Page 84 of Irresistibly Risky

I laugh. “What kind of adventure?”

“I don’t have dessert here.” He sits up. “I don’t eat junk during the season.”

“I’m not following,” I admit.

“I want to get you something sweet and I know a cookie place not too far from here. They make these peanut butter protein bomb things that have no sugar or carbs.”

I scrunch up my nose. “Sounds delicious.”

He chuckles. “They’re an acquired taste, but their regular cookies are amazing.”

“I thought you said you were tired.”

“I’ve gotten my second wind. Come on. It’ll be fun.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me up to my feet. “What are you doing? We can’t go out together.”

“Sure, we can. We’re under the cloak of darkness. We’ll sneak out the back way and slink around the city.”

He grabs the to-go bag filled with the remains of our dinner, and then we’re flying down the stairs, back into the apartment. The bag gets thrown into the trash, and then he’s tossing the flip-flops I have by the front door at me. I slip them on as he’s stuffing his giant feet into his sneakers and throwing on a Red Sox ball cap.

“Let’s do this shit.”

“Wait! I don’t have my purse or my phone!” I cry out as he flings the door open and pushes me through.

“I have money and my phone. If your mom needs us, she’ll call me.”

The elevator chimes, and then we step on, quickly descending to the first floor of the building. He steps out first, glancing left toward the front entrance. The doorman is helping a woman with two large suitcases into the building, and Asher gives my hand a squeeze, nodding to the right.

“What?”

He gives me a look. “You’re the worst on covert missions. Go!” Without waiting for my reply, he races off in the direction of the back of the building, his body ducked down as he weaves us toward the back exit. Paparazzi have been populating the front of the building like cockroaches in a New York City basement. It’s been aggravating the hell out of everyone in the building, but especially Asher.

We reach the back exit unobserved, and then he flings the door open, putting us on a side street in Beacon Hill. “Where to next, Mission Impossible?”

“This way.”

We start down the street, holding hands and chatting about Mason’s first day of daycare and how I have to report back to the field tomorrow.

“You do know it will be damn impossible for me not to want to kick his ass, right?” Asher states as we turn left toward Beacon Street, making a loop around the neighborhood simply to avoid the front of the building.

“You can’t. Not if you want to keep your position on the team. Separation of church and state,” I tell him.

“You’re my church, and football is my state? Is that how we’re playing this?”

“The roles are up to you. All I’m saying is, I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. Especially not with your coach. We agreed to keep us separate from the world, and that includes football.”

“My queen, that was when you were only my baby mama. Now you’re my woman and my baby mama. The game has changed.”

“But the stakes haven’t. If anything, they’re higher now.” I glance up at him as we walk. His face is trained ahead, but I can tell he’s not happy about this. I appreciate that he’s protective of me, but facing off with Joe won’t benefit either of us.

Thankfully, he lets it drop, and when we turn the corner on Beacon, heading away from his building he hisses out a curse. “Freaking rats. You’d think they’d have moved on by now. They’ve never been all over me like this before. That’s always been one of the beauties of Boston. It’s not New York or LA. The press usually gives us breathing room.”

“Not anymore it seems.”

He grunts in dismay and quickens our pace, keeping his head tilted down, the brim of his hat shadowing his face. The dude is six-seven and built, well, like a football player. He stands out no matter what. After another block, we stop in front of a shop with neon blue signage.

“That’s The Way…?” I read questioningly.

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