, but once you were warmed up, you were on. Let’s get there faster today. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir!” they shout in unison. Their coach has trained them well.
“Benson, you need to look for passing opportunities. Crosby, a defenseman’s job is to watch the players, not the puck. Doing so will help you find spots for turnovers. And everyone else, skate faster, push harder, no mercy. That’s what I want to see today. Got it?”
“Yes, sir!” they shout again.
As I watch them shuffle from the locker room and out onto the ice, I’m hit with a feeling of pride. Knowing that I could play some small role in helping them to become better hockey players, better competitors—hell, maybe even better men—it lights a fire in me I didn’t know was there before. I realize that coaching could be a pretty neat gig down the road when I retire from playing.
Maybe that’s why Coach Dodd sent me here this week. Who the hell knows? Then again, maybe he sent me so I would appreciate how nice our training facility is compared to this shit hole, because holy hell. I’ll never take our dressing room for granted ever again.
Metal benches and cheap folding chairs are scattered around the room, along with piles of battered equipment. It kind of makes our locker room look like a luxury hotel with its sleek polished-wood benches and built-in cabinets for each player, where our jerseys and equipment are cleaned and hung for us at the start of every practice and every game.
After the guys have warmed up on the ice, the coach blows a whistle and organizes the teams for a scrimmage.
I stand beside the assistant coach and pull out my phone to take more notes as I prepare to watch them play today, but a text message from Bailey distracts me.
I’m stressing. I don’t know what to wear to this banquet-thingy.
I smile down at my phone, my thumbs already working to type out a quick message before the team’s leadership realizes I’m texting my girlfriend rather than paying attention to the game.
Bailey and I have only been officially dating for a month, but I already can’t imagine my days without her. She just makes me happy. And the banquet-thingy she’s referring to is the official kickoff to our season where our team leadership treats the team and their significant others to a fancy dinner out before the madness of the season begins. I’m really freaking stoked that Bailey’s agreed to accompany me. Every other year, I’ve gone solo.
Baby, you could wear a damn garbage bag and still look good.
You’re sweet, but you’re wrong.
I chuckle and quickly work to type out another message.
Maybe ask Elise if she has something you can borrow. She’s been to a million of these things over the years.
I’m about to pat myself on the back for actually having a good suggestion until I see Bailey’s reply.
Um . . . no. You do realize Elise is like three sizes smaller than me, right?
My eyebrows draw together. No, I didn’t realize that. Bailey’s body is freaking perfection, curvy and generous and lovely. I never stopped to consider what size she wears—because it doesn’t matter.
Whatever size you are, that’s the perfect size to me.
I hope my reply smooths over me just putting my foot in my mouth. I’m about to add that if she wants to go shopping for a new dress, I will happily sit in the dressing room and watch as she tries gown after gown, but the team’s aggressive right winger slams into the glass in front of me, and I’m so distracted that I startle and the guy besides me starts laughing.
Smiling, I shove my phone in the pocket of my jeans and direct my attention to the ice.
• • •
Damn. My breath sticks in my lungs, and I make an inarticulate sound.
“Ashe?” Bailey squints at me from beneath her thick mascara-coated lashes. She’s probably not sure if I’m choking, or maybe having a seizure. It could be both. “I said, do I look okay?” she repeats, slower this time.
“You look incredible.” I try again, a huge grin overtaking my face. “
All the guys are going to be jealous when I show up with you on my arm.”
Bailey’s laughter is the best sound. She’s been working too much and I haven’t seen enough of her. “You’re ridiculous.”
I give my finger a twirl. “Do the thing.”
She spins in a slow circle, obviously humoring me since her mouth is pressed in a line. But her eyes are amused.
“Damn, babe.” I whistle low under my breath.
Her dress is hunter green, the exact shade of our team’s jerseys, and it’s fitted down to the knee, hugging every last one of her curves. It’s sexy, but still totally classy. I’ve never seen a more perfect sight.
“Shall we do it?” she asks, her tone happy.
“Absolutely. Let’s roll.”
I help Bailey into the passenger side of my car, and it’s a quick ride to the restaurant where our team dinner is being held tonight. In the past, I’ve always attended this event alone, but tonight it’ll be nice having Bailey on my arm.
When we arrive at the restaurant, I leave my car with the valet, and then Bailey and I are led into a private dining room in the back of the building. With one hand on Bailey’s lower back, I adjust my tie with the other.
We pause just inside the elaborately decorated private dining room to get our bearings. There are three long tables, probably a dozen chairs at each one, and a couple of my best friends from the team are seated at the middle one. I see Owen and Becca, Justin and Elise, and Teddy and Sara. Grant, our captain, is here alone, sitting beside Coach Dodd at the first table. At the farthest table near the windows, Morgan is sitting with a girl I’ve never seen before, whispering in a low conversation.
“Asher, over here,” Coach Dodd says, motioning me over to the coaches’ table. “I want to hear about your trip to Wisconsin.”
Smiling, I escort Bailey toward the table where we’ll apparently be sitting with Grant, coaches Dodd and Bryant and their wives, and a couple of other players. But I don’t miss the way our second line’s left winger, an asshole named Jason Kress, visually molests Bailey when we stop beside the table.