by Mignon Mykel
Or me, I thought. She could totally stand next to me.
“Get over here, woman! It’s too cold,” McKenna ordered.
Asher’s eyes darted to mine and I had to stop myself from dancing in my spot.
That’s right. She looked at me. For reassurance?
Sure. Why the hell not.
She bit her bottom lip and I watched as her shoulders rose with a deep breath before she walked over to the group.
“You can stand—” the photographer started, but I raised my hand.
“There’s plenty of room right here.”
And there was. Because I was on the end and there wasn’t anyone in front of me, and she was such a short shit next to me. I was pretty sure that back at the Pabst building, she’d been wearing flip flops, but she—and my sisters, for that matter—was totally wearing those Ugg boots they all seemed to favor. And because of those damned boots, she could easily stand in front of me and my face would still be in clear view for the photographer’s lens.
“Yeah, that works. In front of Porter,” the photographer agreed, and I watched as Asher walked toward me, her eyes locked on mine. If I were a chick, I’d say it was something from a romantic movie—the slow walk that meant everything in that very moment.
Asher turned to face the photographer, smiling at Sydney beside her. I leaned forward, not caring if my sister-in-law heard me, and whispered, “I didn’t tell you, but you look beautiful.”
She hugged herself, and while I couldn’t make out her face, I did see as her eyes crinkled at the corners.
Before I could say anything else though, the photographer grabbed everyone’s attention and pictures were taken. I smiled and did my part, sticking around when Ken wanted pictures with just our brothers before she did one with just Myke and Avery. When the photograph announced it was time for Parker’s family, I kissed my sister on the cheek. “I’m taking Asher back to the hall.”
I hadn’t told Asher that yet, but the girl was standing to the side, practically blue-lipped and hugging herself tightly. It was hard to remember that this was her first true winter.
“It’s like that, huh?” McKenna grinned up at me. Parker was to her side, but he was holding Ella at his hip and talking to his parents. “I heard you begging the photographer to put her in front of you.”
I could deny it.
But I didn’t want to.
So instead, I answered, “It’s not. Yet.”
McKenna made a beautiful bride.
In the nearly four months since I wound up in the Prescott fold, I didn’t have a ton of interaction with the second Prescott girl—far more than I had with the oldest, Mykaela, though—but what little time I spent around her, I always felt welcomed.
After the ceremony, I tried to stay back—went as far as hiding out in the bathroom—but Avery found me; told me McKenna wanted to include me in their pictures.
…This family.
From day one, I was treated like an honorary Prescott and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.
No, that wasn’t right. I did.
It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
In all the foster homes I’d been in growing up, never had I felt as welcomed as I did with the Prescotts. I got a taste of the acceptance with Carter and her brother, Hunter, but I had a front-row seat to an amazing family, all because of a silly accident on the edge of town.
I never felt like I was on the outside looking in with this family.
If Ryleigh and Noah were going into town for the local AHL game to watch Parker play, I was always invited. If Avery wasn’t busy with schoolwork, she was at the guest house, harping on me for not filling my cupboard with more than the essentials.
And let’s not get started on Avery and her shenanigans whenever a Charleston Rockets game was on.
Since leaving Charleston, I may not have heard from Porter, but I certainly heard about him. The more I heard about him though, the more I questioned that weekend.
Why hadn’t I heard from him? Why hadn’t he texted?
I was so thrown when it came to him, more so today, when he went and told me I looked beautiful.
“You want to head back?”
I startled at Porter’s voice, realizing I was zoning in my thoughts. “Are they finished with photos?”
He shrugged, the corners of his lips drawing down as he did so. “We’re done.”
I looked past him and toward his family. It looked to be just McKenna and Parker getting pictures taken now.
Suddenly, an involuntary shiver rushed through my body.
With a chuckle, Porter shouldered off his jacket again. “Your blood’s too thin.”
Trying to protest was futile, so I allowed the warmth of his jacket to encompass me for the second time this afternoon. It was warm from his body, but also, it smelled like him.
A clean, spicy musk.
I tried hard to not close my eyes in the bliss and comfort both his jacket and his smell gave me. “Thank you. For the jacket. Not the jab.” My lips curled up, though.
He chuckled and with his hand on my back—a possessive act that surprisingly didn’t scare me—turned me toward the road. “It wasn’t a jab. You just still have southerner’s blood.”
The sounds of Milwaukee filtered around us, the freeway nearby offering a steady hum as cars drove by. We crossed the road under the red-lit Pabst sign, and then turned to go toward the Pabst Best Place building.
It was a nifty piece of Milwaukee history. The outside was all brick, and the inside still had its old-school vibes—you know, that orangey-brown that was reminiscent of the seventies—but it was an endearing reserve of history.
“You’re in the south now,” I pointed out as we walked up the small ramp to enter the largest of the venue’s courtyards. Heat lamps were set up in the corners and large bulb lights were strung from side to side.
As I walked under the archway into the courtyard, I stepped in front of Porter, but before I could cross under the lights and enter the hall where tables were set for dinner, he took my arm and directed me to a heat lamp.
I frowned. “It’s probably warmer inside.”
He didn’t say anything, just kept on going until we were situated under the warm umbrella.
“Oh my,” I said, my frozen body instantly melting at the heat.
“Thaw you out quicker.” He stood in front of me, close enough to touch yet he took his hand from me and stuffed them in his trousers pockets. “And I’ve spent far too much of my life in Wisconsin. I may be in the south most of the winter, but I’m still a Wisconsin boy.”
I smiled, but couldn’t think of a thing to say.
Rather, I could, but I wasn’t entirely sure I should.
How are you? How have you been? How’s Nico?
The questions remained locked in my head. Porter, meanwhile, didn’t do anything to fix the unease. No, he stood there in front of me, his face turned to the side as if he were watching for people coming through the courtyard. He even looked to be biting the inside of his cheek. Holding back what?
I allowed myself to look at him. His face was clean-shaven today and as I brought my gaze up, I noticed for the first time just how long this boy’s eyelashes were. Porter had amazing eyelashes. Why was it the boys—
“You better?” he finally asked, turning his face back toward me. If he recognized I’d been staring at his profile, he didn’t let on. “It’s about time for dinner.” I looked over in the direction he’d been looking, noticing a clock. Sure enough, it was about that time.
“I’m good.” I crossed my arms under my chest, so very confused about Porter. He threw mixed signals like nobody’s business. Just when I thought he wanted to try something more with me—I mean, sure, our sleeping was completely platonic when I was down in South Carolina, but between the looks and the very occasional touch, I really thought he was going on something—he took ten steps back.
Growing comfortable i
n one another’s presence over a weekend?
Go radio silent for the next two weeks.
Get all close and touchy, offer his jacket, his hand on my back as we walk?
Don’t say a damned thing while we stand inches from one another.
Quite frankly, I was getting annoyed.
“You can take your jacket back,” I said, uncrossing my arms only to take the thick fabric from my shoulders. I didn’t give him the chance to say no; I took it off quickly and held it out in the small space between us. I looked up at him and lifted a brow in challenge.
Take it.
And then give me some kind of freaking sign, or leave me alone.
Again, voiceless words.
He opened his mouth, but rather than say anything, he took in a breath that I could hear. Letting it out, he pursed his lips ever so slightly and took his jacket back, draping it over his arm and again, put that damned hand of his on my back.
I nearly wiggled out of his touch, but it was so damn comforting.
I shouldn’t like it so much.
But I did.
I really, honestly did.
Mouth shut, I let him guide me away from the heat, under the lights, and into the hall.
I was losing my game.
Fuck. I had no game where Asher was concerned.
I never knew what to say to her, and wasn’t that just a kick in the nuts?
All through high school, I had my share of girls. When Mo and I decided to date, sure, I was exclusive to her, but I always knew how to talk to a girl I was interested in. But with Asher, every time I thought I was getting somewhere, I realized I didn’t have a fucking clue.
I walked her into the hall, glad to see her lips were no longer tinged in blue. And even though I was sure I put it there, I was curious about the fire in her eyes.
When she gave me back my jacket, it was with a bit of pissy attitude I wasn’t expecting. Was she pissed at me? For what?
Girls.
You could never understand them. Even when you grew up with three of them.
At the round table where my family was to be seated, I draped my jacket over the back of my seat and pulled out the one next to me for Asher. Before she sat, I allowed my hand to drift up her back, just slightly—just enough for my hand to brush under the length of her hair and to feel that under her sweater, the back of her dress was cut low.
Really.
Fucking.
Low.
Asher’s shoulders squared when my fingers met bare skin, and as much as I knew I should take my hand away, I dared myself—dared her—to keep my hand on her. She looked over her shoulder at me and damn if there wasn’t a slight glare in her eyes.
And fuck me, but it made me want to laugh.
What was it with this girl?
I had the very distinct feeling that fighting with her would be the best time of my life.
“Dance with me,” I said, leaning over to Asher’s chair and whispering into her ear as an old nineties song faded into a classic ballad.
She turned her head to me and lifted her brows, saying nothing.
Dinner had been great. The speeches had been spoken. The first dance was danced.
All the while, Asher sat beside me with her small smile on her face, taking everything in. I couldn’t help but wonder what it was like to not have a family to call your own. Had she ever been to a wedding? And with the way she acted around my family…
What the hell kind of families had she lived with her whole life? There were times today that I watched her watching my family, complete awe on her face.
“Please,” I added when she didn’t say anything.
I watched as her eyes shifted between both of mine.
God, there was totally something here. I could feel it, and it was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. I should have kept in touch with her after she left my place. I should have been more willing to press—to see where she would bend and just where she would call the stop.
There was slow, and there was nonexistent—and I was suddenly afraid that I had played the stop.
“Okay.” She pushed from the table and stood, taking off the dark sweater that had been on her shoulders all day. Before she turned away from me, I took in the colors decorating her arm. I knew they were there but for whatever reason, seeing them again was a shock to the system.
Not quite as much of a shock as her back when she turned away from me.
I knew her dress cut low. I knew just how low.
But seeing it was a completely different story.
The strapless dress she wore met just below her shoulders with a tiny-ass button and ribbon, before opening widely, exposing her spine. The fabric eventually met again just above the curve of her ass.
Goddamn.
Thank goodness the lights were low for the reception, because I was sporting major chub now. I walked behind her closely—because even though it was dark, there would be no mistaking the tent in my trousers to an onlooker, and hell, this was a family event—and I reached out to gently grab her hip when she stopped in an open spot.
I’d been so fixated on her back that I hadn’t been paying attention to our whereabouts, nearly colliding with her.
But hell, it was another feel of her.
Under the silk of her dress, I felt the firmness of her side. And if I slipped my hand around her, pulling her in close, eventually my hand would meet with the expanse of her bare back.
So I did.
Asher stepped close, her body up against mine and fitting so damned perfectly, and lifted her arms to rest her hands on my shoulders. There wasn’t a fucking doubt in my head that she could feel me hardening even more against her stomach but she said nothing. She did focus her eyes on my neck while biting her lip though.
Was she uncomfortable?
“That okay?” I asked her, not having the balls to come right out and ask if my arousal against her was going to be a problem. I didn’t want her to be uncomfortable but there wasn’t anything I could do to stop what was happening below the belt. Especially not now, not when her body was pressed up against me.
She nodded, but didn’t lift her eyes. “Yes.”
We swayed back and forth. I had a hand in the middle of her back and the other at her lower back, and I had to physically restrain myself from sliding my hands over her skin and under the edges of her dress. I just wanted to feel her. All of her.
Instead, I let my thumbs rub up and down over the smoothness there.
I kept my gaze out at the dance floor, watching the other swaying couples, in fear that if I looked down at Asher, I wouldn’t be able to look away. Or worse, I’d see she didn’t want to be here.
God, I wanted her to want to be here, in my arms.
I gave in to my wants and turned my head back, dropping it and letting my lips press against the top of her forehead. It wasn’t a kiss. I was simply resting against her.
It could have been a kiss, but it wasn’t.
The song was coming to an end, but the opening bars of “I Don’t Dance” filtered through. I wasn’t going to pull away from this slow dance any sooner than I had to, and it looked like I had another three minutes to enjoy this.
In the soft beat between songs, I felt her take a breath. I didn’t think she meant for me to hear the words, likely hoping for them to be lost in the music.
“You confuse me.”
Her words were whisper soft and they were almost…almost…not heard. But I heard those words loud and clear.
I shifted my stance but kept her close. I pulled my head back so I could look down at her, momentarily paralyzed at just how close she was. I could see every speck in her eye. I could count her eyelashes.
I could see stress lines near her eyes.
For the first time today, Asher looked unsure. Her eyes were still trained straight ahead of her, locked on my neck, but gone was the content smile that was on her face all day. I would even ta
ke the pissy glare she threw at me earlier, over this unsure look all over her face right now.
“Why?” I asked softly, my voice hardly cracking into tone.
She lifted her eyes to mine and it was a jolt to the system. They were so incredibly green, and what were usually red specks, were a rich gold. What did these colors mean?
“I…” she pinched her lips together and shook her head, turning away.
Lifting a hand from her back, I brought her face back toward mine. “Why?” I repeated quietly.
I could feel as she gently shook her head, so minute it wasn’t visible. “It doesn’t matter.” The huskiness of her voice, when so soft, was like air.
Keeping my hand on her face, I pressed my other hand into her back gently, closing what very little distance was still between us. “I’m sorry for not keeping in contact after you left,” I answered, having a feeling her confusion was directly related to the weeks between her leaving, and my showing up for the wedding. “If it’s any consolation, I’m confused when it comes to you.”
She averted her eyes and I swept my thumb over the apple of her cheek. “I feel like I have to move slow with you. I’m afraid of you getting skittish,” I said, laying it on the table. “But damn, Asher, I want you.”
Her eyes, still focused somewhere on the side, started watering and suddenly the kick in my gut was very different than the shock to the system it was when she first locked eyes with me tonight. “Fuck, Asher,” I barely said. I took my hand from her back and framed her face. “Please don’t cry. Look at me.”
When she brought her eyes back to mine, the movement caused a tear to spill from each of her eyes. My heart felt like it was two sizes too big in my chest, and it almost itched with the unease. God, I didn’t mean to make her cry. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, the corners of her lips pinched tight. “It’s not you. I just…” She took a deep breath and I could feel her forcing herself to keep her eyes on mine. If given the opportunity, this girl would run. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind.
“I don’t know what to do,” she finally finished.
“What do you mean?” I trailed one hand down her neck, hooking my hand around the back gently.
