Chapter 2: 33°F

The game continued, much to Wendy’s shock.

The long pass set up an easy running play. Asher executed a misdirection play—a deceptive move to mislead the defense—faking a handoff to the running back, Dustin. While the defense focused on Dustin, he sprinted toward the end zone with the football himself.

The end zone lay just ahead of Wendy. Seeing him clearly for the first time, she noticed the mud staining his jersey before watching Asher dive across the line. The man was terrifying!

His explosive speed and power made him seem like an unstoppable, adrenaline-fueled beast.

The visual impact sent Wendy’s breathing and heart rate spiking. She wished he’d stay far away. She didn’t want to get hurt—or dirty from the mud on him. How could he run so fast, hit so hard, and not feel pain? Just watching made her bones ache.

"Hey! They shoved Asher!"

"Bastards! They already scored—now they’re taking cheap shots at Asher?"

Arguments erupted from the sidelines.

The touchdown’s joy lasted barely two seconds before fury took over. After Asher scored, the opposing team’s player No. 87 inexplicably slammed into him before he could steady himself, knocking him down. Tackling after a confirmed touchdown was a blatant foul.

Purple-jerseyed players swarmed No. 87, ready to brawl.

"You hit Asher? Got a death wish, psycho?"

"F**k you! Dumbass!"

Not letting their teammate get bullied, the yellow-jerseyed players joined the fray.

Wendy stared, bewildered, as the game descended into a full-blown brawl. Any lingering goodwill she had for football evaporated.

Coaches rushed in to break it up, restoring order so play could resume.

When the crowd dispersed, Wendy spotted Asher standing calmly outside the chaos, untouched. A few players and staff clustered around him, checking for injuries.

"That’s just too much!" a girl snapped.

Wendy turned. Exactly—others defended him while he acted entitled.

Then the girl added, "I hope Asher’s okay! Targeting our QB like that—can’t handle losing? Cowards! Get the hell back to your own school!"

Wendy: "..."

Possession switched after the score. As the opposing team took offense, boos rained from the stands—standard American sports culture, but Wendy, new to it, wanted only to grab her keys and leave.

At halftime, she entrusted her suitcase to nearby girls and called Hayden. Without his help, reaching Asher was impossible.

"I’m at the control booth. Head to the players’ rest area—I’ll clear you. What are you wearing?"

"Easy to spot. I’m Chinese—few Asians here. White tank, jeans, black hair."

"Chinese?"

Did Asher have Chinese female friends? Surprised, Hayden agreed. "Got it."

With his help, Wendy slipped into the rest area unnoticed. Cameras swarmed Asher, so she blended with staff, waiting for a quiet moment.

Asher and Neil approached, laughing. Media shouts and shutter clicks followed.

"Just give them a few shots," Neil said. "They’re baking out here."

Asher removed his helmet, shaking out sunlit golden hair. His striking features held no smile for the press, yet his magnetism was undeniable.

For two seconds, that face wrapped her dislike in sugary sweetness, making her pulse race—until reality snapped back. Too close.

Like the Rhine’s Lorelei enchanting sailors, Asher wielded his looks just as lethally.

Players trailed him like iron to a magnet, displacing others. Rookie Tommy leapt up to offer his seat, eagerness making Wendy roll her eyes. She’d come to America, not some Asher-centric universe. Was he this world’s god?

Avoiding his spell, she missed Asher calling to the overlooked rookie.

"Tommy, that catch was sharp—quick reflexes, good speed. Trust me: I’ll throw to you. Be ready."

Tommy flushed, trembling. Asher knew his name. Praised him. Promised passes—in front of Neil, the star receiver. The envy around him was palpable.

"Stop oozing charm," Neil drawled as Asher sat. "Kid’s got heart-eyes. Gross. Keep this up, he’ll sign his scholarship over to you."

Asher smirked. "Relax. You’re still WR1."

"Please. You’re just saying that."

That "he’s nice, but you’re special" tone reeked of playboy. Neil swallowed a smug grin. "What, you think I’m jealous?"

"Aren’t you?" Dustin teased. "Your eyes scream envy."

Jealous? Please. He’d never thought himself Asher’s only worthy receiver.

"Hey, don’t you need to leave for the airport?" Neil changed tack. "Ask Coach—he’ll say yes. Total favoritism."

Wendy perked up. Should she announce herself? No airport trip needed—she was here.

Asher leaned back, muscles flexing. "Plenty of time. Scrimmage’s almost done."

"Almost? Try thirty minutes. Your sister’ll wait over an hour—"

"She’s not my sister."

Wendy’s lips curved. Neil might not get it, but she did—crystal clear. Asher hated her.

No anger, no hurt. Just relief. His hatred was better than...

The blazing sun warmed her cheeks. She remembered last year’s airport goodbye. After hugging everyone, she’d faked sibling harmony with Asher for their parents—only for him to crush her against his chest, his muscles firm under her hands.

He’d whispered, lips brushing her ear:

"I’ll miss you, Wendy."