The Striker (Gods of the Game Book 1)

In my defense, there were no kids around this time.

Also in my defense—Rafael deserved it. If I hadn’t punched him, Vincent would’ve. I hadn’t heard him walking behind me on my way out, but when Rafael grabbed Scarlett’s arm, he was right there backing me up.

I’d arrived in time to catch the tail end of her speech and know she definitely didn’t want Rafael touching her. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was a guy who couldn’t take a hint.

However, Vincent and I only got one punch in each before Finley stormed in out of nowhere and pulled us apart. Rafael left without pressing charges—the circumstances were too humiliating for him to contemplate making them public—and Finley dragged us back to the locker room to read us the riot act.

As appreciative as he was of our participation today, he didn’t hold back on ripping us a new one over the brawl on the pitch and over what happened with Rafael.

A seeming eternity later, Vincent and I slunk out of the locker room, appropriately chastised.

“He was livid,” Vincent said.

“Yeah. I had no idea his voice could reach that volume.”

“It was impressive.”

“Mmhmm.” I flashed back to the satisfying crunch of my fist connecting with Rafael’s face. “I don’t regret it though.”

A smirk broke out over Vincent’s face. “Absolutely not. Pessoa’s shiner? That belongs in a hall of fame.”

I chuckled.

I couldn’t wait for Rafael to try to explain away his black eye. His ego was probably more bruised than his face, and he deserved every second of discomfort.

You did not go around grabbing women against their will. Period.

“Thank you for protecting my sister,” Vincent added stiffly. The stadium had truly emptied by now, and the only sound was our footsteps echoing against the concrete floors. “You didn’t have to do that.”

If you only knew.

“You’re welcome.” I cleared my throat. “Thank you for filling in at the last minute.”

“You’re welcome.”

We lapsed into silence again.

We reached the exit and stood there, taking care not to look at each other while we waited for Scarlett and her friends to join us. Scarlett hadn’t seemed too upset by us sucker punching her ex, but Carina and Brooklyn had showed up in time to see Finley herding us to the locker room the way a fed-up schoolteacher would herd his troublemakers to detention.

I didn’t know what the girls were doing. Debriefing each other on our absolute shitshow of a day, probably.

At least we’d raised over a hundred thousand pounds for Sport for Hope (if we included SB’s donation match. Five goals equaled five times the ticket sales).

Vincent tapped his foot. I checked my watch.

Awkward silence hummed.

We weren’t friends, but today’s match and our united front against Rafael had eased some of the animosity that usually tainted the air between us.

So what the hell did we do now?

“Did you guys get it all out of your system?” Scarlett’s voice dispelled my cloud of uncertainty.

She came up beside us, flanked by a wary-looking Carina and an amused Brooklyn.

Vincent straightened beside me.

“Get what out of our system?” I asked.

“The overwhelming testosterone. You did not have to come up and sucker punch him like that.” She leveled us with a stern look.

Vincent and I ducked our heads.

“That being said…” Scarlett’s mouth twitched. “It was quite satisfying to see it happen.”

Our relieved grins broke out at the same time.

“I even caught it on camera.” Carina waved her phone in the air. “In case we have a bad day and need a pick-me-up.”

“Oooh.” Brooklyn leaned over. “Can you send it to me?”

“Totally.”

“Thank you,” Scarlett said quietly as her friends huddled over the video of me punching Rafael. “Both of you. Like I said, you didn’t have to go all out with a punch, but I appreciate you having my back.”

“Always. You’re my baby sis.” Vincent ruffled her hair. “Someone messes with you, they mess with me.”

“Vince. What did I say about touching my hair?” She swatted his hand away, but a smile peeked through the creases of her annoyance.

I remained silent. I didn’t want to say what I was really thinking with Vincent there, so the words crowded in my throat, straining against the leash I’d snapped around them.

I’ll always have your back. Always. No matter what happens, there’s nothing in this world that I won’t do for you.

Scarlett’s gaze brushed mine. She stilled for a fraction of a second, her lips parting like she’d heard my silent promise loud and clear.

A familiar buzz sprang to life beneath my skin—just for a second, just until Brooklyn called out Scarlett’s name, but it was enough to make every dip of today’s rollercoaster worth it.

“The first cab’s here,” Brooklyn said, checking her phone as a black car rolled up beside us. “We’re celebrating at the Angry Boar.”

“Great.” Vincent flashed her a smile. “We can ride together. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Scarlett’s brother, Vincent.”

“I know who you are.” She didn’t look up from her screen. “We’re not riding together. You’re riding with Asher.”

Our smiles vanished in unison.

“What?” Our voices overlapped over our glares.

“We can’t fit five in a car, so you boys are going first to snag us a prime table. We’ll be right behind you,” Scarlett said brightly. Carina opened the door; Scarlett pushed us inside. “See you at the pub!”

Brooklyn waggled her fingers at us. “Have fun and play nice.”

We didn’t get a chance to voice our outrage before Carina slammed the door shut and our driver sped off.

“What the hell just happened?” Vincent asked, his voice soaked with disbelief.

“I wish I knew.” I wiped a hand over my face, torn between annoyance, amusement, and pride. “Don’t ask questions. Just go along with it. Trust me, it’s easier that way.”

Of course our bloody driver got lost. London taxi drivers rarely got lost, but it was just our luck to be stuck with the one that did.

One very long, very silent car ride later, Vincent and I finally arrived at the Angry Boar. The girls had already snagged one of the few coveted booths in the back, and we had to fight our way through the crowd to reach them.

It was Saturday night, and the pub was packed. Music and alcohol flowed freely, and a few patrons had set up a makeshift dance floor next to the jukebox. Mac slung drinks behind the bar with his trademark scowl, which deepened when he saw us enter.

In fact, everyone noticed when we entered. Dozens of pairs of eyes followed our trek to the corner booth. If it weren’t for the pub’s rules, there’d be a million phones documenting this historic moment in football history.

Asher Donovan and Vincent DuBois, out on the town like best mates.

Ha. Over my dead body.

“It’s about time,” Brooklyn said as we took our seats on either side of the circular booth—me next to Scarlett, Vincent next to Brooklyn. Carina sat smack dab in the middle, her eyes glued to something on her phone. “Did you two enjoy your ride so much you extended it?”

“Don’t push it, Blondie,” Vincent said. “You’re cute, but not that cute.”

She smirked. “Was that why you wanted to ride with me earlier?”

“No, that was because I was already in a charitable mood and wanted to extend my generosity to you.”

“Children,” Scarlett murmured as Vincent and Brooklyn continued to bicker. “I’m surrounded by children.”

“Don’t lump me in with them,” I said. “I’m a mature adult.”

“Today is not the day for you to make that assertion.”

I frowned. Hmm. Fair enough.

“How was the car ride?” Scarlett asked. “I see you’re not sporting any fresh bruises, which is a good thing.”

“It was fine. Quiet.” I ran a lazy hand over her thigh beneath the table. Her skin heated beneath my touch, and a smile flickered over my mouth when her breath hitched. “I would’ve much rather been riding with you though.”

“Mmhmm.” She shifted, her eyes flicking over to where Brooklyn and Vincent were still bantering/flirting/whatever they were doing while Carina remained engrossed in her phone. “You were supposed to use that time to bond.”

My hand stopped an inch above her knee and squeezed. Scarlett swallowed, her breath shallowing.

“He’s not the one I want to bond with, darling.” The soft, languid glide of my words landed with the feathery grace of a dancer. Heavy enough to impact the vibrations of the air around us, but so light it only reached the person closest to me.

“Asher.” Nerves twined with breathlessness. “Not here.”

I hummed in disagreement. I stroked the inside of her thigh with my thumb, loving the way it tensed and flexed.

A server approached our table, and my hand lingered on Scarlett’s leg for an extra beat before I discreetly, reluctantly pulled away. Brooklyn and Vincent broke off their conversation to place their orders with the rest of us.

Beer, burgers, and chips. The dinner of champions.

Most pubs didn’t have servers, but we were seated in the dining area and it was the weekend. The Angry Boar only supplemented their bar service with waiter service during the busiest nights.

“So what’s your beef with Pessoa?” Vincent asked after our server left.

My glass paused halfway to my lips. “What?”

“Pessoa. Why did you shove him on the pitch? Even before he grabbed Scarlett, your vendetta seemed personal.”

Carina finally looked up from her phone while Scarlett stiffened. Waves of tension rolled off her rigid shoulders and white knuckles.

I finished taking a sip of my water and used the time to think.

I didn’t have a publicly known problem with Rafael. Should I respond with an edited version of the truth and admit I knew about Scarlett’s past with Pessoa? Or was their relationship too intimate a part of her history for her to have shared with a casual friend?

Because that was what Vincent assumed we were after Scarlett called him about the charity match on my behalf. Casual friends.

I settled for a vague yet believable answer. “He’s a wanker,” I said. “And he dives too much.”

Vincent snorted. “Yeah. He could win an Olympic gold medal in it.”

Scarlett’s tight-lipped mask splintered into a smirk, and I knew she was remembering the time when I said almost the exact same thing.

I squeezed her leg again, this time in warning.

“What about you?” I asked as she choked on her water. “Why do you hate him so much?”

Vincent hesitated and glanced at his sister before replying. “It’s a personal issue, but you’re right. He is a wanker.”

Unfortunately, my estimation of him inched up another notch. We’d overheard Rafael harassing Scarlett, but he didn’t know if I was privy to the details and he didn’t spill them without her explicit consent. His consideration for his sister was one of the few unimpeachable facets of his personality.

“Enough football talk. It’s boring,” Brooklyn said when our server returned with our drinks and food. “Let’s play a game. How about Truth or Dare?”

“No!” Scarlett and I shouted at the same time.

Carina coughed into her fist while Vincent’s eyebrows skyrocketed.

“I mean, I don’t want to do anything embarrassing in public,” Scarlett said. She pinned her friend with a hard stare. “You understand. Right?”

The last thing we needed was to inadvertently slip up during a drinking game.

“Uh, right.” Realization unfolded across Brooklyn’s face. “Fine. Let’s play something else.” Her smile returned in all its dazzling glory. “How do you guys feel about King’s Cup?”

Two hours and one deck of borrowed cards later (Brooklyn managed to charm even the uncharmable Mac into lending us the deck), we were drunk off our asses and laughing like we were longtime friends.

It was amazing how beer and the high of winning could smooth even the rockiest of histories.

“I asked around and found out how Simon injured his foot.” Vincent leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “Guess.”

“He kicked a wall too hard.”

“No. It’s even stupider than that.” He lowered his voice. “He was assembling a bookcase and the thing toppled over onto his foot. He has to miss the first few matches of the season because of furniture.”

I burst into laughter. “Shut up.”

Simon played for Liverpool, so it was easy for us to make light of his situation. Part of me sympathized because injuries were nerve-wracking, but…his came from a bookcase, for Christ’s sake.

“I swear to God. That’s what I heard.” Vincent held up one hand, his grin wide.

Honestly, he wasn’t that bad. He was almost tolerable.

Or maybe that was the five pints of ale talking.

I finished my current pint and caught Scarlett watching us with a small smile. We’d shuffled seats an hour ago, so she was sitting in between Carina and Brooklyn while Vincent and I remained on opposite sides of the table.

Her rosy cheeks and glittering eyes betrayed her tipsiness, but her smile was pure, authentic Scarlett.

See? Best friends, she mouthed.

I shook my head. Just because Vincent and I sort of got along when we were drunk didn’t mean we were or ever would be best friends.

“That girl is looking at you like you’re a fucking Sunday roast.” Vincent’s observation dragged my attention away from her.

I followed his gaze toward a pretty brunette sitting two tables over. She was with a group of friends, and she blushed a deep red when she noticed me staring.

“She’s hot,” Vincent said. “You should dance with her.”

A needle of paranoia punctured my buzz. Why was he suddenly playing matchmaker? Had he seen me smile at Scarlett and this was his way of warning me away from his sister?

But when I studied him, his face contained nothing but genuine encouragement. This wasn’t a subtle dig; this was his way of returning the olive branch I’d offered with the charity invite (even if that branch had been tied to my selfish reason of needing a substitute player).

Rejecting it out of hand would be rejecting his peace offering, but I sure as hell didn’t want to dance with a random woman in a pub.

“I don’t feel like dancing,” I said lightly. “You should talk to her instead.”

“I’m not the one she’s eye fucking. C’mon.” Vincent grinned. “Let’s liven things up a bit. Brooklyn and I will join you guys.”

“Excuse me.” Brooklyn crossed her arms. “How did I get dragged into this?”

“No, really.” I deliberately avoided looking at Scarlett again. “I’m not in the mood to chat someone up.”

“Don’t mess with me. When are you not in the mood to chat a hot girl up?” Vincent lifted his brow. “Do you have a secret girlfriend or something?”

Scarlett choked on her drink for the second time that day. “Sorry,” she gasped. “My beer went down the wrong pipe.”

Smooth, darling. Very smooth.

“What is up with you?” Vincent grabbed a napkin from the stack next to him and handed one to her. “You’ve been acting weird all night.”

She mumbled an incoherent reply.

He’d hit the nail a little too close to the head with the “secret girlfriend” comment. I had to nip his suspicion in the bud before he thought too hard about why I’d been so protective over Scarlett earlier and why she was so antsy around me.

“You know what? You’re right.” I stood. “It’s a celebration. Let’s dance.”

The music from the jukebox changed to a more upbeat song. I forced myself to approach the brunette, whose friends erupted into giggles when I introduced myself.

I chatted with them for a bit, but I couldn’t bring myself to actually dance with her. Hopefully, the flirting was enough to throw Vincent off our scent.

I snuck a peek at him about five minutes into the conversation. He’d sandwiched himself between Brooklyn and Carina on the dance floor and wasn’t paying me an ounce of attention.

Thank God.

My gaze traveled further across the pub until it landed on Scarlett, who watched me from the bar.

“Do you want to get out of here?” The brunette touched my arm. “My flat isn’t far.”

Scarlett’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly glanced away.

I wished I remembered the brunette’s name. I didn’t, but I did let her down gently before I extricated myself from her disappointed clique.

I came up behind Scarlett, who didn’t turn around even when I grazed my hand over her lower back. A thick crowd separated us from the dance floor and blocked Vincent’s direct view of us.

“Done talking to the Megan Fox clone?” she asked without looking at me.

“It would appear so.” I came up next to her and suppressed a smile at the sight of her adorable pout. “Jealous?”

“No. Why would I be jealous?”

“Exactly. There’s no reason to be jealous, darling. I was only talking to her because Vincent was getting suspicious. You’re the only one I want.” I touched her back again, her warmth searing through her shirt and into my skin. She was always so contained that a part of me relished in her jealousy. To know she cared and that she wanted me as much as I wanted her—it was intoxicating. “When we leave, I’ll show you exactly how much.”

“Sure.” Scarlett sounded indifferent, but I detected a trace of breathlessness when my palm slid from the small of her back to the curve of her waist. We were packed too tightly for anyone to notice what we were doing, and everyone was too drunk to care anyway. “Will you flirt with me as much as you did with her?”

“If you want.” I lowered my head, my voice dipping into a murmur. “But what I really plan to do is strip you naked, lay you down on your bed, and tongue fuck you until you forget your own name.”

Scarlett’s breath stuttered to a brief halt.

“And once I’ve made you come all over my face…” I tightened my grip around her waist. “I’m going to pound my cock into your sweet little pussy and make you scream in that pretty way I love so much.”

Her fingers curled around the edge of the bar. The blush decorating her face and chest was so intense I could practically feel the heat pouring off of it.

I straightened and spoke at my normal volume again. “Hey, Mac. Can we get some more food?” I flagged down the scowling owner before I glanced at Scarlett. My mouth curled into a small grin. “What are you in the mood for? Another burger or fish and chips?”

She made a strangled noise.

I swallowed the laugh rumbling up my throat. “I’ll say fish and chips. Two, please. Thanks, Mac.”

“You’re diabolical,” she said when he left. “You can’t say stuff like that and then pretend nothing happened!”

“Trust me. I know it happened.” My steel-hard erection was proof of that. Thank God I was standing at the bar, or I’d have some explaining to do. Hopefully, we could leave soon without making our intentions obvious. We’d stayed long enough. “I’m also serious. I don’t make promises I don’t keep.” Dark velvet touched my words.

Scarlett blushed again right as Vincent popped up out of fucking nowhere.

He took one look at her and frowned. “Why are you so red?” he asked. “Did you drink tequila again? Because you know you can’t handle that type of alcohol. Don’t think I forgot about the time you threw up over my brand-new Nintendo because you took one too many Jose Cuervo shots.”

“No,” she squeaked. “It’s not tequila. It’s just, um, really hot in here.”

I coughed out a laugh, and she kicked me under the bar. Hard.

“Okay, whatever.” Drunk Vincent didn’t question my proximity to his sister the way Sober Vincent would’ve. He barely glanced at me as he grabbed another pint from Mac. “Acting weird all night,” he muttered on his way back to the dance floor.

Scarlett and I exchanged glances.

We had to tell Vincent about us soon, but I allowed myself to enjoy the night for what it was: a celebration with friends (and a new frenemy) after a hard-earned win.

The day had been a mess almost from the start, but I couldn’t deny that this was one of the best nights I’d had in a while.

It was normal, Scarlett was with me, and that was all I needed.