Page 22 of Shes my 1 Try

I’m gonna kiss her as soon as I get there. I have to kiss her. I need to kiss her. It would be criminal if I didn’t. Metres, centimetres, fucking millimetres?—

“There you are!” A body comes around the corner and moves right in front of me and all I can see is the disappointment on Wiley’s face. “Asher. Hello?!”

Fingers snapping in my face only serve to piss me off. “What!”

Glaring down at the owner of the offending digits, it’s my manager’s face I see. Honestly, he’s the last person I want to deal with now.

“Well, that’s a nice how-you-do. When did it stop becoming appropriate to say hello to someone like a normal person?” he gripes with a shake of his head, and I spot Wiley tilting her to the side curiously.

“When they snap their fucking fingers in your face, Warren,” I retort, getting down in his face. “I’m a little busy right now. Can’t whatever this is wait?”

“No! It can’t,” he snaps back. “Didn’t you get my messages?”

My relationship with Warren is complicated. I signed a five-year deal with him and that time runs out soon. In the beginning, I would have jumped off a bridge if he’d asked me to. The deals and bonuses he got me were far beyond what any normal twenty-one-year-old could expect. When all the shit with the Rays went down, Warren was less than helpful. I don’t think he believed I was innocent of everything the club had accused me of. He sure as shit didn’t go to bat for me in the media. If it wasn’t for Mandy, putting in a good word at the Dingoes, my current contract might not have even come into play.

“You know I don’t answer any calls the night before a match, Warren.” Five-fucking-years and he chooses now to forget that fact.

I’m so sorry—I mouth to Wiley, who waits patiently by the wall, her wild hair being tousled by the breeze blowing down the tunnel. She’s like this untamed wild beauty and I’m hard pressed not to shove Warren to the side and just take her right here.

“Yes, well, you should have taken these,” he presses on, not paying any attention to my efforts to get rid of him. “Are you listening to me?”

“Clearly not. What the fuck is this all about?” I love my career. I do. Right now, I just want a few hours away from it. A few hours where I can be Asher Scott, the man struggling not to smack Warren in the face.

“You need to get yourself a damn P.A. I swear. I’ve sent you three emails regarding your itinerary. I had hoped you’d see at least one of them,” he whinges, clapping a hand to his forehead.

“Itinerary?” I croak, confused as fuck.

“Yes, Asher! I-tin-er-ary,” he stretches the word out, his frustration only fanning my anger. “That thing that tells you what you have to do and when.” I stare blankly at him, Wiley tugging at the hem of her jersey and I know I’m making myself look less than professional. “My god, boy. You’re lucky you’ve got talent on the field because you’ve got shit for brains sometimes. The Hot Bods photo book. Does that ring any bells?”

Wiley stands to attention at his words and I can’t help smiling at the mention of the book. It’s where this all began. Where I was lucky Wiley saw past the idiot I made of myself, to the man beneath all my cocky attitude.

“Yes, bells rung, alright. Still doesn’t tell me what you’re talking about.” I offer Wiley the same cocky smile I did that day and the hues of pink that colour her cheeks and the shake of her head do things to me. Things I wish I could take her somewhere private and return the favour.

“You have commitments. Things you can’t ignore, Asher. One of those being this book.” He glances over his shoulder at Wiley, mostly because I can’t keep my eyes off her. “Can I help you? If you want a photo with Asher, I’m sorry you’re going to have to come back later.”

Wiley’s mouth opens and closes in affront and the way her eyes narrow on Warren, like he’s about to get his ass handed to him. I’d love to see it, but now isn’t the time or the place.

“Pull your head in, Warren,” I snap instead, shoving past him to come and stand by Wiley’s side, slipping my arm around her waist. “This is Wiley, she’s my…”

“I’m his…very close friend,” she completes my sentence. Apparently, neither of us sure about our current status. The feel of her fingers skimming across my back as she wraps it around me, though, holy fucking shit.

“Friend, huh?” Warren snorts derisively. “Well, friend, you look like a smart woman. Maybe you can explain to pretty boy here what responsibilities are, because I’m done trying. Here,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope, shoving it in my chest. “Do with it what you will.”

He stalks away, both Wiley and I left to stare after him in disbelief. I kind of don’t care, though. Having Wiley’s hands on me more than making up for his fucking asshole attitude.

“What was that about?” Wiley asks, turning in my arms and the need to push her against the wall and claim her mouth overrides everything.

Capturing her chin with my other hand, the envelope fluttering to the ground; I do exactly what my instincts want. A soft squeak escapes her mouth as her back hits the wall, those ocean-blue eyes of hers wide with need as I dart my attention from them to her glossy lips. The hand Wiley has on my back scrunches my hoodie, urging me closer as she lifts up on her toes slightly.

I crowd her space, forcing her back onto her feet. Leaning down, her exotic flower perfume wrapping around me, I brush my lips over hers. Once. Twice. The connection is brief and the way she reacts…so fucking perfect. When a soft moan fills the space between us as I pull away, my restraint is tested.

“Fuck, Wiley,” I breathe, my eyes darting back and forth to hers, searching for some small hint of regret or caution.

What I see is need. Deep and fucking sexy as hell. I suddenly don’t give a shit who’s watching. I take her mouth this time, like I’ve been dreaming. It’s not soft and gentle either. I’m demanding and dominant and Wiley lets me in. Her body moulds to mine, her other hand finding its way up under my hoodie, her nails raking across my skin.

“Fuck, yes,” I mumble against her lips, probing at the seam of them. She opens up for me like a flower to the sun and we become a writhing, needy mass, our lips and tongues tasting each other. Branding each other.

“Get a room.” Someone yells in the distance, and I reluctantly break away from her mouth, resting my forehead on hers. My breath disturbing her hair, hers pushing down the opening of my hoodie and heating me in other ways.

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