The Striker (Gods of the Game Book 1)

“When do rehearsals start?” Carina asked.

“On Tuesday. They’re only once a week, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

Since it was a one-night school showcase and the staff members were seasoned professionals, the rehearsal schedule was less grueling than that of a normal dance company performance.

My stomach flip-flopped. It was Saturday, five days since Lavinia appointed me understudy, and my excitement had bled into nerves.

Luckily, Lorena’s choreography didn’t involve a lot of moves that would aggravate my old injuries. My doctor had given me her tentative approval pending a full physical (to make sure nothing had changed since our last checkup) and my promise that I would commit only to one performance.

“Don’t overexert yourself,” she’d told me yesterday. “Your body can handle performing again up to a certain point, but once you pass that point, you’ll be undoing a lot of progress. If you feel any abnormal discomfort at all, call me and your PT immediately.”

She didn’t have to worry about that; I had her and my physical therapist on speed dial.

“Perfect. So we’ll still have time for shopping and trolling for good-looking men with a stable job, decent personality and no significant other,” Carina joked, drawing my attention back to her.

We were having drinks at the Angry Boar, which was packed with happy hour patrons and a handful of lost-looking tourists. I usually steered clear of this pub because it was a magnet for footballers, but it had great weekend drink specials and the number of athletes usually thinned out during the offseason.

“Good-looking, single, employed, and not a prat? In London? You’re asking for way too much,” I said.

Carina grinned. “A girl can dream. Speaking of dreams…” She raised her glass. “Here’s to the best understudy for Lorena in all of RAB.”

“I’m the only understudy for the role at RAB.”

“Exactly.”

I laughed and clinked my glass against hers. “How’s the second job search going?” I asked. “Any luck?”

“No.” Her shoulders slumped. “Not unless I want to strip or bartend, both of which I’d be terrible at. If some drunken finance bro tries to grab my ass while I’m working, they’ll have to haul me off to jail.”

“It’s okay. You have time,” I said optimistically. “You’re only twenty-six, and Antarctica will always be there.”

Well, unless climate change did us all in, but I kept that caveat to myself.

“I hope so.” Carina shook her head. “This is so stupid. I can’t believe I’m looking for a second job to fund a holiday.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s a childhood dream.” I nudged her leg with my foot. “We don’t downplay those, remember?”

Carina’s top bucket-list item was to visit Antarctica before she got married. It may sound random to anyone who didn’t know her, but she’d watched a documentary about penguins when she was a kid and fell in love with them. Ten-year-old Carina got it in her head that she had to visit them in Antarctica when she grew up, and it’d been a goal for her since. As for the married part, she said a husband would cramp her style.

Unfortunately, visiting one of the most remote locations on earth was expensive. An executive assistant salary barely covered the cost of rent in London, much less a sojourn to the South Pole, hence her desire for a second job.

I told her once that penguins existed in less expensive, more accessible countries like South Africa. The glare she gave me almost sent me six feet under, so Antarctica it was.

“I guess not.” She sighed. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out. There are definitely more important things in the world to focus on. How’s your dad?”

“He’s doing well. Vincent says he’s finally warming up to his nurse, which is a good sign. Apparently, they bonded over their favorite wine.”

“How very French,” Carina said dryly. “Did you tell Vincent about Asher?”

I paused mid-sip before swallowing. A wave of prickles swarmed my skin. “He knows we’re training together. There’s nothing else to tell.”

Vincent wasn’t happy about me and Asher still training together, but that was the Boss’s decision, not ours. We all had to make the best of it.

“Hmm.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What was that?”

“What?” she asked, the picture of innocence.

“That sound.”

“What sound?”

“That hmm you just made.”

She tapped her nails on the table as a neighboring group of guys went wild over the cricket match on TV. “You and Asher have been talking a lot. That’s all.”

“We see each other three times a week. It would be weird if we didn’t talk.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize movie nights were essential to your training regimen.” Carina laughed and ducked when I pelted her with a crisp. “Admit it. You want to shag him.” When I didn’t answer, her smile morphed into open-mouthed shock. “Wait. Do you really?”

“No.” I reached for my glass again, but it was empty.

“Scarlett DuBois, don’t you dare lie to me.” Carina gasped. “Oh my God. Did something happen when you stayed at his house during the storm?”

“No.” The prickling sensation intensified. “But it almost did? I’m not sure.”

Her face sobered. “I know I joke about it, but if you hook up with Asher, Vincent will lose his shit. As in, ‘potentially sabotage Blackcastle’s chances of winning by taking his anger out on Asher during a match’ lose his shit.’”

“I know.” Vincent had always been protective of me, but he’d gotten worse since my accident and breakup with Rafe.

“On the other hand, you’re an adult and Vincent needs to get a life, so he’ll have to suck it up.”

I allowed myself a small laugh. “Nothing has actually happened between us.”

“Yet.”

Yet. Funny how one three-letter word contained a world of possibilities.

Every time I thought about Asher, I felt like I was trapped on a runaway train, the wind whipping through my lungs as we barreled toward the edge of a cliff. I knew how the story would end, but for a few precious moments, the sheer exhilaration overshadowed our inevitable doom.

Scarlett, darling, are you jealous?

You wish.

Maybe I do.

The memory blew through me, spiking my pulse and scattering my concentration.

The truth was, I had been jealous. A vicious dose of green poison had burned through me at the sight of him kissing someone else, and I hated it.

“So.” Carina arched a perfectly shaped brow. “Back to what you said earlier. Define almost did. What almost did happen?”

I groaned. “I was hoping you’d overlook that.”

“Me? Overlook a potentially juicy carrot of information? I’m not even going to dignify that insult with a response.”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath. I might as well spill the beans. She was going to find out eventually (I was convinced Carina had some secret mind-reading capability she didn’t tell me about), and I was desperate to talk to someone about what happened. “If I tell you, will you promise not to read too much into it?”

She held up her right hand. “Cross my heart.”

I told her.

“Wait. You did what in the guest room?” She covered her mouth with one hand, but it wasn’t enough to hide her grin. “Babe, I am so fucking proud of you right now.”

“It’s not something to be proud of,” I grumbled, my face hot. “It was inappropriate.”

“Most fun things are.” Carina’s eyes sparkled. “Does this mean you’re rethinking your anti-footballer stance?”

“No. There’s a difference between fantasy and reality.” My response came off less resolute than I would’ve liked.

I’d promised myself I’d never fall for another footballer, but I hadn’t been this consumed by a guy since Rafe, and it terrified me. Asher wasn’t my ex; he was smarter, funnier, more thoughtful.

It was awful.

Because smart, funny, thoughtful men were my weakness, and I didn’t have the option of avoiding him until my attraction petered out. I was literally forced to see him multiple times a week.

If only Vincent were here. He would’ve acted as our buffer, and we wouldn’t be in this situation.

The chimes over the door jingled. A gust of warm air swept over me, and the pub noticeably quieted as every head swiveled toward the entrance, mine included.

My entire body tensed. Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

Whichever evil fate was responsible for throwing us together this summer struck again as Asher walked in. Even with his wind-tousled hair and worn white T-shirt, he was breathtaking enough to cause several audible sighs.

“Speak of the devil.” A mischievous glint entered Carina’s eyes as she raised her arm.

“Don’t you dare,” I hissed, but it was too late.

“Asher!” She waved, her bangles gleaming beneath the lights. His gaze slid across the room and rested on us. “Over here.”

That traitor. I was putting Carina on my shit list next to my hormones, the UK weather, and the inventor of horror films.

I prayed Asher was meeting someone else here, but no, that would be too easy.

Instead of declining Carina’s invitation or acknowledging my strong stay-away vibes, he pivoted in our direction and slid onto the empty stool across from me with infuriating ease.

“Two run-ins in five weeks,” he drawled, flashing a smile that left my ex-best friend starry-eyed. “This must be my lucky spot.”

He addressed Carina, but his eyes were locked onto mine.

I lifted my chin and met them head-on. I hoped he couldn’t hear the sudden roar of my pulse.

“Must be,” Carina echoed. Her eyes ping-ponged between us before she stood and cleared her throat. “Excuse me. I have to, uh, use the loo. I’ll be right back.”

Oh, I was going to kill her. Forget the penguins; she’d be lucky if she lived long enough to see the inside of her flat tonight.

A beat of awkward silence passed.

“Are you meeting someone here?” I asked, hoping a miracle would call him away from this table, in this corner, this close to me.

“Nah. I was in the area and decided to drop by.” Asher’s smile could’ve melted the knickers off a nun. “Good thing I did, or I wouldn’t have run into you.”

Those were absolutely not butterflies winging through my chest. They were something far less appealing, like…flying cockroaches. Or angry wasps.

Luckily, I was saved from answering when someone bumped into Asher with his shoulder. Hard.

The guy’s mouth moved. I couldn’t hear what he said, but judging by the way Asher’s smile vanished, it wasn’t an apology.

I wasn’t a confrontational person. The prospect of making a scene in public made me want to crawl under the table, but there was something about their interaction—the smug smirk on the guy’s face as he turned away, the angry yet resigned set of Asher’s jaw—that raised my hackles.

“Hey!” The rebuke slipped out before I knew what I was doing. “You bumped into him, and you’re just going to walk away? Apologize.”

Asher’s shocked gaze snapped toward me while the guy’s eyes narrowed. He looked like he was in his mid-to-late-forties, with graying hair and a blue shirt that stretched over his paunch.

“Whatcha gonna do if I don’t, little girl?”

“Well.” I offered a sweet smile. “While I can’t physically make you apologize because I’m such a dainty little girl, I can call your employer and tell them one of their officers has been harassing a civilian.” I nodded at the Holchester Police logo on his shirt. “I’m sure they won’t be too thrilled about that, especially when they find out the civilian is Asher Donovan.”

“Bumping into someone ain’t harassment,” he growled.

“Maybe not outside this pub, but premeditated physical aggression is strictly prohibited at the Angry Boar.” I tipped my head toward the bar, where Mac was slinging drinks with his signature scowl. “If you don’t believe me, we can call Mac over and see if he agrees.”

The man’s mouth thinned. Everyone knew Mac had a subzero tolerance for any type of provocation in his establishment. He’d once banned someone for intentionally stepping on another’s foot without apologizing.

“Or,” I said, “you can apologize and we’ll forget this happened. Your choice.”

A long, tense beat passed before he spoke again. “I’m sorry,” he gritted out.

“For what?”

If looks could kill, my lifeless body would be floating in the Thames. Luckily, they didn’t, and he had no choice but to amend his apology. “I’m sorry for bumping into you.”

“It happens,” Asher drawled. “Not everyone is born with grace, coordination, or manners.”

“You—” The man cut off with a small growl when I flicked my eyes toward the bar again.

He stormed off without another word, leaving the stench of cheap aftershave and indignation in his wake.

Asher turned his full attention toward me. His mask of amusement faded, softening the furrow between his brows and the hard set of his mouth. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Maybe not, but he deserved it.” My heart raced in the aftermath of the confrontation, but it wasn’t from nerves. It was from exhilaration. I felt like I could take on the world and win. “He was a wanker.”

“There’re plenty of wankers in the world, unfortunately. I’ve learned to pick my battles. Besides…” Asher flashed a crooked smile. “I have to watch myself here. Mac’s still upset with me for spilling beer on his beloved jukebox earlier this year.”

I wasn’t fooled by his devil-may-care attitude. “What did that guy say to you?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“Asher.”

His smile devolved into a sigh. “The usual B.S. about me being a traitor and getting what I deserved in that final match against Holchester. It’s boring at this point, though I have to commend his commitment to his hatred while he’s on holiday.”

My brows pulled together. Asher got a lot of hate from Holchester fans when he transferred to Blackcastle, but it’d been months. I couldn’t believe people were still hung up on it when transfers happened all the time.

Then again, football fans were nothing if not passionate (to put it mildly), and the rivalry between Holchester and Blackcastle was particularly bitter.

“Well, I hope his beer is always warm, his food is always cold, and he stubs his toe every time he gets out of bed for the rest of his trip,” I said. “Imagine being so hateful on holiday. That’s bad karma.”

Asher’s laugh coated my arms and chest with warmth. “The ballerina has claws. I didn’t expect that from you,” he teased.

I shrugged. “I don’t like it when people act like wankers.”

“Either way, thank you again. I was going to ignore him. I can’t give every arsehole the attention they seek, but a little bump was worth seeing that side of you.”

“Don’t get used to it. I can’t always be around to protect you,” I said, but I couldn’t resist a small smile in return.

His eyes crinkled deeper at the corners. “Noted.”

A long, languorous beat passed between us.

Every time I thought I knew where I stood when it came to him, something happened that threw me off-kilter.

There was no steady ground with Asher Donovan. It was a constant sea of change—frustrating, terrifying, and, as much as I hated to admit it, exhilarating.

All the banked heat we shouldn’t acknowledge thrummed across the tiny high-top table. We⁠—

“Sorry that took so long.” Carina’s breathless apology doused the moment in ice water. Sorry, my ass. She’d left us alone on purpose, and her grin indicated as much. “The queue took forever.” She slid onto her stool and regarded us with naked interest. “What did I miss?”

“Not much,” I said when Asher remained quiet. His run-in with the man wasn’t my story to tell. “We were just chatting about football.”

“Oh, okay.” Carina seemed oblivious to the tension smoldering around us. “Before I forget, I want to tell you I can’t make it Tuesday. I got a call from my parents while I was in the queue. They made us dinner reservations at Babko that night, so I won’t be able to watch your first rehearsal. I’m so sorry.” Genuine remorse crossed her face. “I really wanted to be there for the first one.”

“It’s okay,” I reassured her. “You won’t be missing much.”

Asher’s brow wrinkled. “What rehearsal?”

Carina flicked a quick glance at me.

Shit. I hadn’t told him about the showcase yet. It wasn’t a secret, and he wasn’t entitled to know, but a stab of guilt pierced my chest anyway.

“I changed my mind about not participating in the RAB showcase,” I admitted. “I spoke with Lavinia, and I’m now the understudy for the lead role in Lorena.”

“The lead role?” His eyes sparked with admiration, and an answering warmth drifted through my veins. “That’s brilliant!”

“It’s not a big deal. Like I said, I’m the understudy.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, feeling oddly self-conscious. “Chances are, I won’t get to perform. I’m just there in case the lead gets sick or injured.”

“It’s still exciting. When did you find out?”

The guilt deepened. “Monday.”

Asher’s expression didn’t change, but the barest hint of a pause indicated his confusion.

“I was going to tell you earlier,” I added. “But I, um, forgot.”

I’d wanted to tell him during Monday’s training. But after seeing him with Polina and our subsequent moment in the studio, sharing such an important milestone with him first seemed too dangerous. Too intimate.

So I hadn’t.

Nevertheless, a pinprick of guilt pierced my skin at the hurt in his eyes. Not only had I not told him, but I probably wouldn’t have brought it up at all had Carina not mentioned rehearsals.

“That’s okay.” Asher smiled, the flash of hurt smoothing into one of indifference. The boulder sank deeper to my toes. “I’m just glad you’re participating.” He checked his watch. “I have to run. I have an online interview in an hour.” He stood and slid a fifty-pound note onto the table. “Next round’s on me. As a thank-you for letting me crash your girls’ night.”

“That’s way too much for drinks here,” Carina protested.

“Three rounds then,” Asher said easily. He glanced at me.

I remained quiet, trying to reason away my niggle of disappointment at his departure. I hadn’t wanted him to join us, so why was I upset about him leaving?

He hesitated, then added, “My friend’s throwing a party in Neon’s VIP lounge later tonight. If you guys are free, you should drop by.”

“We’re not big clubbers,” I said before Carina committed us to something neither of us wanted.

The last time we clubbed, I’d spent half the night holding her hair back while she puked up four shots worth of tequila. Afterward, it took us fifteen minutes to reach the exit because it’d been so packed.

Would I like to repeat that experience? No, thank you.

“Sadly, it’s true.” Carina sighed. “I wish we were fun club people.”

The tiniest hint of amusement tugged on Asher’s lips. “I’ll add your names to the list anyway in case you change your minds.” His gaze slid back to me with a brief, inscrutable flicker before he left.

The crowd parted without him uttering a word and closed just as easily once he was gone.

“Yeah, screw what Vincent thinks,” Carina said after Asher was out of earshot. “He’s so into you, and he checks all your criteria. Good-looking, single, employed, and not a prat? Hello, perfect match.”

“Those are your criteria, not mine, and let’s not forget his playboy reputation.”

“Oh, so you wouldn’t mind if I went after him?” Carina smirked at whatever she saw on my face. “Exactly. Your death glare just gave you away.”

“I did not give you a death glare, and he’s not into me. Not really,” I said. “Maybe he thinks he is because I’m the only woman he’s seeing on a regular basis this summer.”

I wasn’t trying to be self-deprecating; it was the truth. He was a famous footballer. What were the chances he was actually, truly interested in me?

Carina shook her head but didn’t press the issue. “Jokes aside, are you really going to skip the party tonight? I know we’re not club people, but it’s an Asher Donovan invite. Can you imagine the VIPs who’ll be there?” She let out a dreamy sigh. “Sadly, my parents are staying with me, so I can’t go even if I wanted to. I don’t want to deal with their lectures about ‘drugs and debauchery.’”

Whenever her parents visited, they stayed with her for at least two weeks. I couldn’t imagine staying with my mother for that long as an adult—we’d kill each other by day three—but it was a cultural thing. Asian daughters simply did not banish their elders to a hotel when they had a perfectly serviceable flat.

“If you change your mind and you do go, you have to tell me every detail after,” Carina said. “I’m living vicariously through you at this point.”

I shook my head. “Sorry, but tonight’s a book-and-bed type of night,” I said. “Trust me. There’s no way I’m going to that party.”