I SIT AT THE bar with Delaney, Lennon, and Savannah, while Knox and Grayson are off somewhere being a bunch of idiots. It was cute at first, watching both their stoned asses make fools of themselves, but it quickly got old.
As I take a sip of my drink, I catch sight of someone over my glass. He’s sitting across the bar, looking every bit like a fantasy of mine—older, muscular, fucking gorgeous. He looks at me with a darkness in his eyes that is exactly my type. Just the expression alone is enough to put every one of my senses on high alert. Unfortunately, another girl steps up next to him and his attention is pulled off me and onto her. Ugh.
“I don’t want you to leave tomorrow.” I lay my head on Delaney’s shoulder, letting my buzz control my level of honesty.
“I know, but you’ll be okay. Besides, you can come visit any time you want.”
I huff. “You better be available whenever I want. You’re supposed to be my ride or die and you’re leaving me.”
Savannah, being the brat she is, looks over Laney and at me with a smirk on her face. “Are you actually sad because Delaney is leaving, or because you broke up with Easton?”
Fuck. Of course Laney told her about that. Meanwhile, I hadn’t gotten around to telling Lennon, so I cringe as she gasps and her head whips toward me.
“You broke up with Easton?”
If I didn’t want to smack Savannah a couple hundred times before, I definitely do now. “He’s going away to college, and I’m not stupid or naive enough to think we can make the whole long-distance thing work. It’s not fair to him or me.”
If there’s one thing that I love about Lennon, it’s that she’s like Laney in the sense that she can tell when I really don’t want to talk about something. Even in the short time I’ve known her, she’s figured out how to read me and uses that to her advantage. She smiles and nudges me with her elbow.
“Well, good. You can be single with me this year.”
Savannah and Lennon banter back and forth, but I can’t be bothered to listen. Instead, all my focus is back on the mystery man who, despite having some supermodel level bimbo trying to hang all over him, can’t keep his gaze off me. I only catch the end of the conversation.
“Weeds out all the pussies.”
“Speaking of pussies…” I bite my lip, causing him to lick his own, and that’s the only sign I need. “Mine needs a change of pace. Excuse me.”
I ignore the shocked and confused looks on their faces as I get up. It only takes a few seconds to get to where he is, and as soon as I do, I rudely slot myself between him and the girl trying desperately to seduce him.
“Uh, excuse me,” she whines, but I can’t be bothered.
Two perfect emerald eyes are locked with my own. His dirty blond hair looks like he just ran his fingers through it to push it from his eyes. The black T-shirt he’s wearing is tight, and his muscles bulge through it. He looks like he could toss me around just for the fun of it, and I’m totally on board.
I take what’s left of his whiskey and throw it back like a shot while he watches me, completely enamored.
“Tessa Davenport,” I lie, handing him the empty glass.
He smiles as he takes it back and places it on the bar, his sights still on me. “Asher Hawthorne.”
2
ASHER
Two Weeks Earlier
There were always two things I was sure about in life. One was that I was going to marry my high school sweetheart, and the other was that I would have a long career playing in the NFL. When I found out my fiancée was cheating on me every time I left for an away game, it hurt, but I knew I’d survive. The end of my career, however, is another story.
When I was younger, my father was my coach—which meant if I wasn’t the best damn player on the field, I didn’t belong on it at all. He was tough on me, but that only made me better. Weekends were spent at practice and evenings consisted of running solo drills in the yard. Some of my friends thought it was crazy. No one could play football that much without getting sick of it, but I loved it.
I’ll never forget the look on my dad’s face the moment I got the call. I was a first-round draft pick for the San Francisco 49ers. It was the best day of both our lives—all our hard work, physical exhaustion, and sacrifice crystallized into a single moment of triumph. It wasn’t just me who accomplished my dream, it was us.
“Hey.” One of my teammates, Anthony, pats me on the back. “Sorry to hear, man. We’re really going to miss you around here.”
I nod a silent thank you, not able to say anything with the disappointment still pulsing through me. The wound is too fresh after finding out that everything I worked toward for as long as I can remember is over after only six short years.
As I pack up my locker, people come in and out—getting ready for practice and heading out to the field. Each of them stop by to share their condolences, but it’s obvious none of them really know what to say. After all, it’s not them. They’re still in perfectly good health and their careers are firmly intact. Mine, however, is in shambles.
“All right, enough of the pity party,” Colby jokes as he comes into the room. “You’re clearing out your stuff, not going to a funeral. Cheer the fuck up.”