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Is that why he was there? Or did he show up because he knew I was going?
I wanted to think it was the second thing, but since he didn’t give me a chance to ask…I’m not sure if I’ll ever really get the answer to that.
But now that I saw him again, and he whispered those words to me, and his mouth was on mine again, I’m more certain than ever that there’s something between us that we can’t ignore.
I just have to figure out how I’m going to get him to give in.
Chapter 22: Asher Nash
Can’t Miss it When She Literally Places it in My Palm
We win out of town against the Cardinals, and the next weekend, we’re back at home facing the Broncos.
Jack Dalton played for the Broncos for a number of years, so our coaching staff has pressed into us how very important this game is.
Every game is important, but our team owner has his pride on the line against the team that traded him to the Vegas Aces. Considering he owns the team now, it sounds like he made out okay in the end, but I’d still venture to guess he holds a bit of a grudge against them.
I’ve kept my head down and focused even more since I saw her at the Gridiron.
And still, she sneaks her way into my thoughts nearly constantly.
I haven’t heard from her, though why would I? We still didn’t exchange numbers. Instead, hers is on a piece of paper in a hotel suite that I never got. I wonder if whoever cleaned the room after we left it saw it. I wonder if it was thrown away. I wonder if the next guy got it and kept it.
I guess I left more than just her phone number in that room.
My sanity, for one thing.
I blow out a breath as I pump the power bar upward. Paul, one of our strength and conditioning coaches, is spotting me, and he pulls it back onto the rack. “Nice, Nash. Head over to squats.”
I hate squats, but they’re a vital part of the workout routine, and honestly, the burn I feel from doing them is a welcomereprieve from the burning that’s been constant in my chest for the last week and a half.
I saw her. I kissed her. I let her go.
I walked away.
What a fucking idiot.
What fucking idiot just walks away?
I had to. I told Coach Dixon that I’d keep my hands off of her. Granted, that was long before I knew who the fuck she was, but I still said those words. I made that promise.
And as a man currently trying to live up to his promises…that one’s a tough one to keep.
Thankfully, I haven’t seen her since, though I know I’m not immune to seeing her. I likely didn’t see her because we were on the road last week, but I’m willing to wager she’ll be at our home game this weekend.
And then what?
It took every single ounce of my willpower to stay away the first time. I don’t know if I can do that a second time.
I’ve jerked off about a hundred times, and none of it has been enough to alleviate the need I feel when I think of her.
That connection was still there, but I’m not sure knowing who she is made things any better. I think I was better off chasing a ghost than knowing the truth and being unable to do anything about it.
I finish my workouts and head home. I avoid alcohol, instead opting for water, but a beer to take the edge off doesn’t sound horrible.
Sunday comes, and I have that same sensation like she’s in the building.
I run out onto the field before the game for warm-ups, and as I’m stretching, I glance toward the seats I now know belong to Sue Dixon for the season.
