Blaze’s POV
I watch Asher grab Jackson's hand.
Watch him pull Jackson toward the shadowed hallway, their bodies pressing close. Watch the way Asher leans in, whispers something against Jackson's ear.
Then he kisses him quickly, not pretending like it’s a mistake. They disappear into the darkness together. Jealousy ignites in my chest. Hot. Vicious. Consuming.
Jackson. Of all the people Asher could choose, he chose Jackson fucking Blake.
When did they even become close? Last I knew, Jackson was just a teammate. An assistant captain. Someone Asher tolerated but didn't trust.
I don't trust him either. Never have. There's something calculated behind Jackson's concerned-teammate act. Something predatory lurking beneath the easy smiles.
Asher shouldn't trust him. Shouldn't let him anywhere near his secrets. Shouldn't be kissing him in dive bar hallways where anyone could see.
But apparently Asher trusts him enough to—
"Lmao, look!" Sophie shoves her phone under my nose, giggling. "Your mom called me your girlfriend! Unexpected, weird, but cute."
I blink. Try to focus on the screen she's waving. My mother's Instagram post. Comments flooding in.
"She's already replying to people," Sophie continues, scrolling. "Telling everyone how wonderful I am. How happy she is that you've found ‘someone special’, lol."
Her voice fades to background noise. My eyes drift back to the hallway where Asher disappeared.
What are they doing back there? How far is Asher willing to go to hurt me?
My phone buzzes. Manager's name on the screen: If you were planning to go public with a relationship, a heads-up would've been nice. My phone is exploding. Reporters want statements.
I curse under my breath.
This is spiraling out of control. My mother's post. The media circus about to descend. Asher in a back hallway with Jackson Blake.
Everything I thought I understood is crumbling.
Sophie keeps talking. Oblivious to the storm building inside me. Sweet. Uncomplicated. Present.
Unlike Asher, who runs hot and cold. Who kicks me out of hotel rooms after desperate sex. Who apparently finds comfort in Jackson's arms now.
I'm exhausted. Worn down to nothing. Maybe this is the answer.
Sophie wants me, obviously. My parents approve. The world already thinks we're together. And anything, anything is better than continuing to mourn someone who clearly isn't suffering from loneliness.
He moved on. Fine. So will I.
I grab Sophie's hand. "Let's get out of here."
She looks surprised. "Already? We just got here."
"I know." I pull her toward the exit. "Don't want to be here anymore. Let’s finally finish what we’ve started."
Even more shock appears on Sophie’s face. She nods awkwardly, caught out of guard, but lets me take her outside by the hand anyways.
In the taxi, I don't wait for conversation. I kiss her. Hard. Desperate. Trying to drown out the image of Asher's hand in Jackson's.
Sophie responds eagerly. Her fingers thread through my hair. Her body presses against mine across the back seat.
"Blaze," she gasps against my mouth. "What's gotten into you?"
"I want you." The words come out rough. Almost true. "Been thinking about this since our last night together."
"Yeah?" She climbs into my lap. Straddles my thighs. The taxi driver pointedly ignores us. "Tell me more."
I pull her hips down. Let her feel how hard I'm getting. Physical response, at least, isn't a problem.
The taxi ride takes forever. Or maybe just minutes. Hard to tell with Sophie's tongue in my mouth and her hands under my shirt.
My apartment door barely closes before clothes start falling. Her jacket hits the floor as my own shirt follows. She pulls me toward the bedroom with hungry hands and hungrier eyes.
"Been waiting for this," she breathes. "You have no idea how long. I’ve missed our old days so much."
I kiss her instead of responding. Don't want to talk. Don't want to think. Just want to feel something other than the poison churning in my gut.
We fall onto the bed. She pulls me over her and wraps her legs around my waist.
"God, you're gorgeous." Her hands explore my chest. My shoulders. Down my abs. "I forgot how good you look without clothes. Even better after all these years."
I reach behind her. Unclasp her bra. Let my hands fill with soft curves that feel foreign after years of hard muscle.
"Touch me," she demands. "Please, Blaze."
I obey. Mouth finding her nipple. Tongue circling until she moans. One hand sliding down her stomach, beneath her underwear. She's wet. Ready. Her hips buck when my fingers find her clit.
"Yes…" She arches off the bed. "Right there. Just like that."
I work her mechanically. Remembering what she liked in college. Two fingers inside while my thumb circles her clit.
"Fuck, Blaze." Her hands grip my shoulders. "I'm gonna… Already gonna—"
She comes fast. Clenching around my fingers. Crying out my name like it means something.
I should feel victorious. Instead I feel hollow. But I'm too far gone to stop now.
I strip off her underwear. Then mine. Roll on a condom from my nightstand with practiced hands.
"Ready?" I position myself between her thighs.
"God, yes. More ready than I’ll ever be."
I push inside. She's warm and tight and nothing like what I really want.
Her moans are too high. Her hands are too soft. Her body curves where it should angle. I close my eyes. Try to lose myself in the sensation.
She wraps her legs around me. Urges me deeper. "Harder. Please. I can take it."
I give her what she wants. Snap my hips with more force. Drive into her like I can fuck the jealousy out of my system.
"Yes. Yes, just like that."
I chase the orgasm like a man running from a fire. Desperate. Mechanical.
Sophie comes again. Screaming my name. Clawing at my back.
I follow shortly after. Spilling into the condom with a grunt that sounds hollow even to my own ears.
We collapse together. Breathing hard. Sweat cooling on skin.
"That was amazing." Sophie curls into my side. Press a kiss to my chest. "We should've done this weeks ago."
"Yeah." My voice sounds distant. "We should have."
She falls asleep within minutes. Satisfied. Content. I stare at the ceiling.
It felt good. Physically. Can't deny that. Sophie knows what she's doing. Knows how to make a body respond.
But it didn't feel like Asher.
The thought cuts through the post-orgasm haze. Sharp and unwelcome. Sophie's soft curves. Her gentle hands. Her sweet moans.
None of it compares to ice-blue eyes and desperate gasps and the feeling of finally being seen by someone who knows every broken piece of me.
I fucked someone else to forget him. It didn't work.
Asher is still there. Lodged under my skin. Poisoning every attempt to move on.
I close my eyes and try to sleep. Dream of dive bar hallways and the man I couldn't stop watching walk away with someone else.