© Lisa Suzanne 2024

Chapter 1: Asher Nash

I Fucking Love Wild, Unpredictable, Spontaneous Asher Nash

 

I glance up at the scoreboard as the two-minute warning is upon us.

We only have two minutes left, and we’re tied. But we don’t have the ball.

This is it. The Forty-Niners either force overtime or try to win, and they’re not going to give us the chance to beat them.

I’m right. They take it down the field. They run the clock down to three seconds, and if the kicker succeeds in getting the ball through the goal posts, they win. We lose.

My chest is tight as I watch helplessly from my position on the sidelines.

This is it. We’ve worked our asses off to get to this point, but so have they.

I feel it slipping away.

It’s my first full season playing on the Vegas Aces, and it’s about to end one game too early.

The ball is snapped to the holder, who spins it so the laces face out. The kicker sprints toward it, plants his foot, swings his other foot, and extends it after making contact with the ball.

The ball sails through the center of the goalposts, giving the Forty-Niners the victory with no time left on the clock to give us a chance.

Desolation fills me. Over the next few days, we’ll be told what a great season we had. There’s always next year. We worked hard.

All the shit that doesn’t give us the win.

It should have been us celebrating on our home turf. Instead, it’s them.

I shake my head in disgust. It was a team effort. We made some mistakes, but we played hard. We played to win. We just didn’t pull it through.

And now we get a little time off.

Unofficial workouts off-site start next week, but I don’t know if I’ll go.

I’m not really close with anyone on my team except my brother Grayson, who is probably about to announce his retirement, and my other brother, Lincoln, who’s the head coach. I don’t have the respect of my teammates because of a stupid lack of judgment I made a year and a half ago that cost me an entire season on the field.

And because of that, even tonight, I think I’ll probably head home after the game rather than out with the guys. I’m not really in a party kind of mood tonight, anyway.

I beeline for my bedroom as soon as I’m home so I don’t have to face the jeers of my father, who, in a strange twist of fate, is my roommate, and in the morning, I head out before he’s up.

I get to the practice facility long before exit interviews begin, and I clean out my locker. I get in one more workout. Most guys start showing up a little before ten, when our team meeting begins, and they look hungover after staying out far too late.

And it’s only a few minutes later that I stare at my brother as I try to make sense of his words, but I’m failing.

Lincoln Nash, head coach of the pro football team I play for and my oldest brother, just told the entire team the morning after a season-ending loss that our offensive coordinator took a head coaching position for another team.

The OC is leaving, and he’s taking his playbook with him—the playbook we’ve worked our asses off to memorize and execute this season.

League rules state he couldn’t interview until our season was over, and he already took a new job this morning.

He can’t rip the plays we’ve memorized over the last two years from our brains, but he can take his plays and move elsewhere.

I’m sure Lincoln is happy. He never got along with our former OC since Mike’s plays leaned on the conservative side. Lincoln is a risk-taker on the field, and I grew up worshipping his shadow.

When he scored the head coaching job here in Vegas, he pulled me from Indianapolis to play for his team. But then I did something stupid, got myself suspended for an entire season, and let him down.

I’ve been back a full year now, though, and still, the chatter hasn’t faded.

People think I’m only here because my brother got me here. I intend to prove them wrong, and I will do that by working my ass off to show that I belong here.

One more win and we’d be playing in two weeks at the big game. Instead, we’ll be sipping mai tais on a beach somewhere…or something along those lines. I guess we’ve all got different plans for the offseason.

Mine is to duck out of town for a few weeks, and then…I’m not sure.

But maybe my offseason will include more playbook memorization than I’d been planning since someone new will swoop in with his ideas. Maybe he’ll be good enough to lead us past the conference championship game next year. Time will tell.

“It’s been an honor being your head coach for a second straight season, and I pledge to all of you here with us today that with Jack and Steve’s help, we will find the best replacement for Coach Sharp that we can possibly find,” Lincoln says, naming the team owner and the general manager. “We’ll find someone that’ll help guide us past the conference championship so we can contend for a ring.”

My brother’s impassioned speech is met with cheers all around as he makes the claim that was in my head.

We might all feel a sense of disappointment in the end of a season, but Linc’s great at leaving us with that there’s always next year feeling. We made it far, and there’s no shame or disappointment in that.

I glance around at everyone gathered here. This meeting room won’t look the same come July’s training camp. The people will change. Moves are yet to be made in the offseason, and apparently the OC was the first.

“You throw any money on this game?” Austin Graham asks me once the meeting’s over. He’s bitter because he’s also a tight end who isn’t as good as me, and so he spends more time on the sidelines than on the field, but he likes to think it’s because our head coach is related to me rather than the difference in our skill set.

I’m about to open my mouth to defend myself when my other brother, Grayson, walks by. “Fuck off with that shit, Graham.” Grayson isn’t a fan of Austin, either. I guess he hit on Gray’s girl a while back. It’s complicated, but I don’t need my brother sticking up for me.

“I can handle it,” I mutter to Grayson, but the truth is that I was suspended my first season here in Vegas for betting on the outcome of games for my dad, and even though I served my punishment, I’m still paying for the sin.

I’m not sure I’ll ever live it down, but I intend to make a new name for myself.

I worked hard this season to rise above the gossip and shed the reputation that I walked in here with before last season even got underway, but it looks like it didn’t matter since a year and a half after the offense, it’s still being thrown in my face.

I guess that means I still have work to do.

I kept my nose clean this season. I ditched the wild, unpredictable nature I’ve always had and forced my spontaneity into a box. I put my full focus into the season, and now that I have an entire one under my belt with the Aces, I’ll work on stepping up into leadership roles wherever I can—provided it doesn’t look like my brother is giving me preferential treatment.

Playing for Lincoln was too good to be true. Hindsight tells me that now.

I never should’ve agreed to come here. Even without the scandal of getting caught betting on games when I was betting for us to win and in no way threw games in either direction, I never had a chance to make a name for myself that wasn’t going to be overshadowed by the fact that two of the Nash brothers were on the same team for the first time. Add Grayson into the mix as another Nash brother on the same team, and I don’t even get the chance to stand up for myself to assholes like Austin.

Hindsight also tells me that I can’t win no matter what I do. If I play like shit, I don’t deserve to be here. If I play well, I got lucky.

At least in Indy, I could be a leader without people thinking it’s because I have an in with the coach. I was never deemed old enough to be a leader back then, but now I’m twenty-eight. I’ve been playing in the league since I was twenty-two, barring that one season I was forced to sit out.

But nothing I do on that field is ever chalked up to my own skills. It’s always because of my goddamn last name.

I can’t change my name, though, and I learned that a long time ago. Rather than try to change it, I’ll do what I can to live up to it.

And now that the offseason has officially begun, maybe it’s time to go back to wild, unpredictable, spontaneous Asher Nash. I fucking love that guy.

 

 

Chapter 2: Desiree Dixon

All the Things Vegas Doesn’t Have

 

“When I got to that last page and the rock star was on top of her in his own brother’s bed, I literally threw the book across the room,” Chloe says. “And then I glared at the book and shook my finger at it when I walked by. That’ll teach it.”

I giggle. “Good thing it was a book and not a TV show.”

“And good thing the next book is already out,” Addy adds. “I already downloaded it. I’m actually on book three now.” She makes a cringy face of apology.

“God, you read fast,” Lauren says.

And that’s it—the four of us who make up our little book club.

We meet every other week and rotate who’s hosting, and this week it happens to be me. We’re at the apartment I share with Addy, the girl who has been my roommate and best friend since our freshman year of college, and this week we’re talking about the juicy first book in a love triangle trilogy.

“Speaking of being on top of someone in a bed, how are things with Carter?” Chloe asks Lauren.

It always starts with book talk, snacks, and booze, and it inevitably turns to gossip, snacks, and booze. It’s one of the things I love most about being one of the Fearless Four.

Lauren laughs at her sister’s question. “It’s still just physical. He’s hot and good with his hands, but I’m pretty sure the connection ends there.” She taps her temple as if to say he has nothing up in his head.

“Too bad,” Chloe laments. “I was hoping you’d marry him so I could look at him every Thanksgiving dinner.”

“He has a brother,” Lauren says.

“Single?” Chloe, Addy, and I all ask at the same time.

Lauren nods.

“Dibs!” Chloe yells first, and more laughter makes its way around the room.

“But gay,” Lauren finishes.

“Dammit!” Chloe curses, and she grabs another pretzel bite and dips it in the cheese sauce. “I guess I’ll just continue to live vicariously through book boyfriends.” She glances at me. “Unless Desi’s dad can hook us up with some tight ends.”

I make a face. “He won’t even hook me up with one of them.” I roll my eyes. “Life’s so unfair sometimes.” My dad is the tight end coach for the San Diego Storm, and he’s also incredibly overprotective of me—which is why I moved in with Addy after graduation three years ago instead of moving back home with my parents.

And it is unfair. It’s unfair and unfortunate that my dad has access to all these amazing men who I root for on a weekly basis, but they won’t so much as look at me because he’s adamant that no player of his will touch his daughter.

I’m twenty-freaking-five now. I can make my own decisions.

But he says I can do better than a football player who’s only around half the time. This stems from the fact that the last football player I dated broke my heart, and combined with the fact that I guess he sees things I don’t, I try to believe he’s overprotective out of a place of love rather than control.

“So unfair,” Addy agrees. We both laugh at the ridiculousness of the conversation.

“What about Braden?” I ask Addy.

A little smile graces her lips, but it’s Chloe who answers for her. “I saw the two of them walking down the hallway together the other day. I think she’s getting somewhere!”

“Shut up,” Addy says petulantly, shooting a glare at her colleague at the middle school where they met. Addy has a huge crush on Braden, and they’ve been flirting with each other for the entire school year, but he has yet to make a move.

“Maybe you should make the first move,” I suggest to her.

She wrinkles her nose. “That’s so not me.”

“Step out of your comfort zone. Live a little,” I say.

“I’m not like you,” she protests. She’s more of a stay-in-on-a-weekend-to-read kind of girl, while my preferred way to spend my weekends is either being active outdoors, taking pictures, or partying. Those interests led me toward the career path of party planning, and I’ve landed the title of junior event planner at one of San Diego’s most exclusive venues.

Someday, I’d love to drop the junior title. Someday, I’d love to be my own boss and run my own events. But right now, I’m still learning. I love what I do, and I love my friends, and I love my life exactly how it is.

There’s only one thing missing, and it’s a hot football player. I mean a man who’s smart and good with his hands. Someone who will sweep me off my feet like those boys we read about in books who don’t seem to exist in real life.

I don’t need a man to be happy. I have a vibrator that gets the job done, but I wouldn’t mind a friend with benefits. Someone who I can turn to at the end of a long day for both sex and conversation without the side of commitment.

It’s harder to find than you’d think.

We gossip a little longer, and then Chloe yawns. “Sorry, but I gotta be up and at ‘em early tomorrow for a parent meeting before school.” She glances at her sister. “You ready?”

We always meet on Wednesdays since I’m usually working weekends, and this upcoming weekend is no different. I have a retirement party on Friday, a wedding on Saturday, and a quinceañera on Sunday.

Lauren stands and stretches. “I have an early day, too. My first client is coming in at nine thirty for a color and cut.”

“Nine thirty isn’t early,” Chloe points out.

“It is when you’re planning to spend the night on top of Carter,” Lauren says, and we all laugh as we walk to the door to say our goodbyes.

“I need to go finish book three. Sweet dreams,” Addy says after she helps me pick up the family room where our appetizers and drinks were left abandoned.

“Enjoy. No spoilers,” I warn, and she laughs as she gives me a thumbs-up and heads to bed.

The events over the weekend go off without a hitch—except for the wedding where the priest was twenty minutes late—and I find myself at my weekly Tuesday night dinner with my mom and dad.

“What do you think of Vegas?” my dad asks. He keeps his voice low since we’re at a restaurant and anyone could be listening.

“Vegas?” I repeat. “I love the vibe there, but I’ve never visited. Why do you ask?”

My dad’s eyes edge to my mom, and then he lays the truth on me. “They have an OC position open, so I interviewed.”

I gasp. “You…you what?” My voice is louder than it should be given that we’re in a restaurant and he’s trying to be quiet.

He presses his lips together and nods. “And it went well, thanks for asking.”

Oh, right. Etiquette and all that. I clear my throat. “How well?”

“They offered, and about an hour before dinner, I accepted.”

My jaw drops clear to the floor. I am without words.

“Your mother and I are moving to Vegas, and we’d love for you to come, too.” He says the words for her, and I guess we’ve gotten lucky that my dad played for the Storm for years, and when it was time to hang it up, he moved into coaching with the same team. Working in the sports industry means your job could be gone just like that, but we’ve been in the same area of San Diego for my entire life.

And now, poof. They’re moving.

I can’t move. My life is here. My friends, my career, my entire livelihood. It’s all I’ve ever known, and I’m making a name for myself in the event planning industry. I can’t just take off for Vegas.

I glance at my mom to see what she thinks of all this. She’s never been very good at hiding what she’s thinking, and she shifts her gaze away from me so I don’t catch onto her real thoughts. But he’s not letting her speak, and when he does that, it’s because they’re not in agreement about something.

“Mom, is this what you want?” I ask.

She clears her throat. “It’s your father’s dream job, honey. Of course it’s what I want. And Vegas has palm trees like home but with slot machines, all the food…plus probably thousands of events every weekend. I’m sure you could find something in event planning there.”

She’s probably right about that, but I don’t want to find something there. Vegas doesn’t have Addy, Chloe, and Lauren. It doesn’t have the beach. It doesn’t have the Storm. What, I’m supposed to become an Aces fan because my dad has a job there when I’ve bled black and silver my entire existence? No fucking way.

If I’m in Vegas, I don’t get to sing the Storm’s fight song on my home field anymore. It’ll be some trendy Vegas song at the Aces stadium instead. Fuck that.

“I’m staying here,” I say, and I keep my voice firm and resolute.

My dad nods, and my mom looks disappointed.

“We do hope you’ll come visit,” my dad says.

“Of course.” I’m not sure when they’re moving, and I’m not sure when I’ll have a break to visit, but I’d love to swing by and check out Vegas.

You know…someday.