ASHER (The Beckett Boys, Book Three) Page 3

  Devon and Asher make small talk, and Rylie’s texting on her phone, while Asher’s hand slides up my thigh toward my apex. I try to pretend like I’m not affected, but I know he can feel the tremor in my leg muscles. The way I’m desperately attempting to sit still.

  During a lull in the conversation when Rylie and Devon are looking at her phone and laughing over something on Facebook, Asher leans toward me, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You look amazing.”

  My pulse throbs. “Thanks. I threw this together at the last minute.” A blatant lie to make it sound like I’m not trying to impress him.

  He chuckles, and the sound sends waves of arousal across my flesh. “You make last-minute look fucking good.”

  I turn a little to eye him, our knees touching. “What is this, Asher? What are you doing? We’ve… Our friendship was…”

  “It was fucking awesome, is what it was,” he says with a crooked grin that makes my heart race. God, I missed his face so much. I don’t think I realized how much until this moment. “Remember the made-up sign language we invented to talk to each other from across the room in Mrs. Bodinsky’s class?”

  I can’t help the laugh that erupts. “Oh God, I forgot all about that.” We had our own hand shortcuts, where we talked about how mean our teacher was for assigning homework for weekends and holidays and how badly we wanted to go to lunch. “Remember when we got busted?”

  Asher’s hand remains warm and firm on my thigh, and the connection brewing between us shifts. Not just sexual heat, but something else. Something much more intimate and resonant, layered by our past. He shakes his head and laughed. “Yeah, but going to detention was totally worth it.”

  Mrs. Bodinsky had caught Asher signing to me and told him he needed to grow up and to not come back to her class until he did. The next day, he showed up in a business suit and fake mustache.

  “You should have kept that ‘stache,” I say, laughter bubbling up within me. “It looked good on you.”

  “I think it would have looked better on Mrs. Bodinsky.” His eyes are lit up as he looks at me. “It was fun talking you into cutting class.”

  “You always were good at convincing me to do bad things,” I admit.

  The smile slides from his face, and his lips part a fraction as he leans toward my mouth. “I wonder if I still can.”

  That makes me swallow. The heat flashes through my body again, hard and insistent.

  “So, Whitney,” Rylie says, interrupting the moment. I pull back, my face flushed. She gives me a pointed look. “How’s your college planning going? You still going next semester?”

  Asher stiffens beside me just a fraction and goes quiet. I know what Rylie’s doing. She’s making sure Asher knows my life is moving forward…without him.

  “Asher!” Jax calls from a few feet away. He waves at us. “Hey, guys. I gotta steal my brother back. He actually has a job to do, even if he forgets sometimes.”

  Asher removes his hand from my thigh, and I try not to think about how the loss of his touch makes me feel. “I’ll see you later.” The words sound like a promise as he rises from the table and leaves.

  I watch him as he goes. Jax is shaking his head as Asher scowls.

  “If you don’t like it, you’re free to go back to college where you fucking belong,” Jax says to his younger brother, half-smiling, but his eyes have a glint of seriousness to them.

  It takes all my strength to turn my attention away from Asher’s retreating form and resume a conversation with Devon and Rylie when all I want is to feel Asher’s hands on me again.

  Asher

  My phone buzzing on my end table pulls me out of sleep. I fumble around the table with my eyes closed and grab for my cell just as the buzzing goes silent. When I peek my eyes open to peer at the screen, it’s a missed call from my coach. My former coach, I remind myself.

  I sigh and toss the phone on the bed beside me.

  A minute later, another vibrating notifies me that he left a voicemail message. I’m not going to check it.

  I get up, brush my teeth, take a shower, and get ready, all the while studiously ignoring my cell phone. I don’t need to hear anything he has to say. I already know it all—he said it when I told him I was quitting school.

  What a mistake I was making. How I was throwing my future away. Same bullshit Smith gave me.

  I plop down on the end of my bed, running my hand over my damp hair, then shoot a glare at my cell. Pick it up and listen to the voicemail.

  “Smith. It’s Coach. I know you’re going through some kind of…thing. And look, I get it. We all do shit that’s out of character. But there’s still a spot for you on the team. You just gotta come back. I’ll speed you through enrollment and keep your scholarship ready, if you’re worried about that. But your team needs you—just leaving everything like this is letting them down. Call me. Let’s talk.”

  I stare at the screen for a long moment, a heaviness sitting on my chest. Why does it seem like any decision I make has to take into account everyone around me? Why do I keep getting that pressure put on my shoulders? Jax throwing Dad in my face, Coach throwing the team members at me…it’s fucking wrong.

  Anger replaces the heaviness in my chest, and I stuff my phone in my back pocket, clenching and unclenching my fists. Fuck them all. I took a lot of time to think about what I want. I’ve spent too many years doing what others tell me to do, following their rules, their plan for my life. I’m done with that bullshit. This is the right thing for me.

  I leave my room and plod down the hall toward the kitchen. Jax and Brooklyn are in there, sitting at the table. Jax sips his coffee and eyes me over the mug.

  “Thanks for rousing your lazy ass out of bed this morning, slug,” he says.

  I roll my eyes. I was at the bar later than him last night cleaning up. “Whatever.” I move to the coffee maker and pour myself a steaming mug. Take a deep gulp of the hot liquid and let it roll through me.

  “How are you?” Brooklyn asks.

  I turn to her. Her brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She doesn’t have makeup on, but she’s glowing. Pregnancy looks good on her. When she stands to put her water glass in the sink, I can see a baby bump. “Feeling any better?” I ask. “I haven’t heard you puking since I got back.”

  She laughs and rubs her belly. “Yeah, morning sickness was a bitch, but I’m in the second trimester. Feeling good, actually.”

  Jax snakes a hand over and cups her ass. “You sure are, darling.” He waggles his brows, and she swats his shoulder but chuckles.

  Brooklyn goes back to her seat and flips open the notebook in front of her, then grabs a pen. “So my old roommate has a friend who does catering,” she says to Jax, “and I was thinking she could do our reception.”

  “Anything you want.” Jax tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear and caresses her cheek. He doesn’t stop staring at her.

  I’ve never fucking seen my brother like this. So in love. It’s surreal, actually, watching it firsthand. “You two are like a Hallmark movie,” I remark dryly. “It’s so beautiful.” I wipe away a fake tear.

  Jax smirks at me. “Don’t be jealous. Green isn’t your color.”

  “Suck it,” I say with a grin.

  Brooklyn just quirks a brow and purses her lips. “Oh, I don’t think Asher is jealous. I heard he was cuddling up beside Whitney Cavanaugh in the bar the other night. Sounded pretty cozy, in fact, from what people are saying.”

  Jax gives a mock gasp. “Could it be my baby brother is in love?” Then his face goes serious. “Oh, fuck. Don’t tell me she has anything to do with why you came back. Tell me you didn’t quit school over a girl.”

  I feel my pulse surge and fight back the snippy response about how he should mind his own fucking business. “I’m not telling you anything.” I sip more of my coffee and lean back against the counter.

  Brooklyn eyes me, then her brother. “I’m sure Asher knows what he’s doing.”

  “No, he doesn
’t. He’s a Beckett.” Jax snorts. “We’re all fucking idiots.”

  “Until you have a good woman to show you the right way,” she says sweetly.

  “Damn straight, darling.” He presses a kiss to her mouth, then to her jaw, and turns to look at me again. “Seriously, if Smith finds out this has anything to do with Whitney, he’s going to murder you in your sleep. You know how he is.”

  I drain the last of my coffee. I’m done with this conversation. I’m tired of being told how much I just piss everyone off with every fucking thing I do. “You guys have wedding planning to do. Don’t let me get in the way.” I grab my keys from the side table and head to the door.

  “Asher—” Brooklyn starts.

  “And I’m going to find my own place to live,” I interrupt. “I think we all need space.” Because I can’t spend many more days like this, getting shit all the time. I close the door behind me and try to push back the irritation welling in me.

  I get in my car and turn it on. Not really anywhere I need to be today—I have tonight off work. Maybe I’ll just drive around, cool off a bit. Figure out what my next step with Whitney should be. Thinking about my hand on her thigh a couple of nights ago makes my dick pulse.

  God, her skin…so incredibly soft and creamy. I want to touch her all over.

  She tried so hard to pretend she didn’t get turned on, but her soft panting, the flare of her pupils, her lips parting…they gave her dead away. Whitney wants me still. Thank fuck. I have a chance.

  I pull out onto the street and see a sign for a local fair this weekend. Back in high school, Whitney used to go to it every year. A couple of times she even dragged me along. It’s cheesy, but maybe just the thing to get to spend some time with her. Hopefully she lucked out to get a Saturday off, too.

  I take a few turns and head toward Whitney’s neighborhood. The houses here aren’t new, but they’re nicely maintained. I get to her house and pull up in front of it. Memories come flaring at me one after another.

  Helping her sneak out her second-story bedroom window to come to a party. Then trying to sneak her back in and getting busted by her mom. Carpooling to school senior year and stopping by the gas station to get massive coffees to chug on our way…and inevitably running late.

  An ache hits me hard in the sternum. I threw away a year of time I could have had with her. And for what? So stupid. I try to fight back the swell of anger at myself and shut off the car, stroll up her door. Rap quickly on it.

  Wallace Cavanaugh opens it and gives me a wide, toothy grin. “Asher! How the hell are you, son?” He reaches over and gives me a one-armed hug, clapping my back. “Heard good things about your game last year. You thinking about going pro?”

  I give him a tight smile in return. “Not sure what my plans are,” I say. “Is Whitney home, by any chance?” Eyeing him closer, I can see that he’s a bit of a mess. Looks hung over or maybe drunk—eyes are red-lined and face is puffy.

  Wallace and my dad used to be good friends from back in high school, despite having different personalities and hanging in wildly different circles. He still hangs at the bar sometimes.

  He opens the door wider and ushers me in. “She is. I think upstairs working on some cleaning. Can I get you a beer?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” I step in and see beer cans littered on the coffee table. The TV is on, tuned in to a local college football game. Someone’s already gotten started with pre-gaming.

  Wallace goes back to the couch and flops down, then grabs his beer can and takes a chug. “Head on up, Asher,” he tells me.

  I go up the steps, noting the fifth one still emits its familiar creak. At the top, I hear a low humming. When I turn the corner, there is Whitney in yoga pants and a tight T-shirt, on her hands and knees halfway in the bathroom, scrubbing at something on the floor. I can see earbuds in her ears, and she’s grinding her delectable ass in the air.

  Oh God, my cock goes instantly on alert and my whole body throbs at the sight. She’s moving slowly, that ass swaying around, and it takes everything in me to not reach over and touch her. I lean back against the wall and cross my arms, enjoying the scene.

  After a couple of minutes, Whitney gets up, brushing off the knees of her yoga pants, and then turns around. When she sees me, she gasps and jumps. “Holy hell!” she says, ripping the earbuds out and pressing her hand to her chest with a startled laugh. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  I give her a smirk. “By all means, don’t let me interrupt your dance party.”

  “Very funny.” She shoves at my chest and rolls her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see if you wanted to go to Rock Bridge Homecoming.”

  Her eyes light up. “Oh, that’s this weekend?” Then her face falls a bit. “I can’t. I have too much shit to do around here.” Her dad cheers from downstairs and lets out a huge burp, and I see something flash on her face. “Go on without me and have fun.”

  Right. “What do you have to do?”

  She looks around the house. “It’s been ages since I’ve had enough time to do a proper cleaning. I can’t run off and play right now.”

  “Fine. I’ll help.” Her laugh of disbelief at my words almost wounds me, and I clutch my chest, bat my lashes at her. “You don’t believe I know how to clean?”

  “I think there’s no way that Asher Beckett is going to spend a Saturday in my house, helping me clean, so we can go to a fair.”

  I step toward her and touch her jaw with a light caress. Her sudden shiver makes me feel hungry. “Then you don’t know me very well, do you?”

  “I’m starting to wonder about that,” she murmurs.

  I reach over and grab the broom. “Point me in the right direction. No arguments, Whitney. We’re going to get this done.”

  She stares at me for a long moment. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you here, doing this? Why…” She bites her lip. “After…”

  “Did you miss me?” I ask bluntly. “When I wasn’t around here over the last year.”

  She sucks in a quick breath. “Um.”

  “Because I fucking missed you.” I rest the broom against the wall. Step toward her again and reach down to cup her hip. I can’t help it. The feel of her in my hand is so right. This is where I belong. Not on a campus away from here. Right beside Whitney. “I spent the last thirteen months in agony over what happened between us.”

  “Sometimes I wondered if I hallucinated it,” she admits, her cheeks turning a delicate pink. “But you avoiding me gave me enough proof that it was true, that it really happened. I thought maybe you felt ashamed of it, or grossed out or something that we almost…” She tries to pull out of my grip, turning her head to the side, but I tighten my fingers on her and cup the back of her neck.

  “Not ashamed,” I say. “Confused. Scared, even. I tried to convince myself that it was a fuckup for us to do that. Told myself I didn’t want you or need you.”

  Her body flush to mine makes my blood throb. My skin come to life cell by cell. Her breasts are soft and plump, the upper curve of her ass tempting me to slide my hand down, cup her against me, let her feel exactly what it is I’m feeling right now.

  Desire. Hard, hot, fast.

  Whitney’s lips part. “I’m… I…”

  “Did. You. Miss. Me,” I ask again.

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  I slant my mouth over hers and feel a rush of heat flood me. When her arms reach up and wrap around my shoulders, I grip her ass and pull her taut to my body. Oh, fuck yes. Her mouth opens beneath mine, so I slide my tongue in and taste her for the first time in over a year.

  God, her breath puffing into my mouth, her tongue dancing with mine, it makes my dick scream to be freed. I clutch her ass, her neck, own her, take her.

  Mine. Whitney is mine.

  Our bodies fuse together, desire molten in my veins now, my cock hard and eager to push inside her. Fuck, I want her so badly, right here, and I almost don�
�t care that her dad is downstairs. When her fingers bury in my hair, her nails scratching my scalp, I lose it. Push her up against the wall, sucking her gasp of surprise, deepening our kiss.

  “Fuck, Whitney,” I breathe against her lips. “You taste unfuckingbelievably good.”

  “Asher,” she says, her voice a low moan. She writhes against me, her right thigh raised and stroking the outside of my leg, and I rub my cock along her crotch.

  The door downstairs opens and closes, and a woman’s voice calls out, “Whitney? I’m back from the store. Can you help me unload groceries?”

  Whitney tears her mouth away from me, hair mussed, lips swollen, eyes glazed, chest rising and falling. I press my forehead to hers and give a soft chuckle.

  “Fuck. Your mom has good timing,” I say.

  She laughs, her breath warming my face. “She’s the best cock blocker in the universe. I’ve gotta go help her.”

  I follow Whitney downstairs to find Fiona Cavanaugh standing in the kitchen, unloading a blue plastic bag full of fruit. When she turns around, her eyes widen in surprise. “Asher. I…didn’t expect to see you here.”

  A look passes between her and Whitney.

  Fuck. Her mom knows something. That knowing glance they shared tells everything—that she’s aware something went down between me and Whitney, at least. Not sure how much she knows.

  I straighten and go over to her mom, give her a hug. “Hi. I came by to hang out with Whitney today.”

  Her answering hug is a little stiff, but she pulls back and gives me a smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The back of my neck turns warm, and I fight the urge to rub it. “That’s nice of you,” she says. “How are your brothers?”

  “Busy running the bar,” I say.

  Whitney shifts from foot to foot. “Um, I’ll go get groceries.”

  “I’ll help.” At the trunk of the car, I grab an armload and she gets the rest. We bring them inside.

  “You don’t need to do this,” Whitney mumbles under her breath while we unload. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but—”