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He’d probably be good-looking if he wasn’t scowling, but with a single, menacing look, one thing is clear: Asher Dalton is trouble.
Simms manages to land a punch to the left side of my face, and I’m thankful my helmet at least doesn’t have a cage because I can feel the entire force of his fist. It hurts. It burns. Most importantly, it reminds me I can actually feel pain.
“I have no idea. I barely know Asher.” Though I’m starting to suspect no one does.
“Yes, well, as we established, you find being punched fun, so …” I want to argue with him that it’s not so much fun, but telling him that hurting makes me feel alive is probably not that much better.
“Like I said. Jocks aren’t my type.” “What about emotionally unavailable guys who treat people like shit? Because I’m that too. Don’t pigeonhole me, dude.”
“This could be dangerous. You’re Coach’s son.” “No one has to know.”
“What if I promise not to fall in love with you? Then will you let me suck your dick?”
I reach up to remove my glasses when Asher catches my hand. “Leave them.”
But then I look at Kole’s face, and his hazel eyes look at me like I’m a better person than I really am, and for some fucked-up reason, I want to prove to him I could be the guy he thinks I am.
The smile that spreads across Kole’s face is breathtaking. No, not breathtaking. It’s hot.
Inches of smooth, warm skin are exposed, and I greedily drink him in. There’s no one on earth who could fault me for being weak when the man looks like that.
Then I remember that, one, when my mouth is on Kole’s, I lose all sense of my surroundings, and two, I can never just give him a small, chaste peck.
“You can go out with whoever you want.” As long as their name starts with A and ends in sher.
His smile is wide and so pretty. I forgive him instantly.
