Chapter 4 Traitor

*Asher*

I can't help but stare at the young woman as she walks away from me. I'm usually not taken with many people's beauty. It's a habit I've clung to for many years after past relationships tore me down. However, those deep blue eyes and her dimples are impossible to miss. I don't know the last time I saw someone with genuine dimples, which is wild.

A plate clatters somewhere in the tavern, and my mind returns to its original thought. Is this woman not at all impressed with the accolades we've accomplished? We've won four championships since I joined the team. I'm a three-time MVP. I'm a famous and adored quarterback.

That's astounding to me. I don't always like girls who gawk when I'm nearby. But not even being an Ozarks fan? That, to me, is amusing, and a smile slips onto my face. She may tease and call us nemeses, but that doesn't automatically make us real enemies.

My thoughts are interrupted as the door to the entrance of the building swings open. In the doorway stands a beautiful stranger. But it takes me only a moment to recognize her for who she truly is.

The singer from last night is walking into the tavern with sunglasses on. Holy shit, I can't believe my luck!

Before I realize what I'm doing, I quickly stand up and make myself known in the bar.

"There she is!" I mutter to Mark.

"Oh, thank God," he groans.

The woman must know I'm standing to see her because she pulls down her sunglasses so I can see the tops of her eyes, and a smile appears on her cherry-red lips.

"Hi there," I manage to say when the woman has made her way to our table. "You don't know how much I've been dying to meet you."

The woman removes her sunglasses, placing them on her glossy-haired head. "Oh?"

"I saw you sing last night. At the honky-tonk bar? I tried to find you afterward. I just had to say you were outstanding up there on that stage. I'm a huge fan."

The woman gives me a half smile. "And I'm a huge fan of you, too. I cannot believe Asher Slater is telling me that he thinks I'm talented."

I reach out my hand to shake hers, the feeling in my stomach from the night before clenching tight. "So, you're an Ozarks fan?"

"Uh, duh, of course I am. You're famous. Asher Slater is one of the youngest and most successful AFA players ever. I'd be an idiot not to be a fan."

"Well, you know my name, but I don't know yours." She grasps my hand in return.

"Camila Monroe, rising star," she breathes, her handshake tight.

"And I'm Mark, lover boy's best friend."

I groan at his words but keep a smile plastered.

"Say, Mr. Football Star, let's go out. I'd love to learn what a guy like you does for fun off the field."

I love the way she breezily captures my attention, even going so far as to be the one to make the first move. I feel my tongue get stuck inside my mouth, and it takes me a full five seconds to realize I haven't even answered her.

"Yeah, absolutely, I'd love that."

Camila smirks. "Great. There's this steakhouse down the street; it's supposed to be unequivocally fabulous. Meet me there tonight at seven. I'll be the one with the red dress."

She winks at me before she pulls up her sunglasses. How can I not go out with her? That angelic voice that hasn't left my brain for the past day; it still sings in my ears as I watch her twirl around. "I'll see you there, stud," she remarks, waving a hand over her head as she makes her way to the bar.

I can't even believe what's just happened to me.

"Sit down, fool, you're drooling all over the floor," Mark snaps, getting my attention. He reaches out and grabs my t-shirt before pulling me into my booth.

"Did you hear that?" I sound breathless. "She asked me out. Dude, I can't even believe it."

"What's so hard to believe? That an attractive girl you like wouldn't want to go on a date with the famous Asher Slater?" Mark rolls his eyes.

"No, it's just...Mark, her voice. I have to know more about her. I can't explain it, really. There's just something about her, something mysterious and kind that I felt in her performance last night."

My best friend snorts. "You're ridiculous, Romeo."

Before I can answer, the waitress returns, dropping our meals in front of us with a loud CLANG. She seems much stiffer than she did not five minutes ago. I don't understand, what's she so angry about?

Is it because she's a Shoreman fan? I can't imagine she'd care so much as to be angry that two football players from the rivals would piss her off so much. AJ's never acted that way towards me, especially since he's paid to be part of our biggest competition. But no one's ever really given me the cold look I see on Ophelia's face.

Her hostility comes off her in waves. She doesn't scream or shout, and she's not even saying anything rude. But the bite in her voice comes when she says, "Anything else?"

Unable to respond with words, I shake my head as Mark digs into his sandwich. She turns and stalks away hurriedly, leaving me to furrow my eyebrows at her departure.

"How is it that you've met two attractive women in the span of ten minutes?" Mark asks with a full bite of food in his mouth. "Honestly, man, you just wake up in the morning, and suddenly, you're surrounded by sexy women!"

I groan. "Mark, stop." I take a bite of my own sandwich. "Obviously, the waitress isn't interested in me. I mean, she hates the Ozarks; she clearly didn't want to talk to us again. And did you feel her energy? I swear she has so much rage inside her she could explode."

He shrugs. "So? When's that stopped you before? She's hot. You should ask her out."

"Did you not JUST hear me say she's clearly not attracted to me?" I shook my head, taking a sip of my drink. "Besides, you were there last night. Camila's voice just...it makes me feel a way I can't describe."

"I'm going to ask you one more time to shut up about her voice. There's more to women than the voice they use to screech, yell, or sing at you. Like, how good in bed is she? How well does she really know the sport that everyone pretends to know? Is she a good cook?"

I drop my food onto the plate, disbelief crossing my mind. "You're kidding, right? Like, seriously kidding? It's the twenty-first century, Mark. Women aren't just around to feed and fuck you."

"Yeah, I know. I was kidding, dumbass." Mark rolls his eyes. "Look, I'm sorry, it's just fun to mess with you. I'm happy you have a potential new girlfriend. I mean, anyone's better than Courtney ever was."

Courtney Roberts. I haven't thought about her in a while. It's weird having her name come up after so much time has passed. I still feel the anxiety and anger filling me as I allow myself just one moment to remember her.

"Courtney destroyed me. You know this."

"Which is why I'm glad you're finally over her."

"I've been over her for a long time."

"Yet Camila is the first girl you've actually given a second of your time to."

"Mark, it's not that simple. Courtney ruined my reputation. All those years of trying to prove to the world that I'm like my dad and brother. All the years of people trying to knock me down a peg. Courtney knew she could hurt me, and she did. Okay?"

"I was there, bro," Mark points out. "I remember. She's a bitch. I completely get your resentment towards her, okay?"

I shake my head. "It's not just resentment. She took the guy I was trying to prove I am and made me into a playboy, and I can't escape that."

"I still don't understand why being a playboy is bad? It just makes you more desirable."

"I don't want to be labeled something I'm not!" I hiss. "I want people to know who I ACTUALLY am, not just someone that Courtney made up to the world."

Grabbing a napkin, Mark wipes his face. "And I'm sympathetic towards your struggles, man. Like I said, I'm just glad you're finally over her. You can hate her for as long as you want, but if you continue to think about her, she's winning. You gotta stop giving her all the power."

He's right, and I know it. Courtney makes my blood boil in anger, but I don't miss how she manipulated our narrative. I've never wanted people to think I'm some playboy type. But when people talk about Asher Slater, the Ozarks quarterback, they always have to call me the playboy.

"Playboy Quarterback Asher Slater for the Ozarks won the game today in the final seconds of the fourth quarter."

I saw that announcement online today. I can't just be me; I have to live under my family's shadow and the lies of being a player.

I glance over at Ophelia, who's talking at another table with her lips curled up to a smile. I wonder if that's why she grew sour toward us-that she remembers the headlines and thinks all I'm good for is hurting other women.

I must remind myself that I don't know her, just like she doesn't know me. There's no use in trying to change her mind. She's just someone I'll never meet again. Why should I work towards having her see me how I wish people would?

Besides, Camila and I are going out tonight. I can learn more about her.

I feel something twisting in my stomach when her name comes to mind. Camila. It's a beautiful name for someone with such a perfect voice. I can imagine our date going long into the night, where we laugh and talk about anything other than football, where I can finally speak to a woman who doesn't stare at me like I'll just use her.

A night where we may end up beginning to fall in love.

These fantasies have never been shared with Mark, even once. I know he'll laugh and make fun. He's a great guy, but he'll never stop being his blunt self, even when I do fall in love. It's no matter.

I only want to think about Camila in her red dress, waiting for me at the restaurant, and to get to know the woman behind the perfect voice.