I am that weaker man.
I don’t care that she’s my best friend. That ass don’t quit, and I truly enjoy watching those shorts try to contain it. It’s almost a game for me. How many times will Ally pick her wedgie? I counted eight times one game; it was a blast. As I pass by her, I try to wave, but she’s in the zone, so I head up the bleachers. I’m almost to the top when I hear my name.
I follow the voice to find Harper and Jakob Titov, Ally’s parents. A wide grin comes over my face as I walk toward them. Harper stands, her face bright as I go into her arms. She hasn’t changed a bit. Ally is the spitting image of her but a little thicker. Harper has cut her hair. It’s shorter now and she looks like a soccer mom rather than a volleyball mom, but she’s a showstopper for sure. No wonder Jakob doesn’t let her out of his sight.
“Oh, Asher, it’s so good to see you.”
I hug her once more. “It’s great to see you too. How are you doing?”
“Great, and you?”
I shrug. “Living the dream.”
She grins as I shake Jakob’s hand. “You’ve gotten taller.”
I smile and shake my head ruefully. “My dad says he’s glad I’ve filled out.”
Jakob nods. “Seems to me, you ate old Asher.”
I laugh. As with everyone else in the Assassins organization, I’ve known Jakob my whole life. He is an assistant coach for the team now. He and my dad played together for many years. Jakob retired before my dad, but he can’t stay far from the sport or the team. No one really can. “Yeah, Ally said the same thing.”
He chuckles as I sit between them. “I like your shirt,” Harper says, and I rub my chest.
“It’s a wee bit tight.”
She laughs since she got this shirt for me when Ally first started playing. Their shirts both read “Number One Fan,” while mine says “Number 2 Fan.” It’s funny, and I only wear it because it makes Ally happy. When I feel her gaze on me, I glance down to see her watching us. I stand up then, shaking my shirt at her. Well, the best I can—it’s really tight, actually—and she grins widely at me. When she turns, I sit back down, and Harper is watching me.
“Got a job yet?”
“I go for my interview Friday with Elli. Jeez, Mama Harp, I just got here.”
She grins at me. “You’re a planner. I figured you’d have a job, a place, and a car before you even got here.”
She isn’t wrong. “Yeah, I kind of left in a hurry. Had to get away from the ex.”
She grimaces, and I hate that look. Everyone gives me that look. I hate the sympathy it brings, along with the shame. Yeah, I was engaged to a closet lesbian. Yes, I’m an idiot. Yes, I left all my property with her. But hey, I’m here and trying to make my life better.
Even if the thought of not having my life planned gives me crazy anxiety.
I look around the gym. It’s one of those high-tech ones. Really flashy with the nice bleachers that have chair seats with cushions. Better than the Assassins’ arena, but the Bullies’ jumbotron has nothing on the Assassins’. I bring in my brows, disgusted by what I see. It’s obvious someone has been dragging ass on changing out some bulbs. There are two lines through one of the screens, and that’s uncal
led-for. They have damn cushions on their seats; they can afford some damn lightbulbs. I move my eyes around the gym, trying to find someone, but my gaze only falls back on Harper.
Who, again, is watching me. With an innocent look, she asks, “So, dating anyone?”
I scratch my neck. “No, ma’am. Still getting over the ex.”
She frowns. “But it’s been five months. Get over her. She didn’t deserve you.”
I laugh. “I guess.”
“Too much penis, I say,” Jakob teases, and I scoff.
I’m never living this down.
“Maybe an inch too much,” I tease back, and he chuckles loudly.
“There are plenty of women out there who want all the inches,” he jokes, and I nod.