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Page 103 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

On Sunday, a disguised Asher took me to the famous Holchester Art Museum and a social-media-famous ice cream parlor, but we stayed at the hotel or hospital for the most part. We weren’t keen on running into any paps or angry Holchester fans.

We didn’t talk about his father, football, or our relationship at all after we left his parents’ house. We both needed a break from the heavy topics, so we focused on TV and books instead.

“What do you mean, dinosaur erotica?” Asher’s palpable shock made me giggle. “Like they have sex with dinosaurs? How is that physically possible?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t actually read one,” I admitted. “But my favorite author recommended a book by someone called…” I squinted at my Notes app. “Wilma Pebbles? It’s calledTriceratops and Threesomes—stop laughing! And give me my phone back!”

“I have to write this down,” he gasped, his shoulders shaking. He typed the author and title into his phone before handing my mobile back to me. He was laughing so hard, tears gleamed at the corners of his eyes. “Maybe I’ll start a Blackcastle book club. Dinos only.”

“Good. You guys need more culture anyway,” I huffed, but I failed to hide a smile at the mental image of the Blackcastle team readingTriceratops and Threesomestogether.

Nowthatwould be a sight to see.

Despite my weekend stay in Holchester, I never met Asher’s father. It was just as well; I didn’t think I’d be able to hold back some choice words for the man.

He got discharged on Monday. Asher said an obligatory goodbye to him, and we gave his mother a lengthier farewell before we drove back to London.

The ride seemed faster this time—or maybe it was because I didn’t want to leave Asher yet.

Given the situation, I’d called in sick to work and canceled our training today, which meant I wouldn’t see him again until Wednesday.

“I know I said this already, but thank you for coming with me,” Asher said halfway through the drive. “It helped. Truly.”

“Don’t mention it. That DIY sundae bar at the ice cream parlor was worth it.”

His laugh warmed me more than the sunshine filtering through the windows.

We meandered in and out of conversation, letting the radio music take over when necessary until we reached London’s city limits.

“Do you want me to drop you off at home?” Asher asked. His tone was casual—almost too casual.

I slid a sideways glance at him. He stared straight ahead, his pose relaxed, but a splash of tension coated the black leather interior.

Was he indirectly asking whether I wanted to continue hanging out? Would I come off as too needy if I suggested another activity for us instead of going home? Or was I overthinking a completely innocent question?

I wished I could text Carina for advice, but then it would look like I was ignoring him.

“Yes, please,” I finally said. I had to change regardless. I bought a dress at the hotel’s boutique yesterday, but I’d been wearing the same outfit for almost two days.

“Okay.”

There. That carefully neutral tone. Was it my imagination, or was it covering up a touch of disappointment?

“But…I’m pretty hungry,” I ventured. “Maybe we should grab a bite to eat first?”

“That’s a good idea,” he said quickly. “I know a great Indian place. It’s not on the way to your flat, but I can drop you off and pick you up later if you’re interested in checking it out. It’s a bit too early for dinner anyway.”

My heart ricocheted in my chest. That sounded awfully close to a date. “Okay.”

“Okay.” This time, a smile accompanied his reply.

When Asher dropped me off, we agreed to meet again in two hours. It was enough time for me to take a quick bath, indulge in some gentle yoga, and get ready.

After fifteen minutes of staring at my closet and several frantic texts to Carina and Brooklyn, I settled on a cute top-and-skirt combo. I’d just finished my makeup when Asher returned, freshly showered and smelling like a delicious mix of soap and aftershave.

His appreciative gaze carved a trail up my legs and neck before settling on my face. Little fireflies danced over my skin, lighting me up.

“You ready?” The deep timbre of his voice ghosted down my spine.




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