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“Announce your relationship to the world like only a budding influencer can.” Selena grinned at me. “Think of you looking hot in Asher’s jersey, hashtag girlfriend stuff, hashtag Hellions.”
My breath caught. I knew the kind of post she was talking about. It would raise hell on the campus socials. It was a commitment to the lie. Asher would be pissed.
I suddenly felt so tired of worrying about this. So tired of avoiding Trent and the future a guy like that implied. So tired of all of it. I let myself fall back on my bed, spreading my arms out and just letting go. Could I really post that?
A creaking sound was the only warning I got before the bed frame crashed to the floor, taking me and the mattress with it.
“Holy shit! Are you okay?” Selena scrambled to her feet and peered over at me, then reached for my arm and pulled me up.
I stood up from the wreckage of my bed and a nearly hysterical laugh bubbled up in my chest.
“No. Not at all. Let’s do it. Let’s post it.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Asher
I wasn’t usually the type to frequent the library, especially not on a Saturday, but seeing how behind I was, coupled with the hard truth Coach had given me, it felt like time to apply myself. I could fit in a few hours of studying before getting ready for the match later. Ready to watch, that was, not play.
However, instead of studying, I was sitting in a quiet corner, sketch pad in hand, trying to get the image of a naked Winter DeLaurie out of my goddamn mind. The sight of her leaning back against the tile in the bathroom, giving me the fucking finger, had permanently seared itself into my brain.
No one had ever looked hotter than Winter DeLaurie when she was being a brat. Leaving her there had felt like a kick in the damn balls, but Coach’s words from earlier in the week were still ringing in my ears. I couldn’t afford to get distracted. My future NHL dreams were hanging by a thread. The last thing I needed was a complication like Winter, and yet, here I was, sitting at the library, filling page after page with pencil drawings of my own personal demon.
I’d drawn her naked, of course. The curve of her lower back, where it swelled out into that perfect peach of an ass, was a work of art all on its own. True beauty had been the assignment, and Winter was my muse. It was as clear as day. No one else would suffice.
My pencil flew over another sketch of her, this time focused on her profile. Inside her eye, I drew the tiny, detailed outline of a starry sky, just like that night when we’d smoked at The Dunes, right before she’d gotten me fired. Why was the enduring memory of that night the look in her eyes as she’d stared at the endless sky, and not the fact that she’d thrown me under the bus without a second thought? When had this obsession taken root? I couldn’t deny at this point that it was exactly that. An obsession. A need to know where she was and who she was with. A need to see her smile or laugh. A drive to be the one who saw her home safely. The one who she called when she was upset or happy.
The man in her life.
Hadn’t she been the woman in my life since that day last year, even if she hadn’t known it? There certainly hadn’t been anyone else in my thoughts, or anywhere near me.
It had been her.
My obsession.
But I didn’t have time to waste thinking about a girl who had the world at her feet. I needed to worry about myself. I needed to train, to study, to work. Beating up some random dude following my mom, breaking his camera, and busting his mirrors would have gotten me in a hell of a lot of trouble if he hadn’t been working for Winter. I had to get my shit together. This little obsession with the richest girl in town was dangerous, and like all things that are bad for you…irresistible.
Instead of putting down my sketch pad, I turned to the next page and started another drawing. Only my phone vibrating wildly on the table pulled me from the sketch.
Winter DeLaurie has tagged you.
What the hell? After our earlier game with the nude photo, I’d have thought Winter might back down for a little while. Of course, she was too competitive and stubborn for that. I unlocked my phone and stared.
A picture of Winter, wearing my jersey and jean shorts, lounging on a sofa, my name and number emblazoned across her back. Her caption read, “girlfriended up.”
It was getting likes like crazy, and all kinds of emoji reactions. She’d fucking used the Hellions as a hashtag. #Ionlywearhisnumber
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This was the opposite of what Coach had told me to do. My group chat started blowing up.
Beckett: Ash, you dark horse.
Marcus: Called it.
Cayden: Please tell me she’s more pleasant than she looks.
Ash: No. She’s much, much worse.
