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“Came to watch the game with your pops.” My brows furrow. “He asked me over since you wouldn’t let me take you out tonight.”
I scowl. “Sooo…you still decided to come over?”
“Yeah. Your dad asked me out on a dude date.”
“A what now?”
“Magnolia,” Dad hollers out. “Is that the Clark boy?”
You’ve got to be freaking kidding me right now.
“Hey, Mr. Burrows,” Asher calls back to make sure that I can’t lie about it being someone else.
Smart.
Really smart, Clark.
“C’mon in, son,” Frank beckons. “You’re missin’ Magnolia’s old man lose his shit.”
Asher reaches for the door, opens it, but I don’t move out of his way. Instead, I’m staring up at him with a glare, since he thought it’d be just fine to still show up at my house when clearly this is weird…ish.
It’s not abnormal for the men around here to watch games together. It’s a way of life.
“Is there a secret password?” Asher mutters, his chest only inches away from mine. “Or were you lookin’ for another kiss, Mags, because I got no problem givin’ you one.”
I immediately step away as if I was shocked by a bolt of electricity and he only chuckles his happy ass passed me and into the living room with the men. They all shake hands and pleasantries while I make my way back to my safe haven without further incident.
Physically.
Not mentally.
My mindset has been rocked from creativity with just the sounds of the men in the front room hollering out obscenities and cheers, which isn’t out of the ordinary, except I hear the octave of Asher’s voice within my domain and it’s causing a block to my work.
I shove my headphones in my ears to block it out, but the vibe in my own house is off now, too. The strokes of my paintbrush feel too forced and jagged as I stare for God knows how long at my canvas that’s never going to get finished today.
Looking at the time, the Clemson game is going to be on shortly, which was the school Mom attended and it’s somewhat of a rivalry between Dad and her. He purposely rooted for the other team just to watch her lose her mind on the other side of the TV set. It was huge in this house. Any Clemson game she could watch, she’d sit with Dad and watch it.
I give up on my painting and quickly change out of my art clothes. Wearing a white tee with Clemson orange lettering, I leave the bathroom that’s attached to my room, only to find Asher Clark lounged on my bed like he belongs on it.
His jacket is off, but it’s the garnet and black tee that forms over his stretched muscles that gives me more of a pause.
The South Carolina Gamecocks, Clemson’s rivals.
My brows lift, and I point at him. “What is that?”
“What’s what?” His lips heave into a knowing and devilish smile as he slowly glances down at his shirt before a fake lightbulb goes on in his head. “Oh, this? I knew they were playin’ today.”
“Uh, huh.” I walk to my dresser to pull out a pair of fuzzy socks, and I can feel his heavy stare follow me to it.
“I like your room.”
“I don’t like how you invited yourself into my room,” I drawl back, finding the white socks I wanted. “My daddy is gonna—”
“He asked me to come get you.” I hear my mattress dip back up as if he got off it. “And what am I really going to do to you with him in the other room?”
Oh, I’m sure you could do something.
Spinning around, so I don’t look like a coward, nor uncomfortable that he’s in my personal space, he annihilates it when he’s mere inches from my body.
