Page 28 of Checking Mr. Wrong
I reach across the table, my hand hovering near his glass but not touching it, respecting his space. “You know, Nomar Garciaparra’s routines didn’t define his talent. They were a part of him, sure, but what made him great wasn’t the rituals. It was what he did in between them.”
Asher’s lips twitch into a faint smile, the first I’ve seen since this conversation started. “I don’t think anyone’s ever put it that way before.”
“Well,” I say, sitting back with a grin, “I’m full of surprises.”
His smile grows, softer this time, as if a weight’s been lifted. “Maybe you are.” He points to my mouth. “There’s another one.”
My hand flies to my lips, covering them. Knowing my luck, I’m back to half a tooth again. “What, is it my tooth again?”
“No,” he says, cracking up. “You were smiling, and…well, you’re pretty when you smile like that and it’s distracting.”
His laughter fades, sapphire-blue eyes meeting mine, and the air between us suddenly shifts. For a split second, everything surrounding our little huddle of two falls away. I don’t hear the other patrons, it’s like there’s suddenly no one else here in this restaurant, and my chest tightens like it’s bracing for impact. While across from me, Asher holds his gaze steady. It’s warm and unguarded, and completely unexpected. Then, just as quickly the moment is shattered.
“Tremblay.” Coach Hauser‘s voice cuts through my thoughts as he approaches our table. He claps Asher on the back as he turns to me with a polite nod. “Hello, Mabel. It was a pleasure sitting down with you yesterday to finish that interview about the team.”
“Thank you again for your time,” I reply, offering a gracious smile before gesturing toward Asher. “This one’s in the hot seat now...or he will be once you allow me to come shadow him at practice.”
Coach Hauser’s brows knit together for a beat, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Allow you? I had the director of public relations practically order me to have you at any and all team functions you want to be a part of, so practices are always fine.”
This is news to me. My head whips toward Asher, whose cheeks are suddenly sporting a blush that rivals a freshly made marinara sauce. He clears his throat, trying to focus on his drink as if it holds the secrets to the universe.
“Well, Coach Hauser,” I say slowly, savoring the way Asher shifts uncomfortably in his seat, “that’s good to know.”
“Hey, Tremblay, glad I ran into you,” Coach Hauser continues, oblivious to the silent war brewing across the table as he claps Asher on the shoulder again. “I was talking to a few guysafter practice today, and there’s a Drench for Defense charity fundraiser organized for this weekend’s farmers’ market. Clara is trying to get as many of the guys on board as possible. You don’t have to do it, but head’s up she’ll be asking.”
Asher’s easy smile returns, the picture of confidence once more. “I’ll be glad to do it. Anything for the team and this town,” he says with a nod.
Coach Hauser gives a satisfied grunt before excusing himself, leaving us alone in the dim light of the restaurant. As soon as he’s out of earshot, I arch a brow and fold my arms across my chest. “You told me I couldn’t come to practice.”
Asher takes a leisurely sip of his water before answering, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Dinner is better than practice.”
“You tricked me.”
“I didn’t trick you,” he counters smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “I just thought this would be a better way for us to do an interview.”
“My interview, my rules.” I narrow my eyes.
His grin widens, unrepentant. “Come on, we’re having dinner. Relax. Isn’t this nicer than standing around a rink with your notepad freezing to your fingers or talking into a little recording device?”
Before I can retort, our meals arrive, the server placing plates of artfully arranged food in front of us. The aroma is intoxicating, and despite my frustration, I can’t help but be a little impressed. I can’t remember the last time I’d been surprised. And this one has food, too, so I can’t be too mad at it.
“What’s so wrong with two adults having dinner together while they discuss something?” Asher asks, his tone deceptively casual as he stabs at his spaghetti carbonara.
I poke at my chicken, not quite ready to concede the point. “Because it blurs the lines. This isn’t just dinner; it’s?—”
“Nice?” he interrupts, his gaze locking with mine. There’s a challenge in his eyes, but it’s soft around the edges, like he’s daring me to admit I’m having a good time. “Quiet? Fun?”
“Fine.” I shake my head but can’t suppress the small smile tugging at my lips. “I’ll give you nice.”
He grins, triumphant, and the tension between us eases. The conversation shifts to lighter topics—his favorite local spots, a funny story about his rookie year—and before I realize it, I’m laughing, the kind of laugh that feels warm and genuine.
As I take a bite of my meal, I glance across the table and catch him watching me, his expression softer than I’ve ever seen it. There’s something about the way he looks at me, like I’m not the cranky reporter he’s spent the past hour talking with because he had to, but someone he’s genuinely curious about.
And right then, I know I’m in trouble. Because I might just be curious about him too.
CHAPTER 10
ASHER
