Page 30 of Worth the Scandal
“No,” I say. “It was coffee with someone I maybe shouldn’t be thinking about every night. But now that we’re here—yeah. I’d like to sign you.”
He grins, and I swear it nearly breaks me.
Our intimate moment is interrupted by “Ashley” as her name tag reads. Eyeing off Asher like a prize pig at the Dawson’s Ridge Annual Show.
“Another flat white for you, big boy,” she says leaning forward to grab his empty mugs and brushing her chest across his arm.
Okay Ashley, we all see you. Whole damn café can smell the pheromones and the desperation you are wearing like perfume right now.
I smile at Asher who is frozen like a statue inside, well two can play this card considering I’m sitting right here.
“I think we are done aren’t we baby, see I told you those shirtless thirst traps will get you too much attention.” I say rubbing Asher’s hand across the table, with a soft sneaky chuckle.
“Oh, I’m so sorry I didn’t realise The Ridges eligible bachelor was off the market.” Ashley says eyes drinking Asher in like she couldn’t give a fuck who I was, and like she isn’t working right now.
“Don’t worry he’s not, I’m just his manager.” I jive with a wink.
Blonde hair, blue eyes, big boobs toddles off with a confused look on her face and no doubt some news to spread around Dawson’s that’ll catch like wildfire before lunch rush hour. Probably shouldn’t have played on that joke. You know given the whole don’t date Scarlett blood pact coach had them all figuratively sign.
As we stand to leave, he reaches out, his ‘big boy’ hand grazing my waist.
All eyes in the café have noticed who’s under the hoodie and probably no thanks to Ashley and her big mouth.
“I should go,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he replies. “Me too.”
How does he deal with this all the time? I see a table of men whispering and a table of young girls snapping pics on their phones.
He leans in to kiss my cheek. Safe. Harmless. Innocent.
But I turn at the last second, and our lips brush.
Soft. Still. Lingering.
It’s not wild. It’s not a repeat of Sydney.
It’s worse.
Because it means something. We both know it does. We both feel it does.
We hover there, frozen.
He pulls back first. Barely. Just enough to whisper:
“I can’t.” Eyes still on us, someone’s had the balls to let out a low whistle too.
“I know,” I whisper back.
Not if I’m going to represent him.
Not if he wants to stay on Coach’s good side.
Not if I want to keep my head and my job intact.
But God, do I want to kiss him again. Like actually kiss him.
He backs away, clears his throat, then gives me the faintest smile.
