Slow Play (The Rules #3)(68)

“Not even close…” His voice drifts and he frowns. “I don’t even know your last name. How f*cking lame is that?”

I glance around to make sure no children are in the vicinity before I yell out, “It’s Asher.”

“Alexandria Asher? AA? Don’t tell me your middle name is Ann.” His laughter is infectious and I can’t help but respond. “If I call you Triple A, will you fulfill my every need?”

“You wish,” I toss back, grinning madly, my heart light, though it has no business getting involved in this…whatever we’re doing.

We’re playing a game, Tristan and I, though I’m not sure if he’s aware of it. I’m trying my best to throw up as many roadblocks as possible to take this slow while he’s acting like we’re already a couple. I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it.

Truly, we’re both just a couple of idiots, dancing around this—thing that we’ve become. And it’s silly. But I’m not budging from my current position. I don’t think he’s going to either.

So we’ll continue to dance around each other until someone makes the next real move.

“Seriously, though. If you want to come with me to the gym I don’t mind. You could use the treadmill or whatever other machines interest you.”

“You don’t use the treadmill?” Of course not. He runs like this naturally. Ugh.

“I prefer lifting,” he says with a shrug. “Used to do it a lot in my high school football days.”

“You played football?” I squeak.

He gives me a weird look. “Yeah.”

“I was a cheerleader!” I bound toward him, my feet light as I run. “I was even my class’s homecoming queen my senior year.”

“Get the f*ck out.” He stops in his tracks. “I was my senior class’s homecoming king.”

“You were not.” I stop just in front of him, resting my hands on my hips as I try and catch my breath.

“I was. On the prom court too, three years in a row, though I never won.” He makes a face. “Not that I really wanted to. That was such a bogus popularity contest.”

“Meaning you were super popular,” I add. All I ever wanted to do was win. It meant I was popular and people liked me. That’s what I thought, at least. Once my family had their fall from grace, I realized no one really liked me at all. I had no friends stick by me in the aftermath.

None.

“Well, you had to have been too.” His gaze runs down the length of me, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. “I’d like to see you in your cheer skirt sometime.”

My skin heats from his stare. “It was really short.”

“I’m sure,” he drawls, his voice like warm honey oozing over my nerve endings, making me…

Horny.

Yes, God, I keep putting him off the sex thing, but why? Our most recent confessions prove we were almost made for each other. We would’ve been that disgustingly perfect couple in high school land. Though if we’d meet in high school, it probably wouldn’t have worked. I would’ve been too emotional—I was a wreck back then, always giving my boyfriends grief, like some sort of insecure minor stalker—and he would’ve undoubtedly cheated on me.

Not that Tristan’s a cheater but…yeah. That’s what hot football jocks did back in the day, at least in my school. My boyfriend, who was my homecoming king and escort, cheated on me the night of the homecoming dance by getting a hand job from the rival high school’s head cheerleader after the dance was over. He dropped me off, snuck over to her house, and messed around with her.

Talk about a cliché. I dumped his ass. He was snatched up by one of my friends on my cheer team within a week.

I hung around a lot of catty girls back in the day.

“I bet you were sexy in your jersey,” I throw back at him. “And amazing to see playing out on the field.”

“I wasn’t that great.” His smile dies a little. It’s not as bright, not brimming as much with fond memories. “I played to hang out with my friends and get girls.”

I laugh. “At least you’re honest.”

“Yeah, you can never call me a liar,” he says. “I always give it to everyone straight.”

I say nothing. I feel like I’m not giving it to him straight, keeping little pieces of myself hidden from him, from everyone. That’s not fair to anyone, especially Tristan—Kelli and Jade and Lucy, Steven and my roommates, even Shep and Gabe. I’m hiding my past, my family’s problems, my parents and what they did because I’m ashamed of them.

If I told Tristan, would he understand? Or would he think less of me? I don’t know.

I’m not sure if I ever want to find out.

“Well, pick up your pace, Asher. Meet you on the front porch,” Tristan calls, envy rippling through me when he turns and starts to run toward my house. I let my gaze linger, a sigh full of longing leaving me.

Effortless, perfect jerk—though that’s not really fair. He hasn’t been a jerk to me in days. No, he’s been sweet, on his absolute best behavior. After our night of naked times, we’ve been playing it cool. He took me to brunch Sunday and stared at me so hungrily throughout the entire meal I could hardly focus. That had been sort of uncomfortable.