by Mignon Mykel
Maybe in a few years, if she was still around, I could put some effort into her. Not that I wanted to do the whole playboy athlete thing, but there were certain perks to being an athlete and I was interested in them.
…But maybe not as much as I was interested in Asher.
I scoffed to myself. I wouldn’t put money on her being here in December. My gut said she’d stick around for a few weeks, figure things out, and then be on her merry way to wherever the hell she landed.
Never to be seen or heard from again.
I returned my focus to the road, taking the back way in so I could pull up to the guest house rather than drive through the yard—Dad hated that.
I cut the engine when I reached it and glanced behind me as Asher leaned over to look between the two front seats, frowning. “This is a guest house?”
I looked in front of us, taking in the thousand-square-foot ranch. It certainly wasn’t a tiny house, but on the inside…
“Half is Mom’s photography studio,” I answered, leaving it at that as I got out of the truck. As Asher and Avery exited the truck too, I went to the back, pulling down the gate. I tossed the keys to Avery, who caught them easily. “Wanna unlock the door?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Come take a look, Asher.” I watched as the two of them walked up the three steps to the small wrap-around porch, then as they walked into the house. I sat on the gate and pinched the bridge of my nose.
Why the hell was I so interested in this girl?
In forty-eight hours, I would be gone, and I wouldn’t be back until maybe Thanksgiving, but I was pretty sure we had a game the day after so really, the likelihood of me making the trip home was nil. Then there was Christmas, but we’d been having that in San Diego, with Cael and Jonny both living there with their wives, Sydney and Jenna, respectively.
I had to stop being so fixated on this girl. She probably wasn’t sticking around, not as long as it would be before I’d get a chance to see her again.
After a moment, I hopped down from the truck, pulling a box to the end and, muscling the large box in my arms, made my way into the house. I propped it against a living room wall, figuring we could move them to whatever room necessary after all were in.
There was a slight chill in the house; I wondered if Avery showed Asher the thermostat. Better to get all the boxes in before the heat was turned on anyway. Dad would have a canipshit if the heat was on, and the windows and doors were wide open as well.
I could hear Avery talking to Ash in the bedroom.
I paused momentarily, as I realized I unconsciously shortened Asher’s name, to, oddly enough, my middle name. I shook it off, even if the thought did knock at something in the back of my head.
The place wasn’t all that big; the living area was probably under five hundred square feet, with an open concept floor plan. From my spot near the door, just beyond the living room area was a peninsula-style kitchen counter, which was the only true separation from living room to kitchen. To the left of the kitchen, beyond what I could see due to a jutted-out wall that was closet space in the studio, were the bedroom and attached bathroom.
I left to grab another box, and when I came back in with this one in tow, the girls were in the kitchen, Avery giving Asher a super grand tour.
I mean, a dishwasher was a dishwasher.
Avery kept talking and Asher was looking more and more pale.
“I need a hand with a larger box,” I told them, after letting the one in my arms slide to rest against the previous box.
I really didn’t need help, I could easily do it on my own, but Asher had that panicky look on her face again.
This house, as small as it was, was certainly no hotel, not with its fancy appliances and Nest thermostat, adjusting the heat and air as necessary.
Not for the first time, I was curious how long Asher would hold out before finding her way away from Beloit and our family. With what little she told me and the panicked looks that crossed her face, I had the feeling all of this was too much for a girl like her.
Asher shot me a look, which I interpreted as grateful, and the three of us made it outside. I slid the largest box to the end and grasped the bottom, pulling it back slowly. “Grab the end?” I asked no one in particular, but it was Asher who stepped forward to do so.
“After this box, I want to walk her through the studio,” Avery said from her relaxed perch against the side of the truck. For this being her grand idea, she sure wasn’t helping all that much.
“Why?” I grunted, before looking around the box toward Asher, checking in on her. “You good back there?” She offered me a small smile and nodded, so I began walking backward toward the house.
“Because she’ll probably start doing some work with Mom.”
Hmm.
Maybe she wouldn’t be gone in a few months’ time.
Regardless, these boxes weren’t going to move themselves, or put themselves together, so I pushed that thought aside and walked this one in with Asher. After propping it with the others, my sister and Ash left to enter the studio and I went back out to grab more boxes—
But not without first checking over my shoulder to get another look at Asher.
…And I was pleasantly surprised to find she was doing the same to me.
Nice game tonight, Ports. FYI, it’s Asher’s birthday. Wish her a happy birthday. 511-992-1022
I chuckled to myself as I dropped my cell into my coat pocket. Avery was a demanding thing.
I brushed my hand through my still drying hair, and walked out of the locker room and into the mass of cameras and reporters. I had my first interview after the season opener last week. Everyone had been excited to see if I lived up to my hype and I think people—fans and media alike—were happy with my performance as of late.
Straight out of camp, I was given a first-line position, as was expected. I played left wing, with the center being my roommate, Nico, and our captain, six-year veteran Ant Perizzi, on the right. I was young, but I proved my worth on every shift.
It would be very easy to demote the rookie to third or fourth line, so I played damned hard, game in and game out. I made it a point to be available for interviews, and I was open to whatever side gigs the marketing department wanted my face on.
Being a jerkoff wouldn’t do me any good here. I wanted to prove that this organization did good when taking a gamble, claiming a Prescott from draft before the Enforcers organization could do it.
Tonight’s game had been close—3-2 in the end—but it was my last-second goal that brought us to the last buzzer. I couldn’t get the fucking smile off my face, even though I was getting plenty of ribbing from the guys.
“Porter! Porter Prescott!” My name was yelled around me, different reporters and journalists wanting to talk to me. Nico coached me a few weeks ago, to be open to the interviews, but be sure to put my foot down at some point, or else I could easily be talking to reporters for hours after the game.
Surely not hours, but I got his point.
I eyed a female reporter I talked to last week, and she waved me down. The woman, Melissa, was easily my sister Myke’s age, but she didn’t talk my ear off like some of these other people had done. She was a quick, in and out, kind of reporter.
I walked over to her and offered her my hand, which she took and shook. “Good game, Porter. Can we talk to you for a few minutes?”
“Absolutely.” I took my spot against the wall and waited for the camera man to prop his camera to his shoulder and point to Melissa.
“Great game tonight, Porter.”
“Thank you.”
“How’s it feel to start out your rookie season on such a high?”
I grinned and shrugged, laying on the charm that seemed to work with these things. “Great. It’s certainly exciting.”
“And that last-second goal, saving the Rockets from an expected overtime. You had the fans on their feet.”
“I enjoyed it. I’ve lear
ned a lot over the years, and it’s great to be able to apply it.”
“Speaking of learning a lot, how does your father, Noah Prescott, feel about these games?”
“He’s excited for me.” I recalled my phone call with him before the game. He may not be my coach, but he always had words of wisdom for us kids before a game. “They’re going to try and come down for a game soon.”
“And your brothers? Have you heard from them?”
I chuckled. “Yeah, they like to joke that I’d be doing better in San Diego, but I don’t know…” I answered, purposely leaving the sentence hanging.
Melissa cued her own laughter and nodded. “Yes, absolutely yes. Well, we’re certainly glad to have you here this season.” She turned to the camera and closed out her interview, before turning back to me and shaking my hand again. “Have a good night.”
“You too, Mel,” I answered, walking away and fishing my phone out of my jacket again.
The text from Avery was still up and my thumb hovered over the phone number.
Saying I hadn’t thought about Asher since leaving would be a lie, a lie even I couldn’t kid myself into believing. I wondered if she settled in okay, if she was working with Mom, or if she was considering leaving.
In my thoughts, I didn’t realize my thumb relaxed onto the number and looked down to see the phone was dialing.
Panicking, I moved my thumb to end the call, but the phone switched over. Lifting it to my ear, I was partially hopeful her voicemail had picked it up, but it was that other part…
“Hello?”
Her voice was even raspier over the phone line and my dick jumped to attention. With my free hand, I swept my suit jacket over my lap as I made my way through the halls and down to the garage.
“Hey, it’s Porter.”
“Oh.” She paused and I got the feeling that this was a bad idea.
Not that I made the call on purpose.
“Hey, Porter.” I heard shuffling and whispers, then a door click, before she spoke again. “Good game tonight.”
My brows rose on their own accord. She watched the game?
“You watched?”
“Yeah, Avery’s here and made me.” I could hear a smile in her voice, so even though she was playing it off…
It hit me square in the gut.
God, I wanted to see her again.
My fascination with Asher didn’t dim over the weeks I’d been away.
“Well a birdy told me it was your birthday,” I told her, “so I wanted to call and wish you, you know, a happy birthday.”
The halls were quiet as I walked through them. I kept my eyes forward as I walked and talked, the heels of my dress shoes clicking and echoing in the cinderblock and cement hall. Nico would be waiting for me at the car—we carpooled—and I didn’t want him to hear the conversation so I slowed my steps before reaching the end.
“Thank you.” Her voice had gone soft.
“Did you do anything special?” I asked, wanting the conversation to continue, even though I knew it couldn’t last much longer.
“Avery brought a cake, and your parents and sister, McKenna, came over. Oh, and her fiance’s little girl, Ella. She’s a doll.”
I was glad she hadn’t been by herself today.
“That’s good.” I wracked my brain, trying to come up with a reason to keep her on the line. “My parents are coming down in a few weeks—”
“I know.”
“Would you be interested in coming too? You know, so I can be sure there’s enough tickets at Will Call.”
“I’ll be watching the studio that weekend.” Did I hear a grimace in her voice? Was that wishful thinking on my part? “I’m shooting a Christmas mini session. Three kiddos under five. I’m a little intimidated.” Her light laughter filtered through the line.
As much as I was disappointed she wouldn’t be making the trip, she sounded…
Happy.
Like maybe she’d be sticking around for a while.
I could deal with that.
“Look, I have to go,” Asher said, and I fought disappointment. “But maybe you can call me tomorrow?” she added quietly, after a pause.
Fuck yeah, I could call her tomorrow.
“Absolutely. Count me in.”
So, that was what Avery was doing on her phone when she angled away from me a little while ago.
The brat, I thought as I pocketed my cell in the back of my jeans, a small smile still on my face.
“Answer it!” Avery had exclaimed when my phone started ringing earlier. I wasn’t going to, I didn’t know the number—I didn’t know many numbers—but Avery had leaned over and slid the bar over for me. I had a moment of panic before lifting the phone to my ear.
“It’s Porter,” Avery informed me then and, with a flush to my face, I removed myself from the living area of the guest house and walked into my room to talk to him.
The four weeks he’d been gone, I hadn’t thought of him or his dimple—much—and I hadn’t missed his voice. Not at all.
Not in the moments I looked around at the couch he helped put together, or the bed set that he picked out. I didn’t think of him much at all.
Liar.
And then he sounded so hopeful when he invited me to join his parents on their trip.
…And part of me was really sad that I couldn’t say yes.
I didn’t have any business finding myself crushing on a guy like Porter Prescott, especially now that he was a hotshot athlete that graced the cover of Sports Illustrated.
I didn’t own a copy.
I swear. I didn’t.
I almost did, but I stopped myself from the purchase. That would be creepy.
I barely knew the guy. His family was being incredibly nice and, yeah. You just didn’t do creepy things like that.
But I couldn’t help but smile at the knowledge that he called me, on my birthday.
Even if it was at Avery’s pushing, he still did it, and that made me smile like a freak. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been genuinely happy on my birthday.
Today had been more than I could have ever imagined.
Ryleigh was giving me more responsibilities with Studio 11 and I was starting to feel like I belonged. When I first started, Ryleigh just talked books with me. Within a week, she was asking to see me shoot and earlier today, she added that I did well assistant-shooting a family session the last weekend, so she wanted me to do some mini shoots while she and Noah were out of town—the shoot I told Porter about.
Then, right before lunch, Avery showed up, playing hooky from classes today to hang out.
I let her drag me to the mall and I decided that being girly wasn’t all that bad. It was fun to walk around the mall and try on absurd dresses that I never in my life would wear.
A gorgeous red ball-gown with encrusted diamonds along the neckline? A strapless gray dress that cost more than I would likely make in a lifetime?
But it was fun and I enjoyed myself.
Then, the Prescotts—Noah, Ryleigh, Avery, McKenna, and Ella, McKenna’s soon-to-be-stepdaughter—brought me to a nice dinner in town, only to come back to the guest house for cake and ice cream.
More than once, I felt myself holding back tears.
Everyone else left between the second and third periods of the game, leaving just Avery and me in the tiny abode that I was falling more and more in love with every day. I hadn’t given much thought to when I was leaving—but I sure was making plans to stay.
“Good chat?” Avery said, startling me, as I left my room.
“You’re a meddler,” I told her, calling it like a saw it.
“I don’t see you complaining.” Avery grinned wide as she bent to pick up our Solo cups and bringing them to the recycling bin.
No, I hadn’t been. But, “I don’t…I’m damaged goods, Avery,” I said, putting a smile on my face in hopes that it would come across as a joke.
&nbs
p; “So you were a foster kid.” Avery shrugged, walking over to me. “You’re not damaged, silly.”
If she only knew.
But if I could put that aside…
“I think he likes you. No. I know he likes you,” Avery continued. “And I know the set-up isn’t ideal right now, but maybe keep your mind open.”
I just shook my head, the same smile still on my face. “Alrighty.”
It was Thanksgiving and the team was having a family dinner at Ant’s house. Word around the locker room was his wife did great dinners.
“You about ready in there, Ports? Fuck, you take longer than a girl,” Nico complained from, I assumed, the living room.
Nico treated me like his kid brother, but he wasn’t as assholish about it as my true older brothers sometimes were. He was a good guy. Turned out, he had a brother a year younger than him, playing in New York, and another brother, my age, who was going to school in Madison.
Small freaking world, he said. He lost one brother to Wisconsin, only to somehow end up with another.
He earned a middle finger for that one.
But otherwise, we got along well.
After our game yesterday, Ant took control of the locker room, as he usually did after games. This speech however, wasn’t about the game. It was about the holiday.
“Anyone not doing dinner tomorrow with family, you’re invited to my house. The wife insists. If she finds out you didn’t have dinner and didn’t come, she will be pissed. It’s an Italian thing.” The room laughed. “Now, she also told me to tell you all to not dress up, but if you boys come over in anything less than khakis, you best have flowers for my wife and a pumpkin pie to share.”
As such, I was wearing khakis and a button down, but Nico and I were still bringing a pie nonetheless.
I buttoned my cuffs, looked at myself in the mirror, and unbuttoned them again.
My dad would probably have something to say about going to dinner with my shirt sleeves rolled up but he wasn’t here to police it today. Last weekend, when he and Mom were here…
I grinned at the memory.
For so long, I suffered severe youngest-child-syndrome, fighting my parents and siblings at every turn. I did things against their wishes, made choices that wouldn’t have been their first choice, or even their last choice. But my parents being here last weekend, getting to watch me make my first shoot-out goal, and the excitement on their faces when I looked up at them in the stands?
