I make a sympathetic face. “It must hurt to play football with an injury like that.”
His hands go still from where he was rubbing the side of his leg. “I don’t play anymore. That was my last game.”
I reach over and place my hand on top of his. “Oh, Beck, I’m so sorry.”
He shrugs one of his big shoulders. “It is what it is. Lots of guys lose their shot at the draft from injuries.”
He says it like it’s not a life-altering thing but I can see how tense his shoulders have gotten talking about it so I search for something to distract him.
“I have a friend who swears by this homeopathic, organic tiger balm she uses. I can get you a tub of it if you want. It, it’s not a magic healing potion or anything but it could help with the pain when it’s bothering you.”
He tilts his head my way and studies me for a few minutes before nodding. “Yeah, sure. That’d be great. Thanks, Peaches.”
I wrinkle my nose at the nickname but nod at him just as Tate comes into the room.
“If you’re done hitting on my friends, can we get some work done?” He asks me in a hard tone that has me snatching my hand back and pulling it away from Beckett’s knee.
I’m giving up on trying to understand Tate at this point. He’s hot, cold, horny, and then icy again and it makes my head spin. But his words do serve to remind me why I’m here in the first place. These men are not my friends, couch cuddles or not, they’re Tate’s and I’m here to be his tutor and fake girlfriend. I need to keep that fixed firmly in my mind or I’m going to start getting attached to them and that’s just going to lead to me getting hurt when he doesn’t need me anymore. I give Beckett a tight smile and follow Tate to the table to get to work.
We burn the rest of the afternoon off with schoolwork. Tate barely grunts in my direction and I’m so ready to be out of this house and back in mine so I get up from the table, stretch and then go over to the window. My fingers hesitate on the blinds but I need to look so I slowly pull them apart. The visibility is terrible and I can’t even see the backyard fence. When a wind gust blows snow against the window, I flinch back and let the blinds snap closed again as a flashback rocks through me.
I shake him over and over again as my cracked voice screams. “Come back, come back! Don’t leave me. Please, Daddy, don’t leave me here alone!”
A strong hand clamps down on my shoulder and pulls me away from the closed window. My vision clears from the memory to see Ash glaring at me with those jade-green eyes of his.
“Leave them closed. We don’t need you flipping out here if that’s a trigger for you.”
I pull away from him and dart around him to get away from his judgmental tone and look.
“I’m fine!”
Two years, two years I have danced for this man, feeling a connection, a draw to him every night. How wrong I was. There’s nothing there at all. It was just a physical response, nothing more - because Asher James is a first-rate bastard that I could never have feelings for. And just like that, all my nerves from being around him disappear.
ASHER
What is it about this little bookworm nobody that pisses me off so much? She’s not someone I have a history with and she’s not really doing anything wrong, but having her here in my space feels like nails on a chalkboard. The way she practically cringes whenever I’m within two feet of her annoys the hell out of me. So why the fuck can’t I stop looking at her? Seeing her spread out on the couch between Jude and Beck had my fingers clenched in anger but that didn’t stop me from sitting down and studying her face while she slept. It was the first really good look I’ve had of her without those big black-rimmed glasses on and without them, she’s actually quite pretty.
When she woke up and spotted me watching her, those big blue eyes surrounded by long black lashes had goosebumps rising up on my skin like I had seen a ghost. It’s fucking weird and I’m ready for her to get the fuck out of my space, storm or no storm.
I pull the first round of frozen pizzas from the oven and slide in the next two while brooding on it. Who the fuck is afraid of a snowstorm? Like, come on, really? It’s probably one of those twisted games girls play to make themselves seem like a victim. Something too many guys fall for. I don’t give a shit if Tate said she was crying in her sleep. She was probably faking that too to get her claws into him. I swear every fucking chick that walks into this house has some kind of angle to hook either Tate or Jude. They’re going pro and with that comes a fat ass payday. Beck would have been going with them too if he hadn’t been injured last season. I’ve seen some seriously twisted shit from the chicks that come here looking to score a possible ring on their finger. Some of them even try and hook up with me just to get closer to them.
For the first year it was kind of fun and I was an eager participant in the pussy-fest that came through almost every night but it got old pretty fast when I saw some of the lengths these women would go to. I once caught a desperate redhead picking through the bathroom garbage. I walked in just as she was putting a used condom in her purse. It was her angle to try and knock herself up and tie Tate to her for life with a kid. Fucking skank.
I turn and lean against the counter waiting for the oven timer to go and picture my Butterfly. She’s the only woman in two years that hasn’t wanted anything from me. It’s beautifully uncomplicated. She dances for me and I worship her with my eyes. I just…want her to want…more. I want her to want to be with me outside that fucking cage. I don’t want to just fuck the hell out of her, I mean I do want that, but I also want to hold her hand, hold her in my arms on the couch while we watch a movie, wake up and watch her sleeping face. My eyes track over to the dining table where Savy sits reading a book and I let out a sigh. Fuck!
The timer goes off and I holler to everyone that dinner is up as I slice up the pies and pass out plates. I snag beers from the fridge and pass them out but Jude goes straight to the liquor cabinet and pulls out a bottle of Jack and five glasses and brings them to the table.
“I’m bored! Let’s play a drinking game.”
He fills all five glasses to the brim and slides them to each of us and I see the bookworm cringe slightly and I can’t help myself.
“What’s the matter, mouse? Too good to drink with us?”
I expect her to stammer and flush red like she usually does but she surprises me when she meets my eyes in a challenge, lifts the glass, and drinks half of it down without even batting an eye.
“Thank you, next.”
Jude whoops, “Alright, alright, alright! Baby doll’s down to play! What’s it going to be? Kings, Flip Cup, Beer pong?”
