Chapter 23
S omehow, I beat Asher back to the condo, but after I enter the apartment, I get a text from him.
Asher: Meet me on the roof.
A surge of jitters shoots through me as I immediately get in the shower. Only five minutes later, when I’m putting a razor to my leg, the glass door opens, and in walks a naked Asher.
“I said to meet me on the roof.”
“And I had to shave my legs,” I sharply retort.
“That’s not nearly as fun as naked swimming.”
I glance over my shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow and catching him staring at my ass. Considering I have one foot propped up on the bench, I’m giving him an unholy view he’s taking full advantage of. “What’s it with you and naked events?”
He grins devilishly when he realizes I caught him. His hands go to my hips, his thumbs dragging along my wet skin. “You’re the Olympian. I’m merely following in your predecessor's footsteps.”
“Are you sending out a tribute to Zeus or me?” I quip.
“Both.” He wraps his arm around me, pulling me upright. “Come up on the roof with me. I ordered food, and we can pull up a movie on one of the televisions, and then swim under the stars.”
My head falls to his chest. “You’re good at this.”
“I’ve never done it before, so I’m happy to hear that. Incidentally, do you think you can wear the gold medal and nothing else?”
I smirk. “Football will never be an Olympic sport.”
I can feel his returning smirk against my neck. “Now you’re just crushing my dreams.”
“If you leave, I might let you try it on later.”
“Fine. Finish shaving, but I’m not leaving.
Pass the shampoo.” I roll my eyes but hand him the bottle.
“Do you think you want to move into my room?” he asks, and I freeze mid-swipe of my razor.
“You don’t have to, and I’m not trying to pressure you before you’re ready for that,” he continues when I don’t reply, stepping beneath the spray to wash out the shampoo from his hair.
“I figured it would make more sense since we both know you already like sleeping in my bed and clothes and there is always the risk of thunderstorms and nightmares that you’ll need me to rescue you from. ”
I shake my head, biting into my bottom lip as I resume my shaving. “Are you always going to be this clingy?”
“Clingy?” he chokes, stealing my body wash and using it on himself.
I roll my head over my shoulder and meet his perplexed gaze. “You’re a bit obsessed with me,” I note.
He gives me that sexy, self-assured, cocky grin. “You have no idea how much.”
“I’ll think about moving into your room.”
“Just remember, I may be clingy, but I make up for it with orgasms.” He gives me a wink and then steps out of the shower. “Rooftop, Doctor. I’ll be waiting.”
He steps out of the shower, wraps a white towel around his waist, and then leaves.
Lord, I am in a lot of trouble with that man.
I finish shaving and showering, and then I get myself dried off and ready.
Despite what he says, I am not going up to the rooftop naked.
I brush out my hair and put on a bit of makeup, and then after deliberating for too long, I decide on a tank top with a shelf bra and cotton shorts.
By the time I wind my way up the stairs, my stomach is rumbling. Asher is sitting at a table between the bar and the pool, staring at his phone, but when he catches me approaching, his face lights up, and my heart skips a beat accordingly.
“You’re not naked,” he accuses.
“Neither are you.” He’s wearing a blue shirt that makes his eyes appear nearly the same color, and joggers.
He stands, and then pulls out the chair beside his for me, taking my hand and helping me into it. “I knew you wouldn’t come up here naked. It’s fine. I’ll enjoy stripping you down later.”
He takes his seat and then opens up the bags of food. My stomach rumbles again, much louder this time, and I giggle.
He cocks an eyebrow. “Hungry?”
“Shut up. It’s late.”
“It is.” He yawns.
“Tired?”
“Shut up. I worked hard today.”
He opens the bag of food and takes out a bunch of sushi. “I didn’t think this place delivered,” I tell him, lifting one of the cartons.
“They don’t. It’s Callan’s restaurant. Well, he’s a secret owner of it, but they deliver for me. Dig in.”
These guys, with their fame and money, are something else.
We both start munching down, too hungry to even talk.
The roof is open, sending in a late summer breeze that feels nothing short of heavenly.
The only lighting is two hurricane lanterns with fake candles in them and multiple strings of Edison bulbs that line the glass wall on the other side of the pool. It gives it a very romantic feel.
Dining on the roof of a building under the stars like this is nothing short of fantasy-like, and I know that’s what he was going for.
He’s trying to win my heart and make falling in love with him irresistible.
It’s easy to let him continue to sweep me off my feet, but I’d be a fool not to force myself to stay grounded too.
We finish eating, both of us contently full until he gets a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.
“What is it?”
“Want to go on an adventure with me?”
I laugh. “What kind of adventure?”
“I don’t have dessert here.” He sits up. “I don’t eat junk during the season.”
“I’m not following,” I admit.
“I want to get you something sweet and I know a cookie place not too far from here. They make these peanut butter protein bomb things that have no sugar or carbs.”
I scrunch up my nose. “Sounds delicious.”
He chuckles. “They’re an acquired taste, but their regular cookies are amazing.”
“I thought you said you were tired.”
“I’ve gotten my second wind. Come on. It’ll be fun.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me up to my feet. “What are you doing? We can’t go out together.”
“Sure, we can. We’re under the cloak of darkness. We’ll sneak out the back way and slink around the city.”
He grabs the to-go bag filled with the remains of our dinner, and then we’re flying down the stairs, back into the apartment.
The bag gets thrown into the trash, and then he’s tossing the flip-flops I have by the front door at me.
I slip them on as he’s stuffing his giant feet into his sneakers and throwing on a Red Sox ball cap.
“Let’s do this shit.”
“Wait! I don’t have my purse or my phone!” I cry out as he flings the door open and pushes me through.
“I have money and my phone. If your mom needs us, she’ll call me.”
The elevator chimes, and then we step on, quickly descending to the first floor of the building. He steps out first, glancing left toward the front entrance. The doorman is helping a woman with two large suitcases into the building, and Asher gives my hand a squeeze, nodding to the right.
“What?”
He gives me a look. “You’re the worst on covert missions.
Go!” Without waiting for my reply, he races off in the direction of the back of the building, his body ducked down as he weaves us toward the back exit.
Paparazzi have been populating the front of the building like cockroaches in a New York City basement.
It’s been aggravating the hell out of everyone in the building, but especially Asher.
We reach the back exit unobserved, and then he flings the door open, putting us on a side street in Beacon Hill. “Where to next, Mission Impossible?”
“This way.”
We start down the street, holding hands and chatting about Mason’s first day of daycare and how I have to report back to the field tomorrow.
“You do know it will be damn impossible for me not to want to kick his ass, right?” Asher states as we turn left toward Beacon Street, making a loop around the neighborhood simply to avoid the front of the building.
“You can’t. Not if you want to keep your position on the team. Separation of church and state,” I tell him.
“You’re my church, and football is my state? Is that how we’re playing this?”
“The roles are up to you. All I’m saying is, I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. Especially not with your coach. We agreed to keep us separate from the world, and that includes football.”
“My queen, that was when you were only my baby mama. Now you’re my woman and my baby mama. The game has changed.”
“But the stakes haven’t. If anything, they’re higher now.” I glance up at him as we walk. His face is trained ahead, but I can tell he’s not happy about this. I appreciate that he’s protective of me, but facing off with Joe won’t benefit either of us.
Thankfully, he lets it drop, and when we turn the corner on Beacon, heading away from his building he hisses out a curse.
“Freaking rats. You’d think they’d have moved on by now.
They’ve never been all over me like this before.
That’s always been one of the beauties of Boston.
It’s not New York or LA. The press usually gives us breathing room. ”
“Not anymore it seems.”
He grunts in dismay and quickens our pace, keeping his head tilted down, the brim of his hat shadowing his face. The dude is six-seven and built, well, like a football player. He stands out no matter what. After another block, we stop in front of a shop with neon blue signage.
“That’s The Way…?” I read questioningly.
“The cookie crumbles,” he finishes for me. “It’s a play on words, even though they never finished the sentence.”
“Got it. Very cute.”
He opens the door and leads me in, but I pause, jerking my hand from his. He turns his head to find me, and I shake my head, staring around the shop that has about a half-dozen patrons plus the staff inside.
“I come in here enough that the staff all know me, and I tip them like I’m a Kennedy for their quiet loyalty. It’ll be fine.”
“What about them?” I bounce my head in the direction of the occupied tables.
He shrugs. “Maybe they won’t notice.”
I give him a you cannot be serious look.
“It’ll be a test.”
He retakes my hand and drags my reluctant body inside and up to the counter.
“Ash! Hey, man!” one of the kids behind the counter crows, reaching out his fist. Asher releases my hand and gives him a fist pump.
“Hey, Kev. How’s it going? How’s school?”
“Good!” the kid exclaims. “Senior year is coming this fall. It’ll be epic. What can I get you”—his gaze swishes over to me—“and your lady friend tonight?” That’s the moment we hear the click of a camera phone behind us.
I stomp on Asher’s foot, and he winces. “This is actually the amazing doctor who saved my shoulder. I wanted to thank her by buying her the best cookies in the city.” He turns around and addresses the café full of people who are all staring at us.
“And if you all delete any pictures or videos you just took and promise not to post anything about my lovely doctor who is very camera shy, I will buy you all cookies, sign anything you want me to sign, and have my assistant send you each a ticket to a game this year.”
That quickly wins everyone over, and Asher ends up dropping hundreds on cookies and taking selfies—which he’s fine with—and signing everything anyone hands him with the marker he keeps in his pocket at all times.
He also texts Freddy to inform him of the offer he just made and gets a returning thumbs-up.
By the time we leave the cookie shop, I’ve eaten my weight in salted caramel and chocolate chip cookies, and Asher has a very contended smile on his lips.
“You love that,” I remark. “Don’t you?”
He gives a half-shrug as we stroll. “What’s not to love?
It’s a trip that’s never gotten old. I like signing autographs and taking selfies and dropping money to make someone’s day better.
I love being able to pay it forward. It’s why I love going to the hospital.
All I do is throw a ball around a field, but it’s magic to those people and those kids, and I think that’s the coolest part of this gig.
Sure, it’s annoying when I can’t leave my apartment or take my girlfriend and son out to the park without being mobbed or photographed.
But I’ve been dealing with the celebrity side of life since I was sixteen, so it’s not new, and for the most part, I’ve learned how to manage it. ”
“I don’t know how you do it,” I admit. “I never had anything like that when I was skating. Not even with endorsements or winning gold.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
That thought hits me, and hits me hard. Regardless of this thing between the two of us, Mason being Asher’s son, will be in the spotlight.
I didn’t get knocked up by a regular guy; I got knocked up by a football god.
A man who stems from a family of football legends.
My instinct is to shelter and protect Mason from all of that, but the clock is already ticking on that particular time bomb.
The world will discover what we’ve been hiding sooner or later.
And when they do, they’ll want a piece of it for themselves.
We reach the back door of the building and slip back inside, both of us quiet and a bit stoic.
It’s late, and we’re both exhausted. Wordlessly, he guides me down the hall to his room, even though I never told him I’d move in here with him.
We brush our teeth, and then he exits the bathroom to give me privacy.
I wash my face, fighting the jolt of butterflies that comes over me.
Last night, this all sparked into action, but tonight we’re actually doing this.
It’s real now. I’m his girlfriend. That’s what he called me, and I told myself I was done with second-guessing when Asher walked out on the ice after chasing after me.
Something catches my eye and brings a smirk to my lips.
He has a T-shirt in here, slung over the side of his bathtub.
It’s a team shirt with his number and name on it.
I strip out of my clothes and slip it on, the soft cotton falling around the middle of my thighs.
The butterflies only intensify as I switch off the light and step into the dark bedroom.
My feet pad softly toward the edge of the bed, and then a laugh tickles the back of my throat. Asher is shirtless, on his back, his reddish-brown hair already rumpled because he’s fast asleep. His breaths are deep and slow, his full lips softly parted.
“So much for the end to our hot date,” I whisper, running my hand through his soft hair, reveling at how I can do that now. At how this larger-than-life man is now mine. I’m going to fall in love with him. I’m positive of it. And it scares the absolute crap out of me.