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I catch Asher’s eye over his mom’s shoulder, and he mouthssorryto me. I grin.
Missy introduces herself to my mom, and I walk into Asher’s open arms.
“I’m sorry about the game,” I say softly.
I feel his lips on the top of my head. “Me too.” He leans down closer to my ear and says quietly, just for me, “But to be honest with you, I’ve been ready for what comes next for months now.”
My smile widens into a grin as I back up. “Me too.”
He leans down to drop his lips to mine, and I’m positive his teammates are watching. I’m certain gossip will run rampant around the locker room tomorrow during exit interviews.
But I can’t find it in me to really care anymore.
I hear a throat clear, and I break apart from Asher with a healthy dose of guilt. The man doing the throat clearing certainly cares.
His brows are raised and his lips are pursed, and I’d swear if I didn’t know better that he sucked on a lemon before he left the locker room.
“Oh, Bill, lighten up,” my mom says, elbowing him. She hugs him and murmurs something to him—surely something about how she’s sorry about the loss or something along those lines.
I hate the tension between the two most important men in my life. I’m not quite sure what to do about it. I’ve gone easy on my dad because he was focused on the playoffs, and I’ll give him another night or two since they just lost.
But the reality is that I’m moving out of his house and into one with Asher. The reality is that I’m having Asher’s baby.
Bill Dixon is my dad, and he always will be. If he chooses to write himself out of my story because he doesn’t like that we kept our relationship from him, that’s on him.
I can’t pretend any longer that I’m not head over heels for the man whose arm is slung over my shoulder.
An older man with many similarities to Asher saunters over to us next. We haven’t had the pleasure, but from the slick way he punches Asher’s arm to the slightly sleazy smirk on his face, I know exactly who he is.
I get the feeling if he wanted me to meet his mom, hedoesn’twant me to meet his dad.
Asher clears his throat. “This is my dad, Eddie.”
“Hi,” I say with a small wave. “I’m Desiree.”
“I know exactly who you are,” he says. “And I’d love to take you two kids to dinner one night.” He turns to Asher. “Tough loss, kid. I’ll see you back at home.”
Asher raises his brows and nods, essentially brushing his dad off. What the hell is with our dads? His is a sleazeball, and mine’s being all overly protective and completely out of line.
This isn’t the time to address any of it, so I simply offer him a smile. “Dinner sounds nice.”
“Great. Tomorrow night.” He walks away before I can protest, and knowing what I know about his dad, I have a feeling he’s someone I need to watch out for.
“You ready?” Asher asks.
I glance up at him with a question in my eyes.
“Some of the guys are going out,” he clarifies. “Do you want to come?”
I look at my dad, who looks like he’s about ready to take my mom and me home as usual, and in the split second I have to make a decision, I realize my dad has my mom. Asher needs me more than he does.
“I’d love to,” I say to Asher, and then I turn to my parents. “I’ll probably be late.”
My dad looks angry, but he doesn’t say a word. I chalk it up as a win. It’s one of the first instances where I get the chance to assert my independence, and since I’m going to be a mom in about a little over six months, it’s about damn time I stop letting him call the shots.
We head to the Gridiron for an hour or so before Asher asks me if I’m ready to go.
“Go where?” I ask.
