Page 17 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

“Don’t even think about it.” Vincent’s sharp tone brought my attention back to him. “I saw the way you were looking at her,” he said when I raised a questioning brow. “Touch my sister, and you’re dead.”

“Drop the overprotective brother bit, DuBois. It’s cliché.”

“I’m just giving you a friendly warning.” There wasn’t an ounce of friendliness in his expression. “Scarlett is off limits.”

“Scarlett can speak for herself.”

“Yes, but she’s too nice to creeps who want to take advantage.”

I wasn’t sure if we’d met the same Scarlett, since the one I knew seemed perfectly content putting me in my place.

I didn’t bother acknowledging thecreeps who want to take advantagepart of his comment. I knew my intentions and boundaries; Vincent could think whatever the hell he liked.

“Not that you’d succeed even if you tried getting with her. She won’t date a footballer again.” Vincent shrugged. “Tough luck.”

Again?Which player had she dated before? How long had they dated? Was it an old fling or recent breakup?

I tamped down the irrational desire to grill him about her ex. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Scarlett returned, cutting our conversation short. Some of the color had returned to her cheeks, but her voice lacked the strength from the first half of our session.

Vincent said something in French. She responded in kind and gave him a pointed look. Whatever he was saying, she didn’t want him saying it in front of me, even if it was in another language.

We were nearly finished with the session when his phone went off.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” He jogged to his duffel bag in the corner. “But that’s Dad’s emergency ringtone.”

Scarlett’s frown melted into visible worry as Vincent picked up. He listened and said a few brusque words in French before ending the call.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Dad had an accident.” More rapid-fire French, followed by a nod from Scarlett and a sideways glare from Vincent.

What the hell didIdo?

“I’m sorry about the interruption,” Scarlett said as Vincent shouldered his bag. “This is highly unusual, but…”

“It’s fine. I get it.” We only had ten minutes left of training anyway, and my muscles could use an early break. “Is your dad okay?”

“I think so. Vincent’s going to deal with it. Dad’s…particular about the people who handle his personal affairs.”

“I’ll call you later with an update.” Vincent pinned me with a hard stare on his way out. “Remember what I said earlier.”

The Nobel Peace Prize committee should note that I chose the high road and didn’t respond with snark. His father was injured, after all. I wasn’t a monster.

“Apologies again.” Scarlett smoothed an unsteady hand over her bun. “This is only our second session, so I don’t want to give the wrong impression. There’s usually never this many disruptions.”

“By disruptions, you mean using the loo and a family emergency?” I leaned against the barre and crossed my arms. “How unprofessional. You should quit now.”

Her mouth twitched. “When you put it that way, I guess it’s not so bad.”

“It never is.”

Thunder boomed in the distance and drew our startled gazes to the window. I’d been so caught up in what was happening in the studio that I hadn’t noticed the transition from beautiful spring afternoon to raging storm.

“Don’t tell me you’re taking the tube in this weather,” I said as Scarlett packed up her belongings.

It was a fifteen-minute walk to the nearest tube station, and it sounded like the apocalypse out there.