The Harder You Fall (Rixon Raiders 3)

Almost home free, I let out a small sigh of relief but then his voice made every muscle in my body lock up.

“What the fuck just happened?”

I swung around to find Asher standing there, his eyes full of apology and confusion. He looked so freakin’ adorable, in an annoyingly cute puppy-dog kind of way.

“Go home, Asher.” I remained guarded. Because if you gave Asher Bennet even half an inch, he wouldn’t hesitate to take a mile.

“Mya, come on. What was all that?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” I whispered, hating the icy fingers of vulnerability wrapping around my throat.

“Try me.” He stepped forward, taking the air with him. Which was ridiculous since we were standing outside, surrounded by nothing but the chilly Pennsylvanian air.

“Asher… please…” I didn’t want to do this. Not here. Not now.

Least of all on my aunt’s porch.

“Mya…” he countered, determination burning in his baby blues.

“Thirty minutes and then you’re gone.”

“If that’s your attempt at an invitation inside, I gotta say, you really need to work on your manners, Hernandez.”

Rolling my eyes, I dug out my key and opened the door, not waiting for Asher as I slipped inside. I’d lived here for almost three months, but my Aunt Ciara’s house still didn’t feel like home.

I wasn’t sure it ever would.

“Nice place,” Asher said, the door clicking softly behind him. Although it might as well have been a gunshot to the heart, the way it reverberated through me. Making me painfully aware that we were all alone. In my territory.

The only place I had in Rixon to call mine.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“You got any snacks back there?” Asher craned his neck, his amused gaze going over my shoulder.

“Come on,” I grumbled, “I’ll see what I can find.” If there was one thing I’d learned about Asher Bennet since my short time at Rixon High, it was that the boy could eat. Sometimes, I wasn’t sure where he put it all. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, nothing but solid muscle pulled taut over broad shoulders and narrow hips.

He followed me into the kitchen and took a seat at the counter. “Your aunt’s not here, is she?”

“You caught that, huh?”

“Were you lying to me, Hernandez?”

“I was… maybe.” I sighed, getting to work on making him a sandwich. “We only have turkey, cheese, and some questionable pickles.”

“It’ll do.” He made himself comfortable. “So how long has your aunt lived in Rixon?”

“Since I was little. I never visited her before though.” She always came to us. Mom never spoke much about why her only sister moved away from Philly, but as I grew up, I pieced together the story. My aunt Ciara had run. Escaped the neighborhood for a better life. She was older than Mom by almost a decade, and as soon as she graduated high school, she packed a bag and got the hell out of dodge.

“What you said before, about me being white, would that really be a problem for her?”

Sandwich made, I pushed the plate toward Asher and grimaced. “Yes… and no. My aunt met a man here. A white man. I don’t know the whole story, but I heard my mama talking once and whatever went down between them, my aunt and the man, it wasn’t good.”

“Wow, okay.” Asher took a huge bite of the sandwich, barely chewing it before he swallowed. “So I’m going to be judged based on one man’s actions. How progressive of her.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Rixon isn’t exactly diverse.”

He shrugged, taking another bite. “But we’re not all the racists you paint us to be either.”