Page 25 of Irresistibly Risky

“It’s nice up here.”

“It’s why I bought it from him.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze and then shifts so he’s closer to me, so our knees are touching. “What happened downstairs? Why did you panic like that after I told you what happened that night?”

My chest falls forward, my forehead resting on my knees. His hands find my hair, combing through the strands, and I don’t know why I haven’t stopped him from continuing to touch me like this, but I haven’t, and I already know I won’t. It’s comforting somehow, and right now I need that. It’s soothing my soul.

“Are you a good man, Asher Reyes?” I swallow and sit up, looking directly into his eyes that do in fact change color, because right now, they appear blue again as they reflect off the water.

“A good man?” He squints at me, taking both of my hands in his. “Yes,” he answers easily, full of sincerity. “I’m a good man. At least I always strive to be. What is this about, Wynter?”

I look down at our linked hands, watching as mine shake in his. “Asher, that night in the bathroom…” I blow out an uneven breath and force myself to meet his gaze. “I got pregnant.”

He freezes. Grows preternaturally still. He’s not even blinking. Finally, he utters, “Pregnant?”

I lick my suddenly dry lips. “Yes.” More tears start to spill. “I have a son. He’s ten months old. He was born on October fourteenth. His name is Mason.”

“Mason.” With that, he explodes off the chaise and starts to pace away from me. For a moment, I think he’s going to leave and head back downstairs, but he doesn’t. He pauses when he reaches the bar, grips the thick, wood edge of it, and lowers his head between his outstretched arms, where he stands like that for a few minutes. Not making a sound. Just breathing heavily.

I don’t dare say anything. He needs this time, and I need to let him have it because I need this time too. I don’t know what I want from him. To what extent I want him in Mason’s life.

Before I can come up with any answers, he shoots away from the bar and races back to me, dropping to his knees on the hardscape in front of me. I hold my breath, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t. For the longest time, he does nothing but look up at me, his expression wrecked with turmoil, but there’s something else there too.

Something I can’t figure out because I don’t know him, and I don’t know his looks or how his mind operates.

He wipes another tear from my cheek and then whispers in a hoarse voice, “Can I see a picture of him?”

I break apart. Right here. Cracking in half and collapsing forward again. He wraps himself around me, his cheek resting against the side of my head as he whispers things in my ear. He’s telling me it’s okay, that it’s going to be fine, that he has me, and that I don’t have to cry. But I do have to cry. How can I not cry?

“I hate football players,” I croak, and he laughs, which makes me laugh. I sit up and wipe my face, which is likely smeared with dripping mascara.

“But do you hate me?”

“I’m not sure.” I give him a sly grin.

“I can change your mind about football players,” he assures me. “I can make you love me.”

A scoff climbs past my throat. “I doubt that, player.”

“Don’t doubt me, sweetheart. It only makes me want to prove myself more. I am the perpetual underdog in a family of football royalty.”

“And what if I hate you?”

He smirks, giving me a long once-over. “You don’t. You only wish you did.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“One hundred percent. But if that’s the game you want to play, I’ll have to pull out all the stops to win you over. Not all football players are bad,” he promises. “One day you’ll have to tell me about your aversion to my kind.”

“Maybe, but not today. I’m sorry this fell on you this way.”

He shakes his head, dismissing that. “I’m sorry. I’m the one who didn’t put on the condom. But… can I see him? Because, and I know this is going to sound really fucking weird because we don’t know each other and I don’t know him yet, but I’m not sure how sorry I actually am.”

I blow out a breath. “You mean that?”

He bites into his lip and gives me a jerky nod. “That’s weird, right? Like, how can I feel that way when I haven’t met him yet?”

Holy hell. My chest clenches like someone is squeezing it in a vise.

I reach into my purse and pull out my phone. My hands fumble with it and finally, I manage to unlock it with my face. I pull up my photos app and start to scroll through. Asher is still on the ground, but now he’s the one shaking.

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