Page 110 of Irresistibly Risky

Dammit. I run an agitated hand through my hair, gripping it by the roots. I plow through the door and straight into a horde of waiting reporters. Fuck! I hold up my hand and press through them, pushing toward the staff-only part of the building as they rapid-fire question after question at me.

About the trade. About Joe. About Wynter—who they refer to by name.

All of this is blowing up at once, and with it, there’s a very real chance I could lose my girl if I can’t get to her and explain.

“Ash? Where are you going?” Arnold the press secretary for the team questions frantically. “You’re expected in the press room. You have to give your post-game conference.”

I shake my head as I quickly type out a reply to Wynter.

Me: Yes, but it’s not what you think and it’s not how it looks. I can explain. Where are you?

Ice Queen: Not how it looks, and you can explain. Said by every man who was ever painted into a corner and guilty of their crimes.

Hell, if she isn’t right with that.

Me: That’s not how this is. I promise. Please, I have a lot to tell you. A lot you need to know and not just about this stupid trade. Where are you?

Come on, Wynter. Don’t do this. I know I fucked up, but don’t quit on me yet.

Me: I love you, and I swear on that love you’ve got the wrong idea on this. Please, my queen. I have so much to tell you and I was going to tell you everything tonight and then this blew up before I got my chance.

She doesn’t respond, but something tells me she didn’t leave the grounds either. She would have been mobbed, and I know that’s not what she wants right now. Plus, I don’t think she wants to run from me. I think in her heart she wants to trust me, and she wants me to tell her I didn’t let her down.

Me: Please. Tell me where you are so we can talk.

“Asher.” Arnold grabs my arm, forcing my gaze to snap up to his. “Now, man. It’s not a choice.”

Fuck!

Me: I’m being dragged into the press room. Don’t leave. Just watch the post-game conference and we’ll talk after. Please.

Reluctantly and with my stomach twisted into knots, I follow after Arnold, passing by the press and then up to the podium of the press room where I’m immediately inundated with questions.

“Asher! Asher!” reporters cry out. “Is it true you’re being traded to LA?”

I speak directly into the microphone, maintaining a relaxed expression and even eye contact. “I don’t know any of the details on that at this point, but I can tell you that I did not request a trade, nor do I want one.”

“Tell us what happened out there today with you and Coach Cardone.”

“I won’t go into specifics,” I state, using my years of media training to guide me. “It’s not to protect Coach Cardone but the other people involved. All I can say is that I’m excited to see where the rest of the season will take the Rebels and I look forward to working closely with Leo after he makes a full recovery. We’re a team. Not a one-man operation. That’s how we work and that’s how we win. As a team.”

“Except what sort of future can you have with the Rebels now that clearly you and Coach Cardone don’t see eye-to-eye on how the team should be run? Especially when there’s already a trade in the works.”

I shrug at the reporter. “Again, I’m not going to comment on anything that has to do with Coach Cardone at this time. LA is a great team, but my heart is here in Boston.”

“Asher?! What about the reports you have a son with Wynter Hathaway?”

My breath catches, but I quickly hide my reaction. Damn, that was fast.

I clear my throat, hoping Wynter is listening. Hoping she’s still willing to give me a chance. “I do have a son with Dr. Hathaway. An incredible son who makes me the happiest and luckiest of fathers. But that’s all I’ll say on the subject, probably ever. Next question.”

“You mouthed the words, I love you to Dr. Hathaway. Does this mean you’re officially off the market?”

I laugh at the female reporter’s suggestive eyebrow bouncing. “Yes, I’m one hundred percent off the market. With any luck and if I don’t do something to screw it up, it’ll stay that way for the rest of my life. Now if you’re all done with your questions, I’d like to get to my family. We ask for your respect and to give us privacy. See you next weekend on the field.”

I throw them a wave but proceed to ignore the rest of the questions. I have to find Wynter. I have to force her to listen to me.

So I do what I’ve done since I met her. I chase after her.

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