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Chapter 23 -The Night Of The Game
Last Updated:
2024-10-29 19:42:56
J. TarrPlease note that the following chapter will be extremely smutty and rated 18+, so if you are not comfortable with reading smut, you can skip the chapter.
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Liam Asher comes to a stop in front of me, his eyes never leaving mine. “I looked for you all over tonight and didn’t see you until the very end. Were you going to bail on me?” He asks in an angry, low voice, holding his jersey in one hand while tilting my chin up with the other. I shake my head. “Of course not; I was at the rally up until Coach lit the bonfire and headed straight to the football field afterwards.” I stutter and feel as if I am gasping for air. He grins, then brings his face closer to mine. “Good, I felt pissed off all through the game because I didn’t see you. I thought you bailed on me for something or someone else.” He says, not breaking eye contact at all. My mouth goes dry at his words, and his closeness causes a tent to pitch at the towel around my waist. “Why… Why would I be with someone else when you said that I was yours?” I say, blushing at my own words, but they seem to make Asher smile. “You’re not mine completely… yet,” he says, then lifts his arms
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Asher Fuck. Oh my fucking God, this is not good. I need to get Liam out of here, so I grab him by the wrist and pull him behind me without even thinking. “He’s just leaving, Dad,” I say, walking towards the door and forcing Liam behind me, but my dad puts an arm against the doorway, blocking me. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going, you little faggot?” He slurs, looking straight at me, then at Liam. “Taking your girlfriend home?” I shake my head. “He’s just a friend coming to check up on me, nothing else,” I stutter, trying to put on a firm voice, but my fear stops me. My father walks inside, and I take a step back, ensuring Liam is behind me. “Bullshit,” he says, cocking his head towards Liam. “Everyone knows he’s a fairy, so what would he be doing here so late at night?” I squeeze Liam’s wrist out of fear, hoping my dad wouldn’t take his anger out on him. “Dad, it’s nothing. Just let him go home-” Before I could finish my sentence, my dad’s fist connected with my gut and
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