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“I’d like to change that, Mags.” My chest tightens and locks in my next exhale as I immediately still at the deep octave of that voice.
Dad cranes his head and smiles out of my peripheral. “Asher, my boy. Perfect timing to embarrass my daughter.”
“She makes it too easy, sir,” he answers back with that charm that affects everyone in this town. He can and does get away with everything and anything. There is nothing this boy could do that wouldn’t make the whole team love him because he plays one hell of a game of football.
It’s like a free get out of jail card, a swift slap on the wrist when he glued Principal Yates’s car doors shut during our sophomore year of high school. One time, he waxed a hallway in the school and videotaped the legit downfall of one classroom falling on their asses because he wanted to get back at one guy.
My ex-boyfriend, Harrison.
“What’s this talk about you not needing a tutor?” Dad hedges, making all this worse.
“Dad,” I warn through Asher’s mirthless laugh.
“I’m pleading the fifth on that comment, Mr. Burrows. My grades clearly illustrate that I’m in highly needed assistance with history.”
“My daughter believes it to be a ploy.”
“Your daughter is an extremely smart girl, sir. It’s one of the many things I like about her.”
Dad slides his propped leg down to the floor. “Well, it’s my turn. Watch your hands, Clark.”
“Will do, sir.”
Dad rises and I can’t stop him from leaving me with the god of torment as he strides the short distance to his ball. Meanwhile, Asher wastes no time jumping over the abandoned seat Dad left and filling the space with purgatory vibes.
It’s super extra of me to describe it that way, but Asher Clark is the only boy in all of Northview High that makes me nervous. No idea why, no clue what I did in a past life, but this dude throws up every red flag.
“I forgot your dad bowled,” Asher conveys casually. “I should’ve joined his league.”
“You?” I can’t help the continuation of this conversation with my question but, really, it’s ludicrous. When would he ever have time to do that and why would he with a bunch of middle-aged men who literally take two hours to bowl a single game because they’re too busy riding each other and making fun of the last person who got a gutter ball.
“Yeah,” he quickly replies. “I love bowling.”
“How did you know I was here, Asher?” I drawl. “I didn’t post it on Facebook.”
“Nah, you didn’t. Why is that? You’re never on social media.”
“I’m not missing much.”
“Bud texted me. I was here last night with a few buddies, and he let me know that the hot blonde was here, AKA you.”
“Hot blonde?” I rebuke back. “Is that supposed to be flattering?”
“Well, I won’t let them call you anything else. The chick with the nice rack would’ve been cause for a punch to the face, and if they looked at your ass, well…” He steers his heavy focus to me, but I’m still refusing to acknowledge him with a look of my own. I’m hoping it’ll get him to go away and discover the fact that I don’t want him here.
“You better get back to what you were doing. My dad is going to be back any second and want his seat.”
“I doubt it,” he replies confidently. “I’ve already asked him if I could take you out on Saturday.” That gets my head to snap over to him.
Huge mistake.
Those glimmering eyes of his are already sucking the fight from me as he lays his best smile on me.
“Why would you do that? I told you no.”
“And I told you that I’m persistent as fuck. Shit, the whole town knows we’re going out.”
What the…
