by Olivia Chase
ASHER
The Beckett Boys, Book Three
Oliva Chase
Favor Ford Publishing
Contents
Copyright
NOTE
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ASHER (The Beckett Boys, Book Three) By Oliva Chase
1. Asher
2. Whitney
3. Asher
4. Whitney
5. Asher
6. Whitney
7. Asher
8. Whitney
9. Asher
10. Whitney
11. Asher
12. Whitney
13. Asher
Bonus Content: What He Wants (Books 1-6) by Hannah Ford
What he Wants (What He Wants, Book One)
What He Craves (What He Wants, Book Two)
What He Demands (What He Wants, Book Three)
What He Needs (What He Wants, Book Four)
What He Desires (What He Wants, Book Five)
What He Protects (What He Wants, Book Six)
Copyright © 2016 by Favor Ford Publishing
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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NOTE
This edition of ASHER (The Beckett Boys, Book Three) contains the following bonus content: What He Wants (Books 1-6), by Hannah Ford.
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ASHER (The Beckett Boys, Book Three) By Oliva Chase
Asher
I pull into Foley’s Sports Bar and shut off the engine. The parking lot is packed. Outside, a big neon sign advertises happy hour specials, and families pour in and out the door.
My brothers and I used to mock this place and its clientele. A cookie-cutter bar with cookie-cutter big-screen TVs and cookie-cutter food. Blah.
We said we’d never be like them.
Truth be told, lately Outlaws is looking much closer to Foley’s than I’m comfortable with.
But I’m not here to ponder the differences between my family’s bar and Foley’s—I could give a flying fuck.
I’m here for something much bigger than that.
I get out of the car. Whitney might be pissed to see me, but I just gotta convince her to listen. To let me explain why I left her a year ago without saying a word.
It’s not like I’m proud of the way I handled what happened between us that one night. I was a fucking asshole, I know that.
But I’m here to make it right now.
She has to listen.
I push open the doors and head to the bartender, wearing the Foley’s Sports Bar uniform of a tight striped referee shirt and booty shorts. I give her the trademarked Beckett boys grin and turn on the charm full wattage. “Hi. Is Whitney around?”
She looks me up and down. “Never thought I’d see the day when one of you Becketts would come walking through our door.”
Yeah, the longtime feud between our bars isn’t exactly a secret. Bart Foley, the owner of the bar, is an asshat, and even my dad hated him. So I expected a little antagonism from the staff here. At least this girl isn’t threatening to kick me out. That’s promising.
“I know, it’s the coming of the apocalypse.” I laugh.
With a sigh, she points toward the back of the room. “Whitney’s working those tables over there.”
I take my time heading to her section. Savor the anticipation filling me. I haven’t seen her in over a year now, and that crazy rush of longing hits me hard. The same feeling that’s haunted me every night for more than twelve months.
I spot her, bent over a table, talking to a couple and their kids. Her ass is cupped by the small black shorts perfectly, her legs long and curvy. Fuck. My dick stirs at the sight. When she straightens and tucks a strand of dark red hair behind her ear, I can see the swell of her breast pressing against her referee shirt.
The past year has been good to Whitney. Holy fuck. Was she always this hot?
My steps slow as I recall the feel of her body curled against mine. Her breathy sighs caressing my ear. Her fingers digging into my shoulders.
I shake the mental image off and try to focus on the task at hand. First, getting her to talk to me.
Whitney turns around to walk away from the table, a big smile on her face, and then her eyes lock with mine. She gives a little gasp of shock and stops right in place, her eyes wide.
“Hello, Whitney,” I murmur.
“Asher.” The word is said so quietly I almost don’t hear it over the din of voices in the bar. She isn’t moving any closer to me, but she isn’t slapping me or running away, either. Good sign.
“Can we go somewhere and talk for a minute?” I ask.
She frowns and shakes her head slowly. “No. I’m…working. I can’t.”
“When’s your break?” I ask, taking a step closer.
That seems to shake her out of her trance. She starts walking away from me toward the kitchen, and I stay right by her side. “I’m busy. I can’t talk to you.” Her voice is a little shaky, though she’s trying to keep it flat.
My heart gives a painful squeeze at the emotion in her voice. I earned it. I was the fucker who kissed her, almost had sex with her, then ran off in shock and fear. And didn’t talk to her again afterward. I deserve this. But I can’t help but remember how close she and I used to be before all of that happened. The space between us right now might as well be a mile.
I can reach over and touch her arm, but her heart is out of reach.
At least, it is for right now. I’m determined to win her.
“We need to talk. About that night,” I add.
That gets her to look at me. She straightens her spine, looks dead at me. Her face is a mask. “Maybe I don’t want to.”
I cup her elbow and guide her to the wall, where we can talk for a moment. The softness of her skin brings me right back to that night, her lying under me, me drunk on cheap wine and her kisses. “I think you do. And I want to explain.” I can smell her vanilla scent wafting to me and almost groan. I fucking missed her smell so much.
I missed her.
She has to give me a chance.
“I’m not going away until we talk,” I push, looking down into her eyes. I walked away from her once, and I swore to myself I’d never do that again.
I spent months upon months telling myself that it meant nothing. Then, when I finally accepted I was lying to myself, I spent months thinking about how I wanted it again. I wanted her. What was I willing to do to get her?
Whitney’s cheeks flush a delicate pink as she stares at me. I soak in the sight of her, that small freckle on her right cheekbone, her full lips, the lush hair I once buried my fingers in. “I haven’t seen you since last summer, and now here you are, out of the blue.” There’s a thread of hurt in her voice now, and I’m angry at myself all over again for putting that there.
Before all of that happened between us, we were friends. I miss that as much as I miss her against me.
“Five minutes,” I tell her. I keep my gaze locked on hers, try to find that connection we once had. Everything comes flooding back to me—our goofy inside jokes, the way she snorts when she laughs, the secrets we confessed to each other late at night. I want it again. I want her again. And I won’t fuck it up this time.
After a long pause, she nods. “Let me put in this order and then I can ta
ke a break. Meet me out back. Don’t let the boss see you.”
I raise a brow. “I’ll be like a ninja.”
That draws a small smile from her. “Fine, okay. I’ll see you there.”
A small victory, but victory nonetheless. I head out back and lean against the brick of the wall, watching the sun set behind the trees across the street. The sky is streaked in pinks and yellows.
Whitney once told me her favorite time of day is sunset. That she loves watching it change from day to night from her secret spot on the roof of her house. Does she still do that?
So much can change in a year. And I know it’s my fault that I’ve missed this time with her. Before that night, I’d send her texts, emails, and we’d try to see each other during my breaks home. Last year, I avoided her completely. I let my fears, my discomfort, keep me away. I told myself that what happened meant nothing, that it wasn’t a big deal.
Except that it was.
A few minutes later the back door creaks open, and Whitney comes out. When our eyes connect, that electric shock hits me hard. Sexual awareness. I know she’s thinking about what happened between us. About my mouth hard on hers. And fuck me, I want it again right now so badly I could grab her and take her right here, in the parking lot.
It’s only by sheer self-control that I manage to stay in place and not wrap my fingers around her rounded hips, tug her to me, slant my mouth on hers and steal her breath. Because I am throbbing from head to toe for this woman.
Whitney stands a couple of feet away, fiddling with her fingers. “Okay, I’m here.” That hurt is back in her voice, mingled with a tinge of anger. She’s upset with me. Her gaze skitters all over, on the wall behind me, the parking lot, her shoes.
She’s upset, yes. But that means she still feels something. That means I have a chance.
“Whitney,” I say. “Look at me.”
Her gaze lifts, and her lips part ever so slightly.
“I know you’re upset,” I say. “I don’t blame you. I fucked up big time with how I dealt with things. But I’m back in Rock Bridge now for good, and I want a chance to make it right.”
That throws her off balance. She blinks. “Wait, what? You’re not going back to school? What about football? Your degree?”
I shake my head. “I’m going to be working at Outlaws.”
“But…why?”
Her eyes are wide, and even in the dimming light, I can see the brilliant green of her irises. Fuck, she’s breathtaking. How the hell did I stay away from her so long? Her skin is creamy soft, glowing, and I just want to strip her naked right fucking now.
I take one step toward her, then another, until we’re just a breath apart. I can see her chest rising and falling faster. My own breath is growing more rapid, my body responding vividly to her proximity. I ache for her. “I missed you. The way I left things last summer was a mistake. But I’m going to make it right.”
“Maybe…I don’t want to be friends with you again,” she murmurs. Emotions are flickering wildly through her eyes, so fast I can barely keep up. Hurt, fear, anger.
Desire.
It flickers there for just a moment and is gone in a flash, but I fucking saw it. Whitney is turned on.
“Oh, I don’t want to be friends,” I tell her baldly.
That makes her draw back in confusion. “Then…what are you here for?”
I allow myself to touch her, my thumb grazing the hip bone right under her shorts. She shudders and gasps from the contact. “I don’t want to be just friends,” I amend firmly. “I came back for you, Whitney. I want you. All of you.”
When she doesn’t move away from me, I dare to reach my other hand up to caress the flesh at the back of her neck, under her mass of hair. Her skin is like silk, and I can’t stop stroking it. Her head tilts back and she closes her eyes briefly, lips parted, then stiffens, pulls back. Her eyes narrow as she glares at me.
“I…can’t do this right now, Asher. I need to go back to work,” she says stiffly, then spins on her heels and closes the door behind her.
I remain in place for a moment. My skin feels burned from contact with her. It’s different than I remembered. Different and better. My cock is pounding in my jeans, and my blood is on fire.
Whitney is still upset by how things went down with us before, clearly. Can’t fault her for that. And yes, she’s scared, but she wants me…that much was evident in the way she melted under my touch, bared her throat so submissively. That’s the reaction of a woman who’s sexually aroused by someone.
Whitney wants me, too. I know it like I know my own name.
I’m patient, and I’ll make sure she knows I’m not fucking going anywhere this time. She’s afraid to let her guard down, afraid of getting hurt, but she’ll realize soon that she can trust me again.
I finally move, heading to my car. I make a silent promise that I’m going to win her back. Whitney dug herself beneath my skin, and I couldn’t shake her off. I came back for her, and I refuse to fail.
But just right now I have another major problem to deal with.
Like the fact that my brothers are going to fucking kill me when I tell them I dropped out of school and am back in Rock Bridge for good.
Not long after leaving Foley’s, I pull my car into the parking lot of Outlaws, our family’s bar, and let it idle for a couple of minutes.
Wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and draw in a deep breath, attempting to ease the tension knots in my shoulders. Jax probably won’t give me a lot of hell over what I’m about to say, but Smith is going to shit a brick, and then hit me over the head with it. Too bad—this is my decision, not his.
And now that I’ve seen her again, I won’t be persuaded to change course.
I shut off the engine and get out of the car. Walk into the bar. The smell of fried food and beer hits me instantly. It’s early evening on a weeknight, but the place is already hopping. Music throbs, and customers are eating at tables and throwing back drinks. Since I left for fall semester of school just a month ago, even more changes have been implemented—I barely recognize the place anymore.
I make my way toward the bar, where my brother, Jax, is slinging beers and chatting with customers. A couple of ladies are trying their best to get his attention, but he doesn’t give them more than a friendly, impersonal smile. Funny how being in love has changed my brother, who used to be the biggest man-ho in Michigan. Now he only has eyes for his fiancée, Brooklyn. Can’t say I blame him. She’s gorgeous and smart.
I walk up to Jax and clap him on the shoulder. “’Sup, bro?”
He blinks in surprise then gives me a one-armed hug, patting my back. “Hey, what the hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be beating the shit out of players on the practice field or something?”
I ignore the tightening in my chest and keep my voice level. “I need to talk to you guys. In private.”
Last thing I need is Smith losing his cool in front of customers. My brother is a fucking hothead.
Jax scratches his chin. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go back to the office. Smith’s in there crunching numbers.”
I follow him into the office and plop down on the worn chair across from the desk. My brother Smith is typing away at the bar’s computer, his side to me. He’s grunting as he flips through papers and glances back and forth between them and the screen.
“Hey, fucknut,” Jax says to him as he settles on the corner of the desk.
“Fuck off, I’m balancing the spreadsheets,” Smith throws back without looking. “I’ll be out to help in a bit.”
“Asher’s here, and he wants to talk to us.”
That gets Smith’s attention. When his eyes lock on mine, I see him blink in surprise. Then they narrow in suspicion. “Asher? What’s wrong? You’re not due home for another visit until fall break.”
I lift my chin and prepare myself for war. “I left school.”
Both of my brothers are quiet for a moment.
“The fuck you did,” Smith tells me, standing
up and resting his knuckles on the desk in front of me. He’s a menacing sight—big, burly guy with ink. When I was younger, I was afraid of him and his temper. Now, it just pisses me off. He might be bigger than me, but he isn’t a threat. I’ve stood my own ground in our fights.
“This is my choice,” I tell him evenly, thinking of Whitney and how she looked when I first saw her again after so long. This is for her, and I’m not letting Smith drag me into a screaming match. Or a fist fight. “It’s already done,” I push onward. “I’ve withdrawn from the school, and I’m back now, so you just have to accept it.”
“Oh I do, huh?” Smith growls.
“Yeah, you do,” I reply, feeling my own hackles rise in response.
“What the fuck is going on?” Jax asks me, concern heavy in his voice. “Did you get into trouble or something?”
“No, college just wasn’t for me,” I tell them both. I look straight on at Jax. “This is my choice. I stayed in for three years and did everything that was expected of me, but I’ve decided I want to come home and work here.”
This is a blatant lie.
I did enjoy school for the most part. Football was fun and a good way to stay in shape. My classes were okay, and I was acing them.
I’m not telling them the real reason I left school. Partly because it’s none of their fucking business. I’m twenty-one, old enough to lead my own life. The reason is irrelevant. To them, at least.
But she’s not irrelevant to me. And I know that both of them will give me shit if they think I did this for a girl. They would never understand me doing this, even if both my brothers found love themselves and seem like almost completely different people sometimes.
They can be such fucking hypocrites.
Smith seems to calm slightly as he takes the news in, shakes his head in disappointment and folds his arms over his chest. “This is fucking stupid, man. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can tell you’ve been off the last couple of months. You should have called us about it—we could have talked instead of you doing something rash, like just up and quitting.”