Page 28 of On the Edge of Scandal

I don’t want to wake her, but I can’t help leaning down and brushing some hair away from her face to press a kiss to her forehead, taking with me the sleepy way she stirs and skims a hand down the side of my face as I whisper that I’ll be back soon.

Chapter Sixteen

Bronwyn

Ash has been a bit of a story unto himself in the SIGs, which is kind of funny. I mean, sure, the coaches get some credit—usually not enough, but some too much—but for whatever reason the press has developed an interest in him. Not quite the fascination they seem to have with Crash Delaney or Blaze Bellamy, but still.

He does, I suppose, have a good story, what with the being injured and being forced to leave the game as a player and coming back as a coach. I wish they’d talk to him more about what a phenomenal coach he is, though, instead of poking at his sore spots. But that’s what they seem to enjoy.

Of course, they’d probably have something to say other than those things if they had any idea I was in Ash’s room, curled up in his bed with some hot chocolate in hisSHUT YOUR FIVE-HOLEmug, wearing nothing but his Jeff Halpern jersey.

All I want to do when he gets back is take off his shoes, have him take me over, mind and body, for the next couple of hours, and then fall asleep while snuggled into his side. For now, I’ll maybe sneak a peek at his interview, because I bet Ash is adorable on camera. Maybe kind of uncomfortable, wishing he could go back and watch tape of our opponents instead, or put together the ultimate playlist for our locker room psych-up tomorrow.

There’s no TV in here, so I’ll have to watch Ash be charming and bashful on the small screen of my phone, but I’d rather do that here in the privacy of his room than in one of the common rooms, or the lounge outside the dining hall, or the entertainment complex, or well, basically anywhere else. Here smells like Ash, and feels like him.

Which is when it hits me. Like yeah, I’m not stupid or delusional, so I know the SIGs are coming to an end in a few days, but I hadn’t actually thought about what that might look like. My entire relationship with Ash has been in Denver, under the billions of white flakes that swirl around in the SIG snow globe. It may snow back in Boston, but everything is going to be different. The question is, how different?

I’ll be finishing out my senior year at BC, Ash will be back coaching at BU, but aside from that, does anything really need to change? I can’t imagine him in my apartment, but we could still . . . date. Except that’s not really what we’re doing is it? He lives in Carlisle, and that’s not super far, surely—

Which is when Carla Carruthers welcomes Ash to her show. He is so fricking cute. Not even the stylists for the show could make his hair totally behave so he looks sort of disheveled, even if his suit is on point. Man looks good, and I wonder for not the first time how I could’ve overlooked him for so damn long. His smile is easy and charming, and I like the way he talks with his hands. Of course, there are other things I like that he does with his hands, too . . .

Carla is clearly not immune to Ash’s charm, because she smiles and simpers while she asks him how the team is doing so far and whether he’s nervous about the game tomorrow.

He smiles and shakes his head. “No, I’m not nervous.”

Carla raises an eyebrow that must’ve been groomed to within an inch of its life, and her skeptical expression makes Ash laugh.

“I mean, there’s definitely adrenaline pumping through these veins, don’t get me wrong, I’m not made of stone. But am I worried about how the team is going to perform? Not at all. They’ve trained incredibly hard, they work together beautifully, and they know what they’re doing. Honestly, I could not show up tomorrow and they’d be fine. That’s how solid they are.”

If I had popcorn, I’d throw it at the screen. “Not funny,” I mutter to the mini-Ash in front of me. He’s so going to hear about that when he gets back.

I get it, and it’s flattering, but it’s also outright not true. We’d flounder without him. At least I would. He doesn’t give himself nearly enough credit. Although, really, what would be enough? I don’t think there’s enough credit in the whole world. Ash is the best man I know. And maybe that’s the difference between him and Brody. Yeah, Brody looks like a man, but he doesn’t act like one. He’s selfish and self-centered, has zero empathy, and is as juvenile now as he was on the day I met him.

Ash is . . . not that. Which is also something he’s going to hear about when he gets back. After I finish stripping him and showing him exactly how marvelous I think he is. Because that is a thing that’s happening over no matter what protests he might have. I think the interview’s about over when Carla presses a couple of fingers to her ear like she’s listening to her producer, and her gaze darts sharp to Ash’s face.

This has been a softball interview, which isn’t Carla’s usual M.O. She’s more of the barracuda equivalent of a reporter forHour 25,but she’s been a bit more cotton candy during the SIGs. Now, though, instead of looking like she’s flirting with Ash over drinks in a bar, her face gets hard, devious . . . predatory. I’ve seen that look on women’s faces, and it’s usually right before they try to steal the puck away from me. Good luck, lady, with whatever it is you’ve got because Ash is far, far tougher than he appears.

“So, Coach Levenson, tell me. Is it ever challenging to coach women, from an attraction perspective? You’re not so much older than your players.”

Oh, shit.Ash’s light eyes blink wide, and I can imagine the flush that’s creeping up his throat. Luckily, because he’s a teensy bit stuffy, his collar’s buttoned all the way up for his tie, so the rest of the world isn’t going to see what I know is there.

He gets that funny wave-wrinkling around his eyebrows, and his eyes narrow. “I mean, in college it was hard when I was the manager for the women’s team. Those were the women I had everything in common with, who I thought were phenomenal athletes. Did I have crushes on them? All the time.”

The constriction in my chest loosens up some, because he’s very good with the charm. But Carla doesn’t let it go. “Sure. But when you started your first university coaching job, you were the same age as your players. Have you ever gotten romantically or physically involved with one of your players? It’s a simple question.”

I want to gouge the woman’s eyes out. What business is it of hers if he has? If she knew Ash better than ten minutes on a TV set, she’d know he wouldn’t do that.

. . . Except he is. With me. But it’s not that simple. And heaven help me if she implies he’d use his position to get a girl into bed, or pressured her in any way. I’d march down to the studio and threaten her with my stick, but somehow I don’t think that would help anything.

She must’ve brought her usual camera crew with her, because they do one of those close-up shotsHour 25is famous for. The ones where they zoom in so close to the interviewee’s face it makes them look guilty just from the camera angle. It makes me sick, what she’s doing to Ash, and it makes me sick that this is partly my fault. This never would have happened if it weren’t for me. Would it? Or has there been someone else?

Why is Carla Carruthers asking about this now? What the hell is Ash going to say?

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t look at the ground, but keeps his gaze straight on Carla’s face. She looks like a mouser, waiting to catch up her prey between her paws and bat him around.

“I don’t appreciate what you’re implying. Nothing inappropriate or untoward has ever happened between me and any of the women I’ve coached. I have never been physically involved with any of my players.”

My stomach roils at his insistence even as I know he can’t very well say that yeah, we’ve been fucking any and every chance we get for the past week. That would end his career, maybe damage my prospects, but does he have to look so sure about it?

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