The Striker (Gods of the Game Book 1)

I told Vincent I was getting dressed, so I couldn’t stay in the bathroom too long. I left Asher there with strict instructions not to make a single sound, tossed on a T-shirt and leggings, and hurried back to the living room.

I hadn’t wanted to leave my brother alone in case he picked up on the clues scattered around the flat—the men’s shoes in the entryway, the two half-empty glasses on the kitchen counter—but I had to warn Asher so he didn’t wander out looking for pizza.

“Sorry for the wait. I had to, um, find clean clothes,” I said brightly, closing the bedroom door behind me. Thankfully, I’d scored one of the coveted flats with an en suite bathroom. If Asher were in the hall with only one door separating him from my brother…a chill shivered across my back. “You didn’t tell me you’d be visiting. You were just here a few weeks ago.”

“I was.” Vincent stood in the middle of the living room, his arms crossed.

I gulped. Uh-oh. He looked furious.

“I didn’t tell you I was coming for a reason,” he said. An accusatory note slid beneath his words. “I didn’t want to give you time to make up excuses.”

Oh, fuck. Ohfuckohfuckohfuck. He knows. A bead of sweat cut a small swath down my neck.

Why did Asher and I keep putting off our Vincent strategy? We said we’d figure out a way to tell my brother, but we never brainstormed the how part. If we had, I might be able to respond with more than a dismayed squeak when Vincent’s eyes flicked around the room and landed on the trainers by the door—specifically, the white, size nine men’s trainers.

A muscle worked in Vincent’s jaw. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

I mustered a weak smile. “I love you and you’re the bestest big brother ever?”

I swore I heard a growl. “Scarlett.”

“Look.” I held up my hands. My nerves felt like barbs punching through my skin, but we were already here. There was no use denying the obvious. “I was going to tell you, I swear. But I didn’t want you to get mad and do something stupid.”

“Stupid?” Vincent’s eye twitched. Okay, maybe that hadn’t been the best choice of words. “Like what?”

“Like when you told one of my dates you’d get the entire Blackcastle team to jump him if he didn’t bring me home before midnight.”

“He was an idiot,” Vincent snapped. “What kind of person with common sense would believe that? And don’t try to deflect. How long has this been going on?” He jabbed a finger toward the trainers.

“Um…” I braced myself. “A few weeks?”

“A few weeks?” he exploded. “Jesus, Lettie.”

“It’s my love life,” I said defensively. “I don’t have to tell you every time I date someone. Besides, I wanted to see where things went before I said anything.”

“Maybe that’s true, but it’d be nice to hear about it from my sister instead of the internet!”

The internet. Ice water flooded my veins. Dread grabbed my heart and slammed it against my rib cage with heavy, relentless beats.

“You…you found out about us from the internet?”

How did we miss that? Did the news break today? If so, how did Vincent get here so fast?

Then again, Paris was only a two-and-a-half-hour train ride from London, and Asher and I hadn’t been on our phones all evening.

Vincent scrolled through his cell and shoved it at me. “Someone saw you guys at the Golden Wharf a few weeks ago. They posted a picture on some sports forum but it didn’t make the rounds until today.”

I stared at the screen, open-mouthed, because the picture he’d pulled up wasn’t of me and Asher.

It was of me and Clive.

It was grainy, but our faces were clearly visible. The photographer had captured me getting out of his car while he waited with his arm out like a gentleman. We were smiling at each other like we were in love, even though I’d been hungry and he’d been distracted.

Thankfully, whoever took the photo hadn’t stuck around to see us meet Asher and Ivy. If they had, I’d bet my last quid the pictures would’ve made the rounds way sooner.

Oxygen flowed more smoothly into my lungs. My brother didn’t know about Asher—yet.

“Clive Hart? Seriously?” Vincent’s annoyed voice brought my attention back to him. “Of all the people you could’ve chosen, you chose to date Clive Hart? I told you he was a fuckboy and I meant it. Don’t fall for his nice-guy act, Lettie. It’s broken a lot of hearts.”

“I’m not dating Clive,” I said, trying to wrap my head around the new and unexpected development. I didn’t know there were people so invested in rugby players’ love lives. “We went on one date. That’s it.”

“Then whose shoes are those?”

Fuck. I realized my mistake too late.

“Uh…” I scrambled for an excuse. “I—I have a friend from RAB over. We were going over something for Lorena. You know, that school showcase I’m an understudy for? He spilled something so he’s taking a shower.”

“I don’t hear the water running.”

My brother was usually an idiot. Why did he have to be so observant today of all days?

“I guess he’s lathering,” I said. “He’s very, um, thorough with the soap.”

Vincent’s eyes tapered in suspicion. He didn’t believe me for a second. “Are you sleeping with him? I just want to have a talk.” He started toward my bedroom.

“No!” I grabbed his arm. “I told you—he’s showering.”

“I can wait in your room.”

“No. You are not going to storm in there and embarrass me.” I released him but put myself in his path, blocking him from the door. “I’m an adult, Vince. While I appreciate your concern, I can do whatever I want with whoever I want. I don’t need to run it by you first. You don’t see me interrogating you about every girl you’re seen with.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Why not? Double standard much?” I shook my head. “I know you’re worried about me and you don’t want to see me get hurt, but I promise I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Vincent’s mask of anger fractured, revealing slivers of worry underneath. “You haven’t dated anyone seriously since Rafael, and we know how that ended. You were inconsolable after the breakup. I don’t want to see you in that place again. Ever. It was…fuck, Lettie. It was a scary time.”

My indignation melted at his agonized expression. For all his bluster and overprotectiveness, he really did have my best interests at heart, and he was right. The early post-breakup days had been mired in darkness. Between the accident and the abrupt end of a three-year relationship, there’d been times when…

I swallowed. “I get it,” I said, more softly this time. “But I’m not twenty-one anymore. Let me handle my relationships as I see fit, okay?”

Vincent stared at me for an extra beat before he let out a resigned sigh. “Fine. But if anyone fucks with you, tell me and I really will get the team to jump him.” He eyed the trainers again. “So are you sleeping with your colleague? Who is it? Is it serious?”

“Vincent.”

“Just curious.” He cracked a small smile. “Anyway, I didn’t come all this way just to yell at you about Clive—though this conversation would be a lot longer if you really were dating him.”

I figured as much. Vincent was as capable of yelling over the phone as he was in person. “Do you have another PR thing in the city?”

“No. Coach wanted to check in with me since I, ah, backed out of the training sessions with you and Donovan. Dad’s doing fine with the nurse now, so I’m actually returning to London earlier than expected. I’m staying through the weekend, then I’ll go back to Paris to wrap up loose ends. But I’ll be training with you again starting the Monday after next.”

I suspected there was more to the story than he was sharing, but I was too stuck on his last sentence to delve deeper. I’ll be training with you again starting the Monday after next.

That meant Asher and I had even less time together than anticipated.

“Oh. How nice.” My words squeaked with surprise. “I mean, yay! Can’t wait.”

If Vincent noticed my pitiable attempt to feign enthusiasm, he didn’t mention it. “The upside is, I can keep an eye on Donovan. I can’t stand that guy.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “At least you’re not sleeping with him. I’m sorry, Lettie. I know it’s your love life, but if he was the one in your bathroom right now, I’d smash his face into the wall.”

My high-pitched laugh sounded like it was supercharged with helium. “Me and Asher? Haha. That would be something. Anyway.” I pushed him toward the exit. “Let’s catch up later. I don’t want my colleague to see you when he gets out of the shower, and—oh!”

The pizza delivery guy beamed at us when I yanked open the door. “Sorry I’m late,” he said with the kind of pep only a uni student desperate for extra cash could scrounge up. “There was an accident, so traffic was a nightmare. But never fear! Pete’s Pizza’s state-of-the-art warming bag ensures your food will taste as fresh as when it left the oven.”

“Great.” I pushed my brother into the hall and reached for the pizza. “Thanks⁠—”

The delivery guy cut me off with the remainder of his spiel. “Can you please confirm that you ordered one large pepperoni pizza with a side of garlic breadsticks for Ash⁠—”

“Yes!” I shouted. Asher had placed the order under a pseudonym, but he’d stupidly used his real first name. “Thanks so much. Have a great day. Vince, I’ll call you later. Bye!”

I grabbed the pie, waved, and slammed the door in two stunned faces.

I stood there, pulse pumping, until I heard their footsteps fade. To be safe, I peered out the window and waited until Vincent’s car disappeared down the street before I turned and set the pizza on the coffee table.

“Smooth.”

I jumped at the unexpected voice and whirled around, my poor heart rate spiking to the top of the roller coaster before plummeting with relief.

I placed a hand over my chest. “God, don’t scare me like that.”

Asher stood in my bedroom doorway, dressed and scowling. Logically, I knew he was the only other person in the flat, but my nerves were shot from dealing with my brother. Every little thing set me on edge.

“Smash my face into the wall?” Asher had obviously overheard Vincent’s threat. “I’d like to see him bloody try.”

“Tone down the testosterone for a moment and focus,” I admonished. “Do you know how close of a call that was? If our timing had been just a little off…”

“He’d beat me up? Please. I’d wipe the floor with him.” Asher snorted, but his frown released with a sigh at my warning glare. “Fine. I’ll behave.”

“I can’t believe someone took a photo of me and Clive.”

Did Clive know about the picture? I hadn’t spoken to him since I thanked him for our date but politely insinuated that I wasn’t open to a second one. He’d taken my rejection in stride. I didn’t think he was that into me either.

“Yeah, he’s a C-list celebrity at best. The public doesn’t care who he dates.” Asher shrugged when I made an exasperated noise. “Sorry, but it’s true. I Googled it when you were talking to Vincent. The photo’s on a few gossip forums, but the only news outlet that ran it is some shitty online tabloid no one reads. I’m surprised your brother even saw it.”

Relief unwound the knots in my gut. “Thank God the photographer didn’t see you, or this would be a different story.” I tried to sort through our next steps. “Okay, so Vincent thinks I’m dating my colleague, and he’ll be training with us again soon. What do we do?”

“We make sure he’s not around sharp objects when we break the news to him.”

“Can you be serious?”

“I am serious.” But his confident smirk didn’t fully reach his eyes. “I’m not looking forward to the conversation either, but despite our differences, your brother and I have one thing in common. We both care about you. That counts for something, right?”

A warm drop of pleasure dripped into my pool of anxiety. “Right. You’re right,” I repeated. “Maybe it won’t turn out as bad as we’re making it out to be. He cares enough about what your coach thinks to return to London early and continue training with you, which is good. He doesn’t want a repeat of last season either.”

Last season had been a disaster because Asher and Vincent butted heads, but now Asher said he was willing to let bygones be bygones. If he extended an olive branch, Vincent would have to take it. He was the team captain. His job included boosting team morale and cohesion.

He was overprotective at times, but he had my best interests at heart. If I was happy with Asher, he wouldn’t begrudge me that.

“We’ll discuss exactly how to tell him over pizza.” Asher gave me a crooked smile. “Don’t want Pete’s Pizza’s state-of-the-art warming bag’s hard work to go to waste.”

I returned his smile with a small one of my own. “Best idea you’ve had all day.”

“Even better than the bath?”

“Second best idea you’ve had all day,” I amended.

His laugh settled over me like a warm blanket on a winter night. It was so rich, so strong and comforting, that it made it easy to believe everything would turn out all right.

“I’m sorry we didn’t finish our…activities earlier.” I glanced down at his sweats. The past half hour had killed our moment in the bathroom.

I felt bad since he’d given me an incredible orgasm (I’ll never look at my tub the same again) while I’d left him with blue balls.

“It’s fine. I’m used to Vincent fucking shit up for me,” Asher said sardonically. “And don’t worry, darling. I have ideas for how you can make it up to me later.”

Heat curled low at the velvety dip of his voice. “Do you now?”

“Mmhmm.” He broke off half a breadstick and handed it to me. “Later, once your brother’s stench is fully gone. It’s a mood killer.”

“Asher.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it.” He didn’t sound sorry at all.

I swear, men acted like boys half the time.

“How’re you feeling about the charity match this weekend?” I asked, switching subjects. “It’s at three on Saturday, right?”

Asher was participating in Sport for Hope, a football fundraiser organized by a nonprofit foundation of the same name. It provided mentoring and sports opportunities for kids in high-need communities.

I’d never heard of them until he mentioned the match last week, but I was excited to see him play in person. Football matches were usually too rowdy for me, so I hadn’t attended a Blackcastle match since he transferred.

“Yep. It’s always a fun time.” Asher hesitated. “I know Vincent is staying through the weekend, so you don’t have to come if it makes things dicey.”

“No way,” I said stubbornly. “I’ll bring the girls, and we’ll make a day out of it. But I’m not missing the match.”

A small smile graced his lips. The moment swirled around us for a gentle second before he cleared his throat and averted his eyes. “Speaking of the girls, are you excited for tomorrow?”

Carina, Brooklyn, and I were scheduled to have our poker-and-drinks get-together tomorrow night.

“Mmhmm. I can’t wait. I need more estrogen in my life.” I finished my pizza and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Between you and my brother, I’ve been around way too much testosterone. I need better company before I go absolutely bat—” I cut off with a squeal when Asher tackled me to the floor.

He swallowed my laugh with a kiss, and soon, I wasn’t thinking about my brother, my friends, or anything at all besides his touch.

ASHER

“We have a problem.” Finley removed his hat and rubbed a hand over his bald pate, his frustration visible through the screen. “Simon injured his foot and won’t be able to play tomorrow.”

“Shit.” I swallowed a longer litany of curses. “What about our backups?”

It was Friday night, and the big charity match kicked off in less than twenty-four hours. We didn’t have time to recruit someone new.

Fucking Simon. If I was reckless with cars, he was reckless with everything else. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’d injured his foot doing something stupid, like kicking a marble statue out of anger.

Finley grimaced. He was the head of Sport for Hope. I’d participated in their charity match for so many summers that I was basically a de facto advisor, and he often called me for advice when it came to marketing and recruiting players.

“We only have one backup, and his wife gave birth early last week. He’s not leaving his newborn’s side.”

“Shit,” I said again.

With Simon injured and our backup out of town, we were missing a good defender.

Sport for Hope relied on its summer fundraiser for the bulk of its annual donations. The match always sold out, but the real cash came from its secret benefactor. No one knew who it was, but apparently they had an odd way of calculating how much they’d donate. The number of goals scored by the winning team equaled how many times they’d match the ticket sales.

For example, if the match sold fifty thousand pounds worth of tickets and the winning team scored three goals, the donor would wire a hundred fifty thousand pounds to the charity.

It was strange, but people were strange.

The stipulation also meant we worked hard to recruit good players every summer. Better players usually meant more goals. Unfortunately, it was hard when the match took place during the offseason when everyone was on holiday.

“I don’t suppose you know anyone who can fill in?” Finley asked. Lines of stress bracketed the sides of his mouth. “I know it’s a big favor to ask at the last minute, but the new football pitch took a big chunk of our money last year. We need the extra donation match from SB.” SB stood for Secret Benefactor. Not a creative nickname, but it did the job.

“I don’t know.” I racked my brain for possibilities. “I want to help, but most of the players I know aren’t in…” I trailed off.

There was one defender who was in town and uninjured—one very good defender who made Simon look like an amateur (no offense to Simon).

No. My pride quashed the seed of possibility before it fully blossomed. There was no fucking way I’d ask him for help. I’d rather chop off my leg and serve it to him on a silver platter.

Then I looked at Finley’s pleading face, and I thought of all the kids his organization helped. Teddy had been one of those kids, which was how I found out about Sport for Hope in the first place. Besides London, it had chapters in Holchester, Manchester, and Birmingham.

Before Teddy’s mother remarried and his family moved next door to mine, his parents had struggled to put food on the table. Sport for Hope was the one that’d provided him with the resources to play football in a semi-professional setting for youths. Without them, we might’ve never bonded over the sport.

I joined the Sport for Hope tournament after Teddy died and stayed involved since. It was part atonement for my role in his death and part way to honor his memory. I couldn’t screw it up.

“Forget SB,” I said. “I can more than match the ticket sales.”

Finley’s expression crumpled into a scowl. “You say that every year, and my answer is the same every year. Absolutely not. You already do more than enough. I’m not taking advantage of you like that.”

I knew he would say that, but I had to offer.

“Don’t try to pull some secret shit with me either,” he added. “If a big, anonymous check comes in from anyone other than SB, I’ll know.”

Bloody hell. Finley was stubborn as hell, but his convictions were what made him a great leader.

Pride battled guilt for dominance. Was I going to fuck over Finley and the kids because I couldn’t set aside my rivalry for one weekend?

“I may know someone,” I finally said. The admission tasted bitter on my tongue. “I can’t guarantee he’ll agree to play, but I’ll ask. If he says no, we’ll have to sub in Ricky.”

Finley and I winced in unison. Ricky was their operations coordinator. He was a nice guy, and he played football in a local amateur league. He just wasn’t good. At all.

The last time he subbed in for a player, he accidentally tripped one of his teammates and scored for the opposing team. Twice.

“Please,” Finley said. “You’ll have our gratitude forever.”

After I ended our video call, I leaned back and stared at my office ceiling. The damn defender. I couldn’t ask him directly. He’d shut me down before I opened my mouth.

I would have to go through Scarlett, which was tricky considering he didn’t know about us yet. We’d decided to tell him in person together, after he officially returned to London.

But Scarlett and I had been training together all summer. It would make sense for us to develop a friendship, so her asking him a favor for me wasn’t inherently suspicious.

The clock ticked toward eight.

I was running out of time.

Fuck it. I bit the bullet and called her. I hated interrupting her girls’ night, but I didn’t have a choice.

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a time-sensitive favor to ask,” I said when Scarlett picked up. “Any chance you could convince your brother to play in the charity match tomorrow?”