Page 3 of Your Last First Kiss
Walking away, I lift a water bottle to my mouth and squeeze.
“Your Wednesday girl makes you happy.” Ryder bounces the ball at his side.
“And your volunteer time with the Boys & Girls Club makes you happy. And the money you donate to the YMCA kids programs makes you happy.” Ashton lifts his head to find me shooting daggers at him with my eyes. “Oh, please,” he says, rolling his. “You know I protect my family. The way I do that is with information. Is it really such a shock to you that I’d be watching you too? Regardless of how you feel about us, we still consider you part of the Westbrook family. That means when I dig around the dark web, I’m in your shit too. Deal with it.”
“You know how fucked up that is, right?” Ryder asks, but he doesn’t know Ashton well enough to push it too much.
“I’m so glad you both know what makes me happy,” I grumble, but they don’t pay any attention to me.
Ashton waves his hands for the ball. Ryder barely conceals a cringe before tossing it to him with an easy bounce pass even a child could catch.
Ash carelessly lifts his shoulders, like Ryder’s assumption doesn’t matter to him. “I was born a billionaire. My parents made sure we weren’t entitled, but that also means we have to go about things differently sometimes. If keeping the people I love safe means watching their back, then I do it by any means necessary.”
Ryder raises his eyebrows at me and shakes his head. He grew up like I did. Unlike me though, his best friends weren’t part of one of the wealthiest families in the country.
“Listen,” Ashton says, with his eyes on the ball he’s dribbling. He tries—and fails— another layup attempt. Ryder puts us all out of our misery when he boxes out Ash to get the rebound.
How in the hell is he so bad at this?
“If I can work out the details, this opportunity would put you right on Penny’s doorstep.” Ashton bends over, wheezing, and braces his hands on his knees.
The stutter step my heart does thinking about Penny’s home is completely natural. Really.
“Why are you this out of shape?” I ask, trying like hell to appear calm at the mention of her name.
But my mind immediately flips to images of Penny. There’s nothing I want more than to spend as much time with her as I can, but I also understand her reasons for pushing me away. I’ve caught her lost in moments so full of mental to-do lists that the world faded away. It’s not only her life she’s protecting, and I feel that down to my very soul.
“I’ve been staying at home more since Hope was born,” Ashton gasps.
“Haven’t you been boxing lately?” Jesus. Is this what having kids does to you?
“No,” he wheezes. Lifting his head but still doubled over, he holds my gaze for an uncomfortable second. I won’t like whatever he says next. “This would allow you to help kids again like you did in high school before your father screwed you over.”
He knows better than to bring up Dirk Henry. The fact that I even share his initials is too much for me.
Ryder nods. “Why not take this opportunity Ashton’s giving you and see what happens when your Wednesday girl turns into your everyday girl?”
Damn it, Ryder. So much for having my back. The guy just won’t quit today.
“Plus,” he continues, “I’ll be primed for a promotion with you out of the way.” He laughs, but I get the feeling he’s only half joking. Envision Securities is what he was born to do. Not me. I’m still not sure where I belong.
“Penny is not a girl,” I say. “She’s a woman and has her own stuff to work through. Forcing my way into her life isn’t going to suddenly make her have room for me. Besides, Ashton doesn’t even have a plan in place. All I’m hearing about is an ‘opportunity’ with no details.”
“Suddenly?” Ryder scoffs. “Suddenly? Dude, you’ve been having coffee with her every Wednesday for almost three years. Three years! It’s time to shit or get off the pot. And for fuck’s sake, tell her the truth about Marissa.”
“Marissa?” Ashton raises his head in my direction. He pokes at the ball Ryder’s holding, grabs it, and dribbles like a baby giraffe toward the basket. For all his billions, Ashton is a lot of things, but an athlete isn’t one of them.
“First of all,” I say, wiping the sweat off my forehead with my forearm. “The Bryer-Blaine is our biggest client, and Lochlan Blaine expects weekly reports.”
Ryder pulls out his phone. “Yup. I put it on the calendar. It says every Wednesday at ten a.m., yet you still get to his office before nine. With coffee for his secretary.” He smirks. He knows this is a hot button for me.
I grind my teeth, willing myself not to take the bait but lose the battle. “Penny is an executive assistant, and it would be rude to show up without getting her a coffee.”
“Right, because you sit staring at each other for an hour every Wednesday,” Ashton says from the basket. He’s trying to make a lay-up for the third time.
Ryder takes pity on him, grabs the rebound, and quickly puts it in the hoop. Turning back to me, he asks, “What do you guys talk about?”
“Nothing.” I grunt in frustration. Placing my hands on my lower back, I arch so I’m staring at the ceiling—anything to break eye contact with these two busybodies.
