Chapter 20 Asher Nash

Why the Fuck Does She Have to Be My Coach’s Daughter?

I had to come.

I had to talk to her.

I had to…have a drink.

“You’re wearing pineapples on your shirt and drinking tequila?” Justin asks.

I know he’s trying to make conversation, but I’m trying to make eye contact with someone across the bar.

“They say agave pairs well with pineapple,” I mutter.

She seems focused on her conversation with Ellie Dalton, my publicist, and I wonder if I could covertly sneak Ellie a text to let her know I need a minute with the OC’s daughter.

She’s the fucking OC’s daughter.

Of course she is.

That makes the fruit even more forbidden. It makes me want another taste, another thrust, another night.

Fuck, though. I can’t. He’s my new coach, and I’m doing everything I can to fix my reputation. Banging the coach’s daughter isn’t exactly part of that plan, particularly not when we bonded last week and I told him I’d never even think of going near his daughter.

Fuck.

It’s been three long as fuck months, during which time I assumed the memory would fade. It hasn’t. It’s as if that night happened last night, and now that we’re in the same room again…I can see the heat in her eyes. But there’s something else—something that wasn’t there before.

And I think it might be anger.

I need to talk to her. I need to get her alone. I need to find out why she bolted without so much as a goodbye. It’s preyed on my confidence for months now, making me feel completely out of my usual zone. It’s consumed me in a way that doesn’t make any fucking sense, but now it does. It makes so much sense.

It’s the universe fucking with me.

I try to focus on conversation with the men at my table, but it’s useless. How can I focus when she’s here, and I need answers?

“Dude, why’d you bother coming out if you’re just going to sit there brooding?” Chase asks.

I’m sitting with the two tight ends who aren’t total assholes, obviously not including Austin Graham, and a few guys from our O-line.

They’re celebrating our win, and I should be, too.

I drain the tequila left in my glass, and my eyes have been on Des since she walked in the place. She ordered a drink. It’s almost gone now.

I watch her walk across the bar and down the little hallway leading to the bathroom.

It’s quiet there.

Private.

I’ve been down that hallway enough times to be quite familiar with it, and I’m not missing my chance to get her alone and ask the one question I need to ask.

“Fuck if I know,” I admit to Chase. “Excuse me.” I nod toward the end of the booth since I’m situated on the inside, and the two men beside me get up so I can get out.

When I walk into the hallway, I’m surprised to see her standing outside the ladies’ room, leaning on the wall next to the door that leads into the break room.

Her head is tilted back as she looks up at the ceiling, and it’s as if she’s drawing in a deep breath.

Jesus Christ, she’s beautiful with her long legs and her red hair, and the connection feels like it’s still very much there. I didn’t imagine it.

Her tits heave with her deep breath. She’s so different from the women I’ve been with. She’s a wild card, I think, and it feels as if I’ve met my match.

She senses motion by the doorway, and her head tilts down as her eyes fall to me. Her breath hitches as I take a step toward her.

“So you’re Coach Dixon’s daughter,” I say flatly.

“And you’re a player on his team.”

I press my lips together and nod, and for the first time, I wonder if she knew that all along. We face off for a few intense seconds, and then I take a step toward her. She looks almost…scared.

“Why’d you leave?” I demand.

She looks confused. “Leave what?”

“The night of the charity ball. You left. You didn’t say goodbye.”

A light seems to snap into her eyes. “I tried to wake you. You wouldn’t move.”

“So you just left?”

She lifts a shoulder. “My mom texted me that my dad needed meds. She asked me to bring some home. I left my number.”

Right. Her mom. Her dad .

My coach.

I push that aside for the moment as my brows pinch together. “You…left your number?”

“Right under your phone where you couldn’t miss it.”

I obviously did miss it. I take another step toward her. I can smell her from here—that coconutty, beachy scent that I remember so well.

“I was devastated you never called,” she admits.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “I never saw it.”

“Oh,” she says. Her eyes flick away from me for a second before returning to mine. “And if you had?”

That’s one of the things I like about her. She’s not afraid to ask the questions that leave her vulnerable, too. It makes me feel like we’re in this together.

“That night, Des...” I trail off, not sure what to say, not sure what to do . I’ve never felt this unsure about myself before. Ever. “It was one of the best nights I’ve ever had,” I finally admit. “And when I woke up and you were gone, I was devastated, too.” It feels too raw, too real, too exposed to be admitting these things to her.

I take the final step toward her, closing the gap between us as I push my hips to hers, boxing her in against the wall.

Anybody could walk down this hallway. Anybody could see us here, and anybody could report back to her father what’s going on.

I don’t think I can make myself stop. I need to touch her. I need to kiss her. I need to fuck her.

She swallows, her eyes moving up to mine as heat passes between us.

I run my fingertips lightly along her jawline as my eyes search hers. “I want this, Des. I want you in a way I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted anyone before.” I lean down and nip a kiss to her jaw where my fingers just were.

Her arms loop around my waist, and she pulls me tightly against her body. “I want you, too,” she breathes.

I pull back to stare down at her, and the intensity between us is overwhelming. It feels so right . Why the fuck does she have to be my coach’s daughter?

The thought snaps me back to reality. “Fuck,” I mutter. “I can’t, Des. I can’t do this with the OC’s daughter. No matter how much I want you, I can’t be with you.”

“Then we do it in secret,” she suggests, and she rises up to her tiptoes to press soft kisses along my jawline. She trails them down my neck, and I tilt my head back, my neck cording as I stare up at the ceiling, as if the answer will be there. “Just one time, Asher,” she begs. “Give me one more time, so I can see if whatever we shared that night is real or if it will always belong to that one night.”

One night is a dangerous fucking game when the feelings between us are this strong.

It’s just lust. Attraction. It can’t be real feelings, not when it was only one night. Maybe I need to give in to prove that’s true.

But the relief I felt when I saw her in the family waiting room earlier tells me it’s not true at all.

And the stunned devastation that followed it when I heard Ellie’s words that she’s Coach Dixon’s daughter tell me everything I need to know about my feelings for this woman.

They make no sense. They’re overboard, overwhelming, out of control.

But that tracks. That’s me. The baby of the family. Sometimes it feels like being the youngest—the baby—is my only identity.

Little Asher Nash, the adventurous, sometimes impulsive, sometimes petulant one. The one who sometimes bucks authority and has a wild streak and has an eccentric fashion sense but always manages to come out on top…until that one time he didn’t.

And now I’m paying the ultimate price for that as I realize that in order to get back to the top in my career, I might have to sacrifice what has the potential to be the most important part of my personal life.

One taste. I can allow myself one taste, a final goodbye to the thing that never should’ve happened with the woman it never should’ve happened with in the first place.

I lean down and brush my lips to hers, and the mere brush isn’t enough.

I press my mouth more fully to hers, and her mouth opens immediately to mine, plush and pliable. The urgency is intense as we make out in this tiny hallway, and anybody could walk down here at any moment.

Anybody.

Including teammates who don’t want me to start over them. Including two of my brothers. Including her father .

It’s that final thought that has me pulling back.

“I can’t do this,” I mutter, and I push back from the wall and walk out of the small hallway. I walk through the bar, not bothering to say goodbye to my teammates, and out the front door, and then I head for home.