Page 21 of On the Edge of Scandal

Bronwyn

The first second Ash opens the door, he’s standing there looking all resolute and unwavering. But he barely gets his mouth open before he . . . wavers. Me? I say something really fricking brilliant. “Hi.”

“Hey, come on in.”

He ushers me inside and I don’t miss him peeking into the hallway to make sure no one saw me come in. Once I’m inside, I plop on the bed where we slept last night and kick off my shoes so I can sit cross-legged, even though as soon as I do, I realize it must seem like an invitation. Or a demand, which it isn’t. I just wanted to sit, and this is where I feel the most comfortable. Ash clearly does not, because he paces and it’s freaking me out.

“Could you . . . could you sit? You’re making me nervous.”

Ash blanches—is it really that bad? Asking for him to sit down so I don’t have to follow him around the room and so he doesn’t make himself dizzy? But ultimately, he doesn’t protest, just lowers himself gingerly next to me, which is when I realize.

“Oh, fuck, Ash, I’m sorry. I didn’t think . . .”

He waves me off even as he’s grimacing, gritting his teeth. “It’s fine. I can sit.”

Although judging by the way he mutters, “I can fucking well sit, goddammit,” he can’t, actually. When he’s lowered himself all the way down, he’s white as a sheet and breathing hard. Whatever he’s dealing with, it’s not one of those exaggerated injuries like those men’sfutbollerstrying to get a card pulled for someone nudging them. This is killing him. How can I help?

“This, is, um, maybe too much, but I’m . . . I’m already tensing up about our game tomorrow—” Switzerland. They’re a bit of a surprise to have made the semis, but I still think we can take them. It’s just a matter of keeping our heads in the game. And my head is more on Ash. “Could we lie down for a bit and just . . . cuddle?”

A brief wave of relief crosses his face and then he’s cringing again. “Yeah, sure. Just let me—”

He leans forward to untie his shoes and there is yet more swearing. Jeez. In trying to get us lying down where he’d be more comfortable, I’ve inevitably made him less comfortable.

“No,” I say, sliding off the bed and onto my knees at his feet, grabbing for his laces, and there’s a sharp inhale of his breath as I look up to see what the big deal is. No, it’s not a regular thing for me to get on my knees for men, and I wouldn’t have made a habit of it with Brody—just for the occasional blow jobs—but Ash isn’t going to see this as demeaning. Sexy, maybe, but not something that makes me less even as I untie his shoes and slip each one off his feet in turn. It’s a service, sure, but also caring. Ilikeit.

“B, you don’t have to do that. I can’t have you doing that.”

I look up at him from my place at his feet, and I cock my head. “You didn’t ask me to do this, I volunteered. If I thought you’d be a dick about it, I wouldn’t be here right now and I sure as hell wouldn’t be doing this. I’m not trying to make you feel less-than, either. I’m trying to help a person who I care about, who’s in pain, be in less pain. Would you do this for me if our positions were reversed?”

He’s looking at me with that intense gaze of his, and he croaks out an answer. “I would, in a heartbeat.”

“Then I don’t really see the problem.” And honestly, for reasons I can’t explain, I’m comfortable down here. Especially when he reaches out a hand and strokes my hair. I probably shouldn’t be getting so much pleasure out of this, but it’s nice, comfortable, and some of the feeling like I’ve got the weight of the world on me has melted into the floor. Because I like it, I shift from my knees to sitting mermaid style and set my head on his knee, wrap my arms loosely around his calf and ankle.

I sit for a while, enjoying the quiet, trusting Ash to not read too much into this or to take advantage, just give this to me because I need it right now. After about fifteen minutes, I feel like Bronwyn jelly and I’d really like to take a nap, rest up for the remainder of our team obligations for the day. They’re not physically strenuous, but it takes a lot of mental energy to study up on our next opponent. Also, it’ll be fun to watch the men’s game, but we’ll have to be on because no doubt the cameras will be on us some.

Getting my bones in order, I crawl up to join Ash on the bed and flop down on the wall side trying not to jostle him as he lies back slowly, cautiously and then gathers me to him with an arm around my shoulders.

It’s oddly comfortable after just a day; he feels and smells like home to me, and I can breathe here. I don’t want to ruin it, but this isn’t technically what I came here for. “So, you wanted to talk?”

He inhales, his chest rising under my cheek, and I let my hand creep further up his ribcage, which makes his breath hitch.

“Yes. I did. I think we should. Right?”

“I suppose.”

“So, uh, about the whole, uh . . .”

“Kissing?” It’s both frustrating and fun that I can’t see his face. I can imagine it, especially when I walk my fingers over to a button on his shirt and toy with it.

“Yeah, that.” His voice is scratchy with strain, and I’m taking entirely too much pleasure from being able to make him sound like that just from the small movement. “That, uh, it wasn’t a good idea. I’m your coach, and I shouldn’t be taking advantage of you like that, and I—”

Where moments before I’d had only warm fuzzy comfortable feelings, irritation flares. I shake off his arm around me and push up on my elbows to look him in the face. His surprised face. “You know, I’m really fucking tired of dudes telling me what I should do. I don’t mind it on the ice, because you know what you’re talking about and I trust you out there, but in here? Do you really think I’d be here if I didn’t want to be? Do you think I would be lying in a bed with you if I felt like you were manipulating me? I don’t. If anything, I feel bad because you’re probably feeling guilty for betraying your professional moral code.”

I wish I had a ruler to slap into my hand to emphasize my points while I school him, but given how he’s looking at me, I don’t need one.

“I am, some,” he concedes while looking up at me with wide eyes. It’s not just surprise, though, there’s something else there. Like he wants me badly, but doesn’t think he should. Like he’s hungry, and I’m a nice ripe apple that he’s drooling over but can’t quite bring himself to pick. I want to be picked, I want him to sink his teeth into me.

“Did you mean it when you said I could have anything I wanted? That it was just sitting there, waiting for me?”

---