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Page 134 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

“The overwhelming testosterone. You didnothave 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.”

Ofcourseour 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,everyonenoticed 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.




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