Chapter Fourteen - Asher
Asher
Three days later and that night is still all I can think about. The way her cunt felt around me, her little moans, the way her fingers dug into my back and tugged at my hair.
After she teased me about being done, I only raised my eyebrow and turned her onto her back, crawling down her body, all too ready to continue and eat her out for an hour, but she gave in and finally admitted to being done, pulling me up by my hair like the thought of me anywhere near her pussy hurt.
I mean, it probably did, but in a good way.
Instead, she demanded I help her to the bathroom so she could shower and take off her makeup. Of course, I did as I was told. After all, I was raised a gentleman.
Unfortunately, I fell asleep before she returned to bed, though.
What can I say? She took a while. And her bed was really damn comfortable and, surprisingly, long enough for me to stretch out without any body part dangling down the bedside.
I’m just glad she didn’t wake me to kick me out in the middle of the night with how explosive the whole thing started.
The next morning was . . . normal. Well, as normal as it could be, I guess.
When I woke up, she was already in her kitchen, preparing breakfast for the both of us. Scrambled eggs that were really damn delicious and toasted bread.
Neither of us spoke a word about the day, or night, before, neither our fight nor what happened after, and ate in a more comfortable silence than usual.
Then she kicked me out of her apartment, telling me she had to get ready. She didn’t say for what, though, leaving my thoughts to circle around what happened.
Was this a one-time thing? Did we only scratch an itch the way she does with Josh?
Or was it something more?
Josh. God, I don”t even want to think about that guy. The two of them looked too familiar, too cozy with each other as they walked arm in arm, and when I saw her smile at him, it was impossible to not get jealous.
Now that I can reflect on it a bit later, though, he seemed harmless enough. The way they interacted was truly the way friends would, not friends who secretly want to jump each other.
I might just get used to him around. I might just trust her when she says they’re only friends.
And I might just hope for a repeat of that night.
The way she responded to my touch, the tiny sounds leaving her—I want, no, I need more. I want to be the one to bring her pleasure, the one to make thrash on the mattress, make her go crazy and beg for more.
She”s so beautiful when she gives in, just like I imagined she would be.
I knew there was something under her feisty exterior, but who would have thought our desires would fit together like fucking puzzle pieces? She surpassed everything that I”ve imagined her to be. Even better, more beautiful than how I”ve imagined her in my shower.
But I haven”t even seen her since that morning. The first day, I could explain. Maybe our schedules just didn”t align that day. Running into each other in the stadium is not exactly a daily occurrence unless I make it that. But yesterday and today I”ve seen Millie around, a frown on her face and jaw tight, but no sign of Kayla.
Maybe she’s hiding, too embarrassed to face me. There’s not a doubt in my mind she’d deny it vehemently and tell me that I think too highly of myself if I asked her that, though.
I watch Luca and Millie walk into the cafeteria, hand in hand and with messy hair and plump lips. Millie waves at me before getting herself one of those godawful coffees and walking into the direction the two of them came from.
Luca, however, heads straight for me, grabs a chair at my table and plops his ass down.
”You”re not inconspicuous at all, you know that?” I ask him and he shoots me a sheepish grin.
”I know,” he says and starts to chuckle giddily, touching his lips with his fingertips and blushing. I shake my head, starting to question what magical powers Millie has and what the fuck she has done to my best friend.
I”ve never seen him this . . . giggly, this far gone over a girl.
”Where”s Kayla?” I try to sound like it’s an afterthought, but I fail miserably.
”Wait, you don”t know where your girlfriend is?” He looks at me with eyes wide in surprise and I gulp. I almost forgot that he doesn”t know that our relationship is fake.
“Yeah, we’ve both been busy and not really messaged much,” I stutter and luckily, he seems to buy that excuse.
”I get that. Those two are crazy busy. Millie said she”s sick or something, though.” He shrugs. “Apparently, she hasn’t been here the past two days.”
Huh. So not running from me like I thought.
Unless her illness is fake too, but I doubt she”d leave Millie hanging and let her go through their schedule by herself unless absolutely necessary.
An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach and makes me grind my teeth.
She isn’t sick because of that night, right? I”m not the smallest, but neither is she, but what if I . . . broke something? I don”t even know, is that a thing? I wasn’t exactly gentle with her after all.
When I have a quiet moment later on, I hide in a corner and quickly ask the internet.
Of course, all kinds of scenarios pop up. Infections, tears . . . holy shit, I don’t live under a rock, but I didn”t know half of those were a thing. And yes, I guess that makes me ignorant.
At least I know it”s not an STI, because I haven”t touched anyone since we”ve been tested for this game.
All the internet”s worst-case scenarios stay with me throughout the training until I”ve finally thrown the last ball for the day and follow the Walker brothers to the changing room, throwing my non-sweaty clothes on in record time before I leave, letting Luca know that he’d have to ask Van to call him a driver today.
Once outside, I search for another quiet corner and quickly call my mom.
”What happened?” She answers the phone without any greeting, making me chuckle. God, I’ve never been so glad about her answering her phone.
”Nothing happened,” I assure her quickly. ”Why would it?”
”Because I can count the amount of times you”ve called me just for the fun of it on one . . . okay, maybe two hands.” I roll my eyes. We both know that”s not true.
When I”m away from filming, they get a weekly call that she even brags to her friends about because their children aren’t as great at keeping in contact. So I ignore the shit-stirring.
”Mom, if a . . . friend of mine got sick, what should I get them to get better soon when I visit?”
”Sick?” She sounds shocked, and then remains silent for a few seconds. ”Well, what kind of sickness are we talking about?”
”I don”t actually know!” I tell her, suddenly feeling dumb.
“Well, cancer or a cold? That makes a huge difference, son.” I shake my head, very glad that it’s not the former we’re dealing with. Well, as far as I know.
Holy shit, what if it is cancer? No, yeah, I’m pretty sure that would have made their rounds.
”Let’s say a cold. Something not so serious that still knocks you out for a few days. What do you think I should get them?”
”Probably medicine for the mystery sickness and some food,” she says contemplatively. That is not helpful at all, though. ”Wait, is it Kayla?”
”Maybe.”
”Then I’m going to go out on a limb here and tell you to get her a hot water bottle. Definitely a pizza and a tub of ice cream. Painkillers, just in case.”
I scrunch my eyebrows together, confused. That doesn”t sound like the kind of food I got when I was sick as a child. Then again, it”s my mom, so she will know better than I do.
”Okay?” I tell her, already trying to figure out where to get that stuff.
”And definitely be prepared for more supermarket runs.”
I sigh when I pull into a parking spot in the underground garage of Kayla”s building. I feel ridiculous. If it were truly my fault that she”s gotten sick, I”m sure she would have wasted no time letting me know how much of an asshole I am and told me to wait on her hand and foot.
So why am I still so worried?
I know the answer. Of course, I know it, I”m not a fucking idiot. Even though she”s infuriating, even though she”s pricklier than a porcupine, for some reason I’m head over heels for that damn woman.
Why? I don”t know. Maybe I”m a masochist, maybe I like a challenge.
Fact is, she”s not creeping her way into my heart, she’s full on bulldozing it, and I am not yet sure what to make of it.
Gulping down my apprehensiveness, I jump out of the car and get the groceries I”ve bought from the backseat. I got some chicken soup, fruits, a few vegetables and other groceries to cook, depending on how well she is.
I also splurged on a way too expensive hot water bottle, because it’s the only one they had, and I saw one of those weighted blankets that are supposed to be good to fall asleep, so I grabbed one of those while I was at it.
Then there is a stuffed penguin toy, just because I felt like it and it looked cute. And some sweets and chips so I have something to snack on while I’m at her place. Provided she’ll even let me in.
I even swung by my mother’s shop and got some flowers. That’s appropriate for someone who’s recovering from a sickness, isn’t it? When I told her they were for Kayla, she wouldn’t even listen to more input and threw some purple lilies together with pink roses and white baby breath. Not a combination I’ve seen before, but it looks cute.
“New beginning,” she’d said with a wink as she handed it to me and I lovingly rolled my eyes at her incorporating a message with her flower language before I took it. Looks like Dad filled her in about Kayla’s and my history after all.
Heaving all the plastic bags over my arms is more difficult than I thought, but I”m not a two-trip kind of person. Never been, never will be.
Thank God I can close the door by nudging it with my hip, because I”m packed.
I shoot the building’s security guy a sheepish smile as I walk past him to the elevator. Thankfully he”s the same one I”ve seen a few times already, and he lets me through without a hitch. If a new one had to call Kayla for clearance to let me up, it could have gotten awkward.
After pushing the button to her level with my elbow, I lean my back against the cold elevator wall and take a few deep breaths. Holy shit, this stuff is heavy!
Groaning, I heave everything into the hallway when the doors open and haul it to Kayla”s door, where I set some of it on the ground to knock.
Silence.
I knock again, this time a bit louder. And by a bit louder, I mean that I am now full on pounding against her door.
There’s still only silence.
”Kayla,” I shout and knock again. Now I hear some shuffling behind the door. ”Open up. I know you’re there.”
”Go away, Asher.” Her voice on the other side of the door sounds weak. ”I”m sick.”
”I know.”
”Well, then go.” She really sounds like she”s suffering, her voice breaking, and I can hear a few curse words when I lean my ear against the door. “I’m not in the mood to entertain you.”
”No. Open up.”
”Fuck off, Asher.”
”I will, after you”ve opened the door.” I cross my fingers as I say it, though.
Her side of the door remains silent. My arm starts to hurt so I put down the rest of the stuff as well and start knocking with both of my hands drumming against her door.
”Come on, Sweetheart. The sooner you let me in, the sooner I”ll leave.”
I know that sounds paradox. It”s because I”m lying.
She doesn”t sound well, there is no way I”m just leaving her here. Not a chance.
Finally, I hear a very deep sigh, and then more shuffling on the other side of the door. I could cheer when I hear the key turning in her lock, but I manage to contain myself.
Finally, she opens the door a sliver and I waste no time pushing my feet between the door and the frame so she can’t close it on me.
”What do you want?” She looks miserable. Her hair is matted and messy, her bangs sticking in all directions. Dark bags under her eyes make her look like a ghost and she grimaces with what I assume is pain. Or annoyance.
She definitely doesn”t look like she should be all alone.
”Millie mentioned you”re sick, so I got you some stuff,” I tell her and point at the bags and groceries at my feet. ”Come on. Let me in.” I soften my tone and I can see the fight seep out of her slowly. Whether that’s because of what I’m said or her feeling too weak to argue, I don’t know.
Finally, she sighs and steps aside, one of her arms protectively in front of her stomach, hunching over with a groan after taking a few steps.
Ah. Now everything makes sense.
It’s not my fault, but now I know why my mom told me to bring ice cream and comfort food.
”Go sit on the couch,” I instruct her as I gather the things up, walk past her, and head straight to the kitchen, ignoring her attempts to push me back out the door.
”Asher, seriously, go away,” she says weakly, but when I look at her, my resolve only strengthens. She might not realize or want it, but she shouldn’t be alone when she feels this bad.
”Nah,” I say with a shrug, trying to make the situation a bit lighter.
”You know there”s no cameras here, right?” She raises her eyebrow at me, and I nod.
“Yeah, I know. Not your kink,” I say with a wink, but it goes right over her head.
”There’s really no need to act like a loving boyfriend here. You should save that for the cameras.” She leans her back against the wall as another cramp seems to shoot through her and she puts her hand on her stomach.
Her words sting, but I get it.
We might have had sex, but we also have a deal. This is a show. For our fans, for the media, and maybe it”s a show we”re putting on for ourselves too.
Or maybe it”s just an excuse the both of us find it easy to hide behind.
”I know,” I say softly and continue on my way to the kitchen. “But I want to.”
Stunned silence falls before she gathers herself.
”You shouldn”t be here. This isn”t real.” There is a hint of desperation in her voice, like she”s clinging onto her words the way a wayward floater would cling to a door in the cold ocean after their ship sank.
I have had enough of her self-pity, though.
”Will you just shut up and let me take care of you?”
She jumps at my tone and even I am surprised at how firm I sound.
But she listens. Grumbling under her breath, I swear I can hear her mention the word ”bossy,” as she walks to her couch and sits down, hugging a pillow to her stomach.
I put down all the bags in the kitchen and hurry to throw the tub of ice cream into her freezer, before stowing the groceries wherever I think they go and just hope we”ll find them again later.
”Hey, Sweetheart.” She turns around, annoyance creasing her forehead at the nickname and already opening her mouth to object. ”Catch.”
I throw her the little penguin plush, and she catches it effortlessly.
Damn, maybe she should trade jobs with Luca for the charity match. She”s a pro. I doubt Luca is a good dancer though. Or singer. Yeah, now that I think about it, they would absolutely boo him off stage.
”Oh my God.” She looks at the little toy with wide eyes, turning it in her hands. ”That”s so cute!” Suddenly, her eyes turn glassy. ”Oh my God, it is wearing a bunny costume, are you kidding me?” Her voice breaks and I look at her, startled.
She looks at the plush with watery eyes and my heart starts bouncing in my chest. What did I do? Is something wrong? She looks . . . happy though? She”s smiling, at least.
I”ll take that as a win.
”You should name him,” I tell her, trying for a lighthearted tone, because if there’s one thing I’m not good at, it’s emotions, and open her cupboards again.
Didn’t I just see . . .? Ah, there it is. An electric kettle.
When I look back at her, she eyes the plush deep in thought, tilting it right to left and left to right as she contemplates names. Then she looks up at me with a softened expression.
”I name her Poppy the Penguin,” she declares, holding the toy up like the baby in Lion King.
”Poppy?”
”No, like, the full thing. Poppy the Penguin.”
”Sounds like a certain super spy. The name’s Poppy. Poppy the Penguin. It”s quite a mouthful.” She chuckles before she continues to turn the plush in her hands.
”Thank you, Asher.” She says it so quietly I almost don”t hear it over the boiling water. And I figure that”s the point, so I don”t push it.
Instead, I grab the hot water bottle and fill it, almost burning my hand on a scalding hot splash. The sacrifices I’m bringing here should really be appreciated. I think I deserve my own statue.
”Here you go,” I say and hand her the hot water bottle before I grab the blanket from the last bag in the kitchen and carry it over to the living room as well. ”Come on, get comfy.”
She shuffles around for a bit until she lies half on the couch and half on the armrest, Poppy the Penguin clutched to her chest and the hot water bottle on her stomach. Then I throw the blanket over her.
”What the—” She pulls at the fabric, making surprised sounds as she tries to fight it off. “This is so heavy.” Finally, she manages to pull it off her head and looks at it confused.
”Yep, it”s a weighted blanket. Didn”t know what exactly you had, but it”s supposed to help you sleep and I figured that would make sense either way.”
”That”s . . . surprisingly thoughtful,” she says, her voice full of skepticism, which I decide to ignore. I am very thoughtful but I understand why she’s not very convinced of that.
”Now, what are we doing?” I let myself fall on the couch, somewhere she doesn’t have her legs spread out under the blanket and lay my head back, stifling a yawn. It”s been a long day.
”I was watching a true crime series,” she admits and looks at me with skeptical eyes, cuddling Poppy the Penguin close to her chest.
True crime? Honestly, that sounds easy enough to ignore. My brain is not in sponge mode anymore, so something simple sounds right up my alley.
”Sounds perfect.”
She grins at me and reaches for the remote, even re-starting the episode for me.
For a while, we sit in silence, listening to very calming male voice explaining how forensics manage to reveal murderers and rapists. It”s surprisingly engaging and even though I was convinced the documentary style would make me fall asleep quickly, I find myself curious of what happens next.
”Why are you really here, Asher?” Kayla asks me during a quick episode recap, and I shrug, watching her from the corner of my eyes.
She”s like a cat. When she”s curious, she will approach you hesitantly, but I”m scared that the slightest slip, the smallest movement, will spook her enough to run off and bring us back to square one.
”Because I was worried about you,” I say and turn to look at her.
”Worried?” She tilts her head and looks at me with wide eyes. ”Why?”
”Because,” I start, then stop myself and take a deep breath.
There is no way I can tell her that I”m starting to like her. That my heart flutters when she looks at me. Because that would definitely spook her and send her off. So I divert.
”Because I was afraid it had something to do with me.” A teasing retort is on the top of her tongue, I can see it on her face, but I quickly continue. ”Maybe you were skipping work because you found it awkward to run into me.”
”Sure,” she says with an eyeroll, but I can see a smile. “Did you think I was scared of your monster cock?” She chuckles, but suddenly her face contorts into a grimace and she pulls her knees to her chest. ”Fuck.”
”Does it hurt that bad?” I ask and get up, I don’t know why, ready to fight someone if it would make her feel better or something. ”Where are your painkillers?”
”I”m out of painkillers,” she tells me with a strained voice before she breaks into a groan and tilts her head down so her face is hidden behind her hair. Then she releases a soft breath and her shoulders relax the tiniest bit. ”And I couldn”t bring myself to deal with getting new ones. I didn”t think the cramps be that bad this month. It”s not often that they knock me out like this.”
”See? Good thing I came over.” I head to the kitchen to grab the ones I brought with me, just hoping they’re the right ones.
For once, I”m really glad I decided to listen to my mother. After filling a glass with water, I bring both to Kayla and her whole face relaxes in relief when she sees them. Without hesitation, she pops two pills out and swallows them down with a greedy sip of water, keeping her eyes closed.
”Is there anything else I can do?” I want to pull her into my arms, make the pain go away, but that’s not happening.
”You can order me food,” she says contemplatively, nodding slightly and opening her eyes in a lazy blink. ”Get me a pineapple pizza please?”
”You”re a heathen,” I say with a chuckle and pull out my phone to order.
”And you”re about to become a head shorter.” Another groan falls from her lips, obviously not the good kind, and her whole body tenses again. ”As soon as I can move.”
”Alright, alright,” I mumble and pull up a food delivery app. “You’re getting your disgusting pizza.”
Apparently, there”s an Italian restaurant close by. I just hope they even offer pizza with pineapple. The country of Italy will probably distance itself from the restaurant, but hallelujah, they do. They also have a bunch of other stuff that sounds amazing, so I go to town on my order.
”Fifteen minutes,” I tell her and throw the phone aside.