Christian "I refuse to believe that you had a car sent to over here in LA just so you don't have to use a taxi. That's so..." I trail off, unable to fathom how prissy someone can be. Soph huffs and throws the car key at me, while I stand still staring at her silver colored car. That is exactly how I've been since she told me to drive her—in her car which was supposed to be back in England. "You drive. You know I hate driving." She pouts, before slipping into the passenger seat. I let out a dry snort. "If you hate driving so much, you wouldn't have shipped your own car here." But, I oblige obviously, because I don't really like being the passenger most times. I also prefer driving. When I turn the key in the ignition, Soph chuckles before answering. "I love my car. I just don't like driving it as much." Then she inhales a deep and dramatic breathe. "Ugh, it feels so comfo
Ashford But once the poison has come out of me, it's hard to take it back, isn't it? I can't exactly take my words back, so I just have to back them up, and pretend like Christian hadn't barely tolerated me at the pub. Nate's surprised look is refreshing. "You hung out with Chris? Are you serious? I thought the guy had a bone to pick with you." My face falls. So Nate knows that his best mate doesn't like me. I wonder if he has any idea why though. I shrug like his words mean nothing. "Yeah, we more or less bumped into each other, but I stayed for a drink after." Something like wonder flashes in his eyes again, before his fingers move to stroke his chin, like he's deep in thought. "So you're the reason he came back late that night? It's nice to know he isn't a grump to you. Chris can be quite uh—difficult when he doesn't like someone." He winces at his choice of words. Te
Ashford Nate's face lights up immediately I say those words, and my countenance brightens too. I already know what I can do to help Christian, and it's not even something exactly difficult. When I thought about this plan, it seemed right there in front of me, like something I won't even need to worry over. Plus, I don't think Pierce won’t mind too much, because it won't be some kind of PR mess. I've looked through as much as I could about Christian Ashford, and I think he's cool enough. At least for what I'm about to do. He's not been in a lot of scandals, the only major one being the player on his team he'd bunched a few years ago. But when I went down a deep dive of internet search, I saw a heading which actually shocked me. It seems Christian isn't just soccer talent and brute force. Not many people had noticed that aspect of his first scandal, but I have
Ashford He reads the question in my eyes before I can ask it, but he doesn't pull back. It seems this guy is quite used to getting up in the faces of most of his friends. I can't find it in myself to hate the gesture, but it's a little weird coming from a stranger. At least he's a nice enough guy, and I think I can actually see us being friends. "We don't have our own golden star tonight. I'm not saying the rest of us aren't as good. We're a fantastic team, eh. Best team in the world, but every team needs their star." I don't understand his words, and I'm pretty sure my face gives that away immediately. He pulls himself back, and staggers on his feet lightly. That's when I notice something else. Is he drunk? I inhale a whiff of the air around us, feeling silly for not picking up on it sooner. Oh my God. This guy is drunk. How is he playi
Ashford I make a noncommittal sound that hopefully answers Cole's question, before I walk away from him. Distantly, I can hear him calling for me, but I'm no longer in the mood to talk, wishing the game would just start already, so I can lose myself in it. Did they really need to sit him out just because he glared at me? Such pussies. I close my eyes briefly, and settle into one side of the field, trying to stretch my sore muscles. I haven't worked out since the last game. My cheeks redden against my will when I think about what I had been doing prior to the game instead of stretching myself out. Having sex dreams about players who dislike me more then anything. That's a new low even for me. "It's you." A voice suddenly calls from the side, and I nearly flinch, before my eyes fly open. I had intentionally taken a spot far away from other players, so no one el
Ashford Shame burns hot in my guts when I stand beside my teammates later in the evening. It's just a few minutes to six, and if it isn't for the wild cheer from the fans, I would actually be able to hear myself think. Thankfully, they don't afford me that luxury because I don't deserve it. I try—the key word being try, to tell myself that it's nothing. Everyone has wet dreams. It's not the end of the world. It's normal to have wet dreams about the man I have a massive crush on. Getting a good dick would probably help, so it's not too big a deal. But it doesn't erase the ache in my chest. That tight feeling like I'm choking on... on what? Maybe I'm choking on my own embarrassment and shame. To have such a dream about another team's player? Especially one I'm not even supposed to be thinking about? The guy has made it clear that the only time our skin is going