13. Asher
Asher
There aren’t a lot of seating options in the small dive bar, but we settle in a booth near a back corner because Rae is still a little paranoid about being recognized.
I want to give her shit that she’s being full of herself, but I know she’s not.
She really is that recognizable. And there may be something wrong with me that I would get a sick satisfaction if something came out that she was here with me.
Maybe because it wouldn’t take much research to figure out who I am. It would raise a lot of questions about her being so good. I bet I can even get her to question it.
She looks around as we sit down, and I can sense her nerves. “Just relax,” I encourage, but I’m met with daggers.
“You know that’s the worst thing you can say to someone who’s anxious, right?”
I raise my right hand, since I can’t lift both. “My bad, sounds like you need a drink then.”
“One. I’ll have one.”
I smirk, standing to go up to the bar since I doubt she’s going to move from that spot. I half expect to find her with her hat back on her head when I come back. “What do you like?”
“Juice,” she deadpans and I chuckle.
“A sex on the beach, got it.” I wink and ignore her dropped jaw as I get her a drink. Normally I would indulge, but I’m not supposed to drink while on the medication I have to take after my surgery.
I come back with the pink drink for her, and water for me. She wrinkles her nose as I approach.
“Are you drinking an entire glass of liquor?”
I give her a challenging look. “Want to try it?”
“No, I’m good.”
I take a giant gulp of the ice cold water, and watch Rae’s face contort even more, in either shock or disgust.
“Guess I’ll be driving us back.” She sighs, shaking her head while I sit on the other side of the booth so I can look at her and stretch my legs out.
“Relax, good girl, it’s just water.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, bringing her drink to her mouth, wrapping her lips around the straw and taking a sip.
I watch the movement, focused on her pink mouth that has a light sheen on it like she’s wearing some of that gloss shit girls wear.
Her throat moves while she swallows, and I grunt, adjusting in my seat as my dick stands to attention.
Rae’s hot, and I haven’t fucked anyone in too long so of course I can’t help the way my body reacts. Fucking sue me.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Why is your arm in a sling?” she asks yet again and I grit my teeth; I should know she wasn’t going to let this go.
“Got hurt.”
“How?”
“How do you think?”
“Why do you do it?” She shakes her head.
I clench my jaw, this is a question I’ve gotten a lot. People really don’t understand the appeal to wanting to go into a cage and fight another person. Well, most people don’t. That’s what I liked about everyone at Uncaged. They got it, for the first time in my life, they got me.
“Why do you sing?” I counter.
“Because I love it,” she answers, easily.
“Same thing. And I’m good at it.”
Rae looks down, swirling her straw around in her drink. “I guess I just don’t get the appeal.”
“Do you get the appeal of any sport?”
Her eyes narrow at me, and I feel like this isn’t going well.
I don’t know if I invited her here because I wanted her to like me, or to distract her.
Or maybe for my own selfish reasons. With the way she’s glared and argued with me, I feel like no matter what my original intention was, I don’t think she’s going to be here much longer.
“No, I guess I don’t,” she says, and her answer surprises me. “I enjoy watching them, but I don’t get the appeal to playing them.”
“What about when your puppy dog, Grayson, gets in a fight on the ice? Do you cover your eyes?” I taunt.
She chokes on her drink. “He’s not my puppy dog. What do you have against him? Against everyone in my family?”
“Oh, he’s family. Does he know that?”
Rae rolls her eyes. “I grew up with Grayson and Easton, but they’re just both really good friends. Plus, Gray doesn’t really fight.”
“Not surprising.” I shake my head.
I watch her take another long sip, her tongue touches the straw right before taking it into her mouth, and swallowing more of the drink. I’m distracted by the sight, and open my mouth without thinking about it. “I saw the article.”
I don’t even need to elaborate; the look on her face is enough. She knows the one I’m talking about.
Rolling her lips together, she asks. “And what do you think?”
“About the article or about you?”
She looks up at me, her blue eyes seem to have some fire behind them when she answers. “Both.”
I settle back against the seat, stretching out my right arm along the back of it, wishing I could stretch both out. I keep my eyes locked on hers without speaking right away.
Lifting my chin, I keep looking at her; she shifts in her seat, and looks away. She’s nervous. I’m making her nervous. There’s some sick part of me that likes that. She takes another long sip of her drink, and reaches the bottom of it.
“I think,” I start. The sound of my voice has her looking at me once again. “That I don’t even know who you are.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes, but I continue.
“Neither does that journalist who wrote the article, or the people leaving comments all over it.”
She swirls her straw in the cup of ice, jaw clenching.
“But I don’t think you know who you are either.”
“What does that mean? Of course I do.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Do you?”
“I—Yeah, I mean, of course I do.”
I nod, but don’t believe her, scooting over to her on the bench seat. Keeping my arm on the back of it, almost around her. I could play with her hair, or touch her skin if I just moved my fingers a couple inches.
“Then tell me something about yourself. Tell me everything. Tell me who you are.”
She opens her mouth and then shuts it again, trying to drink from the glass that still only has ice in it.
I should offer to get her another one, but I don’t want to move from this spot.
I’m so close to her, I could be closer if she’ll let me.
But I don’t want to ruin the chance of it if I get up again.
“What do you want to know?” Her voice is soft and hesitant.
“Who’s Rae Colver?” I ask, knowing her stage name is Rae Sparks. But that’s not who she is, and that’s one thing I know.
She hesitates answering. I thought she was confident, I mean she has to be to get on stage and perform, but right now she seems nervous, unsure, and not at all like the pop star that performs in front of thousands of people.
“I—I don’t know.” She finally sighs. “I thought I knew, but…”
“Sounds like you should figure that out.”
“What about you?” she counters. “Who’s Asher Hudson?”
My teeth grind together, and I don’t want to admit that my answer is the exact same as hers. I don’t know. I thought I did, but without MMA, I don’t know. Instead of answering seriously, I do the one thing I know I’m good at. I divert.
Leaning over, speaking softly into her ear, “Right now, I want to know what would happen if I touched you.”
I move the tips of my fingers onto her shoulder, and she sucks in a sharp breath.
I’m frustrated that I can’t rest my other hand on her leg while holding her against me.
I have to be creative with my current limitation.
My fingers run through her soft hair as I push it off her shoulder, revealing more of her skin and I want to know how soft it’ll feel against my lips.
She hasn’t tried to stop me.
I push further.
“Should we find out?”
Again, she doesn’t try to stop me. Not even when I move my arm from around her, between us to rest on her thigh. I’m looking at her, and she’s looking down at my hand. I move higher up on her leg, inching closer to her center, wishing she was wearing something other than these fucking jeans.
“Is Rae a good girl, then?” I goad.
Her teeth click, and she grabs my hand, stopping me from moving any higher. But she doesn’t remove it.
“I might have been,” she says. “But maybe I don’t want to be anymore.”
“Is that why you agreed to go out with me?”
“Maybe.”
“What would you have done tonight if you didn’t come out with me?”
Rae shrugs. “Stayed home. Maybe wrote some music.”
I hum, raising an eyebrow, and she rolls her eyes then sighs.
“I guess I am boring,” she murmers.
“Let’s see about that,” I challenge.
“How?”
“Want to prove that you’re not a good girl?”
She sucks in a sharp breath. I take that as enough of a response.
“Let’s go.” Grabbing her hand, I pull her out of the booth. She doesn’t question me, and doesn’t try to yank her hand away. She doesn’t even try to move away as we leave and head toward my car.
Opening the back door, I nod toward it. “What’s it going to be?”
She looks in and then back at me, and I think she’s going to tell me to fuck off. Or run away, but she does neither. Instead she keeps her eyes on me, sitting down on the backseat, and then scooting back to make room.
I smirk at the sight. Guess Rae does want to play.