33. Ash
“Well, Ted, what we saw last night was a truly lackluster performance from Portland Knights’ Asher “The Basher” Wilder. He’s usually such a dynamic player, but please pardon the pun, he looked frozen out there on the ice.”
“It’s true, Roy. This is unlike any playing we’ve ever seen from Wilder, and he’s certainly not living up to that nickname. Where’s the fire we’re used to seeing from him?”
“He’s certainly not bashing much of anything these days, Ted. And I can’t help but wonder if Coach Julian Olsen made a mistake in letting someone with so much aggression lead the team.”
“But how much aggression does he have left in him? Wilder’s practically been a kitten on the ice these past two games.”
“Coach Olsen’s method of choosing Trip Harrison’s replacement is certainly unconventional. Last month, we saw a much more combative team with Thomas Allen temporarily at the helm, and with Wilder taking over for the next month, I guess we’ll see how the third game plays out, won’t we, Ted?”
“That’s right, Roy. And now we’ll take a look at ? —”
I pressed the power button on the tv remote so hard the rubber got stuck.
Slamming it down on the wobbly hotel nightstand made the battery cover pop off.
Maybe throwing it at the TV would be aggressive enough for those commentators.
Groaning, I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes.
Nothing relieved the pressure behind them.
Scrutiny wasn’t new to me. I’d been in this game my whole life, picked apart a million times. But with my every move dissected under a new lens of leadership, I felt like the unfortunate frog on my table in freshman bio.
Nervous energy coursed beneath my skin until I was unable to sit still. At least I had plans to meet with Olivia for lunch. To break up the monotony of packing, she said. Maybe she thought I needed a break.
An incoming notification announced my Uber was five minutes away, so I went downstairs and waited.
A few Knights fans lingering in the lobby pounced on me when I stepped off the elevator.
They were nice, if pushy, and I felt obligated to sign their jerseys and hats and take selfies.
I forewent the Basher cockiness, though, and they quickly left me alone.
Still, the interaction left me wondering if I should’ve tried to put on my “game face” for them.
Everything was… off. Inside the Uber, my leg wouldn’t stop bouncing, to the point where the driver asked if I was okay.
The place where Olivia wanted to meet was still a few minutes’ walk from where I exited the car where she waited across the street.
A form-fitting burgundy sweater dress hugged her curves, and she wore deep red lipstick to match it.
I loved seeing her like this, all windblown with those pretty red lips I wanted all over me.
The milder weather of Raleigh was so different from Portland. Warm enough for us to shed the coats we would’ve worn at home, but chilly enough for Olivia to press her body close to mine for warmth as she tangled our fingers together.
As we walked, she pointed out her favorite nearby haunts from her days as a grad student. We stopped at her old coffee stand, and she ordered her regular for both of us. Extra-large Americano with an extra shot, and a pump of vanilla syrup.
“Espresso is my favorite, but if I only drink espresso shots, I’d never sleep. At least watering it down makes it last longer. And the vanilla’s just for fun.” The red lipstick left a perfect print of her lips on the take-out cup lid as she sipped.
A sandy-haired man in wire-rimmed glasses walking past paused as she spoke, then backtracked.
For some reason, my hackles instantly rose as the man drew nearer.
Reading body language was a skill I honed after years of tracking teammates and opponents across the ice to predict their every move.
Something about him didn’t sit quite right, and Olivia’s body tensed before he spoke.
“Liv?”
Her grip grew tighter on my hand even as her fingers went ice-cold. “Alex.” Cold indifference hissed out in a single word.
Alex? Oh, shit.
Using my hold on her hand to pull her closer, I tucked her against my side, glaring down at the asshole who’d shattered the incomparable, resplendent woman beside me.
As a professional athlete generally surrounded by professional athletes, I usually wasn’t aware of, or concerned by, my oversized physique.
But.
I was only a man.
And I had a few inches and at least fifty pounds of muscle on Alex. Would it be too much to flex as I wrapped my arm around Olivia? Would she hate it or love it?
Was I being too much of a caveman?
Eh, fuck it. I’m doing it. Hooray, male posturing.
Silence still curdled the autumn air around us, and Alex’s pale, almost colorless blue eyes took in the way I draped my arm over Olivia. She didn’t move, barely breathing, trapped.
“I’m Ash,” I announced, trying not to grin as I stared down at him from my superior height.
“Dr. Alexander Greyson.” Heavy emphasis on the doctor , like it mattered outside his little circle of academia.
Pretentious prick. But he didn’t offer his hand to shake, so I didn’t either. I would’ve crushed his hand if he tried.
“How are you, Liv?” Dr. Prick turned his focus back to Olivia, who stiffened under the gaze.
I almost understood how she’d fallen under his spell if his intensity was any indication of how he’d paid attention to her when she was all wide-eyed and vulnerable.
She said nobody ever paid attention to her when she was younger, and if this man’s tractor-beam eyes caught someone so shy and used to feeling inconsequential, well.
It was unsurprising she’d fallen for him so quickly.
“Fine.”
Why didn’t she tell him to fuck off so we could all move on? She was… frozen.
When I was seven, my dad was driving us home in late autumn, and a herd of deer crossed the road ahead of us, but one, a yearling probably, given its small size, wasn’t as fast as the others. And when the headlights caught its slender frame, the deer froze in fear.
Olivia reminded me of the deer now. Not fearful, but… trapped.
At least my dad and I avoided crashing into the deer, thanks to well-tuned brakes and a wide, grassy shoulder. Olivia didn’t seem to be able to avoid the crash.
“And your job? I heard you moved across the country.”
Olivia let out a mirthless laugh. “I recently left a contract lab.”
Spinning the truth so he wouldn’t be a dick. Clever girl.
“How disappointing. I thought you’d go further, but you never were as ambitious as you could’ve been.”
How did this condescending asshole think his opinion still mattered? And anyway, Hurst treated Olivia like shit. She deserved better, and she didn’t need to deal with this guy’s crap, either. I should introduce his face to my fist.
“And what do you do?” Alex’s voice cut through my rage spiral as the other man turned to face me.
“Hockey,” I rasped. Clearing my throat, I adjusted, “Left defenseman for the Portland Knights.” Instinctively, I pulled Olivia closer, needing to protect her from him.
“Ash… Wilder ?”
“Bingo.”
“You really dropped the ball last night.”
“Good thing I don’t play with a ball, then.” It was a rubber band snapping against my skin, the reflex to be a dick. But damn, the guy deserved it.
Even if he wasn’t wrong.
Dr. Prick adjusted the sleeve of his tweed elbow-patched blazer, tugging the fabric down.
Seriously, can this dude be more of a walking cliche?
“We should—” I began.
“Liv, what are you doing?” Dr. Prick ignored me. Again.
Seething, my free hand fisted hard enough for the tendons to pop. Whatever thrall he had over her still held.
“W—what?”
“Did you throw away your job for this—” he pointed at me.
“—this Neanderthal?”
My jaw clenched, but it was nothing new. Prepared to ignore it, I wanted to escape. Beside me, though, Olivia bristled, a huge shift from her deer in headlights demeanor. If her eyes could throw knives, she would’ve skewered Alex a dozen times over.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she hissed, coming out of her trance.
The professor stiffened, taking half a step back as she rounded on him.
“How dare you ask anything about my life? You told me what you thought of my choices and—and me. You gave up the right to have any opinions on what I do when you came after two thrusts and kicked me out of the bed, you fucking pretentious elbow-patched twat.”
At this point, I should be past jealousy, but the mental image left me outraged. Who would leave this woman wanting more? I had no time to think about it because Olivia was glorious when she was angry. And was she snarling ?
She continued, advancing on Alex, who had the audacity to look amused.
“Ash would never use me the way you did. Never once has he talked down to me, or compared me to anyone else, talked shit about my friends or my fucking personality . Ash is kind and thoughtful and I don’t have to hide who I am from him or his friends, and at least he can give me a fucking orgasm .
And he likes doing it .” The last bit she hurled at her ex like the final nails in the coffin of their relationship.
She was angry on my behalf.
Obviously, she was angry for herself, but her defense of me was… Well, it made me want to be all those things she thought I was and… more. I wasn’t sure I deserved it.
The grip of her fingers on my arm and the trembling in her body broadcast exactly how difficult it was for her to stand up to Alex, but her face didn’t show it. Pride washed through me; her glare didn’t waver as Alex walked away without another word.
Olivia marched the final blocks to the diner like she might break down if she spoke. I navigated seating and ordering, watching her mental gears spinning the whole time. When she let out a breath heavy enough to move a mountain, I slid a glass of water closer to her.
“Did that just happen?” she asked.