Asher was in his house in Blackcastle. He wore an old gray T-shirt, and his hair was damp from either sweat or a shower. He must’ve come straight from his daily workout. I wished he were as dedicated to maintaining his reputation as he was to his fitness. You’d think the most famous soccer player in the world would be too busy with, and protective of, his career to engage in illegal street races, but this wasn’t the first time I’d had to clean up his mess before the press got wind of it.
