Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Leaving the lip and throwing a Cab Double Cork, he stops mid-rotation, grabs the nose of his board, and pulls into a Method that shouldn't exist at that speed. His back arches. Body stretched like something's trying to rip him apart.
“He's going to die,” Camille gasps.
For once, we agree. And if this trick doesn’t take him out, I fucking will.
He releases the grab, spotting his landing through the final rotation, and lands smoothly.
Clean.
The crowd goes nuclear. Announcers scream about history. My champagne sits abandoned while something hot and dangerous floods my chest. Pride? Relief?
100 flashes over the screen up ahead. Perfect score.
Atlas grabs me by the face, screaming his praise. “Fuck yeah!”
I can’t even help it. My smile turns wide, but when my eyes land on the screen, the world beneath me tilts. Asher pulls off his goggles, scanning the crowd. Even from this distance, through the cameras and chaos, I know exactly who he's looking for.
His eyes find the VIP box. Find me.
And the smile that spreads across his face makes my chest crack open.
“Shit,” Lucinda says quietly beside me. “Ivy—”
“I know,” I whisper, but I don't know. I don't know anything except that I'm about to do something catastrophically stupid, and I can't seem to stop myself.
Reporters mob him before he’s swimming amongst fans. Camille's halfway to the door, ready to stake her claim in front of the cameras. But his attention remains fixed on the box.
Fixed on me.
Chapter 20
Asher
People swarm around me, but I’m fixated on getting the fuck back to everyone. Back to her.
“Asher!” A reporter shoves her mic in my face before I’m about to break free. “Is it true what they're saying, that you and Ivy are finally an item?”
Out of all the fucking things she could ask, she asks that.
I shove past her without answering, swimming through the fans until a line breaks out. Atlas is grinning near the city car, with Punk tucked beneath his arm. I already know he's going to say some shit. I haven't exactly hidden the fact that Ivy is all up on my shit lately.
“Ash!” Camille calls out, but I ignore her, walking straight past.
I don't spare Camille a glance as I stride toward Ivy, who's standing near the SUV with her arms crossed, fur-trimmed hood framing her face. Her eyes track my approach, dark and unreadable.
I reach her and my arm slides around her shoulders, pulling her into my side with enough force that she stumbles against me.
“What are you—”
“Getting in the car.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend.
I guide her toward the open door, hyperaware of the reporter's camera swiveling in our direction. Good. Let them fucking watch.
Ivy's body tenses beneath my arm, but she doesn't pull away. The scent of her shampoo—something citrus and sharp—cuts through the cold mountain air.
“Asher.” Camille's voice hits a pitch that makes my jaw clench. “We need to talk about—”
“Not now.”
I help Ivy into the SUV, my hand dropping to the small of her back as she climbs in. The touch burns through layers of fabric, through skin, straight to something I refuse to name.
Turning to Camille, I lower my voice so only she and I can hear. “If you know what's good for you, you'd get in the other car and shut the fuck up about it.”
She doesn't argue, fixing her face and turning on her heels to the other car.
Luce and Jord climb in through the other side as Atlas slips in beside Punk.
He grins. “Well, that was subtle.”
The door shuts as I slide in beside Ivy, muffling the chaos on the other side. Will Camille make a shitshow out of this? No. She's smarter than that. But Parker… well.
“You couldn't have handled that differently?” Ivy growls softly. Her thigh presses against mine in the cramped space, and neither of us moves away.
I bare my teeth. “No.”
Her eyes flash. “So what, I'm your prop now? Your way of—”
“You think that's what this is?” I turn to face her fully, and the air between us charges. “You think I give a fuck about optics?”
“Then what was that?” She gestures toward the window, where camera flashes still strobe in the distance.
I glare at her. “That was me done pretending.”
Atlas makes a choking sound. Punk elbows him hard enough to make him grunt. Jord and Luce sit quietly, watching us go back and forth as if they missed a chapter.
Ivy's breath catches. I watch her throat work as she swallows, and my fingers itch to trace the column of it.
“Done pretending what, exactly?” her eyes narrow. “Because if you haven't forgotten, I'm married!”
I wave her comment off with a scoff, unable to take her and Parker's bullshit marriage seriously.
She laughs, but it's not the kind I want. “Ah, I see, so we fuck and now you think you can piss all over me?”