“Living together doesn’t mean much. I guess part of it’s my fault. It was awkward at first, having her around, and we never did stuff together. I went out to dinner with her and Dad a few times, but that’s about it.”
The wind tousled his hair. A dark strand fell across his forehead, and he brushed it back. “How is any of that your fault?”
“Dad expected me to make an effort, but I missed my mom too much. Eventually your mom just gave up. Can’t really blame her.”
“Not surprising,” he muttered. “Let’s sit?”
He pointed to a bench. The night was cold, but it hadn’t rained in days, and the wood looked dry.
“Sure.” I sat, angling toward him. “And you? What was living with your grandma like?”
Asher rested his arm along the back of the bench, drumming his fingers against the wood. My pulse faltered—we were close now. His cologne lingered in the cool air, and the slightest shift would press our thighs together.
“It was great,” he said. “She’s cool. I went to school, trained, and raced more seriously after I graduated.”
I wouldn’t admit it, but I already knew. I’d never missed a headline about his career. “Why agree to come here?” I asked. “Dad’s team hasn’t qualified for the world championship in at least ten years. He must see potential—he wouldn’t have bought it otherwise, but…”
Articles had called Asher the young promise of racing. As much as I loved that he was here, Stetbourg didn’t make sense.
“Does it bother you that I’m here?” His tone shifted, serious, and regret pricked my chest. I hadn’t meant to sound unwelcoming.
“No, not at all,” I rushed out. “I just thought you’d stay in Spain. You never liked it here.”
“I’m still not sure I do.” Disappointment rippled through me as he edged away, like he’d suddenly realized how close we sat. “But I didn’t get picked by a team when I turned eighteen. For two years, I paid for everything with the money Dad left me, but that couldn’t last. Racing’s expensive. Forward Racing made an offer when they were changing owners. Your father probably would’ve objected if he’d been in charge then.”
I wasn’t so sure. Dad loved to brag about his business instincts. He knew Asher was an asset, even if they clashed.
“Also,” Asher added, “it was my dad’s first team. I think he would’ve been proud.”
I hadn’t expected him to be so straightforward. No bragging about endless offers, no pretending he chose this team for fun. Most guys would’ve dressed up the truth. He wasn’t like most guys—and I likedthat.
A lot.
Probably too much.
“You miss him, huh?” Sergio Williams had been a legend. Asher had a lot to live up to, but I believed he could surpass it.
Asher leaned his head back. “All the time. Guess you miss your mom too.”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Everything would’ve been easier if she were still alive.”
“I could use my father’s advice,” he said. “He taught me to race, but it wasn’t enough. Sometimes I try to imagine what he’d do, and it’s frustrating not knowing.”
I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “Mom tried to give me all the advice she could once she got sick. I wrote it in my diary so I wouldn’t forget, but…” My voice wavered.
A warm palm landed on my knee. Shock jolted through me as my gaze flew to his. Heat spread under his touch, even through denim. Then, just as quickly, he withdrew and straightened. “How many people live in Stetbourg?”
I was grateful for the shift. Crying in front of him would’ve been humiliating.
“About two hundred thousand,” I said. “We had to look it up for an econ project once, so it stuck.”
He chuckled. “Wow. Almost as many as Madrid.”
Not even close. He’d just proven he could be an ass when he wanted to. Madrid’s population was much larger.
I nudged his leg with my knuckles. “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.”
An innocent smile curved his lips. “Sorry, peque. So—do you want to go to college here? Does Stetbourg even have one?”
