Page 99 of Irresistibly Risky

“Who’s the father?”

I laugh caustically. “None of your business.”

“Do you even know?”

“Fuck you, Joseph,” I snap. “You’re the last man to ever lecture about fathers or their presence in their children’s lives.”

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean I want that for you.”

There is an ornate cylindrical glass paperweight sitting heavy on his desk. I bet it would shatter the window by his head if I chucked it. “You don’t give a shit about me!” I yell, at my wits’ end, hating that he got me here with a few choice words. “You never did! I was five when you left, and you didn’t give two shits about doing that to me or my mother. She became a single mom thanks to you, or did you forget that?”

He spins around in a flurry just as the door to his office bursts open and Asher is there. No knock, no, you wanted to see me. There is fire and protective resolve in his eyes. “I heard shouting. Is everything okay?”

His attention is on me. Not on Joe.

Asher needs to go. He needs to be careful. He needs to not insert himself into anything that happens between me and Joe. He needs to be Switzerland in order to protect himself and his career, but that’s not how Asher Reyes works.

Especially when it comes to me.

“Everything is fine. Just a disagreement between me and your coach. It’s over now.” I look back at Joe. “I’ll update you after the surgery on Mr. Rice. The matter of me traveling with the team is now closed.”

It’s not a question, but he gives me a firm nod all the same. Good.

I spin around and storm out—not waiting on Asher because I obviously can’t—heading for the freaking field because that’s where I’m supposed to be for the next five flipping hours that they hold their practice.

“Hey, everything good?” Dean exits the locker room and catches me in the middle of my march, my face no doubt a mask of anarchy and rage.

“Sure. Awesome.”

“Looks that way,” he deadpans.

I don’t respond, and he follows me out onto the field, where some of the players and assistant coaches are gathering. The cool bite of early autumn in New England hits my face, simmering some of my heat.

“Now’s a bad time to ask you out, right?”

I come to an abrupt halt and turn to look at Dean, who does the same only to have someone slam into his back. Hard. “Oh, sorry, Doctor. Didn’t mean to bump you like that.”

The look in Asher’s eyes tells me that’s exactly what he meant to do.

“No problem,” Dean remarks, not sparing Asher so much as a glance. He’s waiting me out, only Asher isn’t leaving.

“Good stuff. Dr. Hathaway, do you have a minute? I had a question about my shoulder.”

I blink up at Asher and then nod before turning back to Dean. “I’ll see you out there.”

“Great. We can talk more then.”

Dean saunters off, and then Asher is grabbing my arm and pulling me to the edge of the field on the opposite side from where the players and staff are congregating.

“What are you doing?” I hiss, looking around and then taking a step back away from him to create some distance.

“That’s my question to you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I cut back, not liking his accusatory tone.

He runs a hand through his hair and blows out a heavy sigh. “Sorry. I just… I hate this. I hate that men ask you out because they don’t know you’re mine. I hate that I can’t protect you from Joe. I hate having to pretend and keep us a secret. I’m not good at it. It’s not the way I’m built.”

“He knows about Mason,” I tell him instead of addressing that because there is no answer or immediate solution to any of that.

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