Page 18 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)
“People take the tube when it’s raining all the time.”
“Only when they don’t have another choice. Let me drive you home.” I followed her out the door and down the hall. “Carina left early, so you don’t have to wait for her.”
Scarlett slid a glance my way. “Are you stalking her?”
“I ran into her on my way to the studio. She told me she had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon.”
“Why would she…never mind.” Scarlett shook her head. “She’s the queen of oversharing.”
“Think about it,” I said as we neared the exit. “Would you rather ride the tube with a bunch of wet, grumpy commuters or enjoy the passenger seat of a brand-new Mercedes?”
“The tube. I’ve heard stories about the way you drive, and I want no part in it.”
I should let it go. I shouldn’t even be talking to her outside training—no distractions and all that—but she had a way of making me forget reason.
“It’s a saloon car, not a sports car.” The Mercedes was my anti-paparazzi decoy. “I won’t go a single mile over the speed limit. I promise.”
“No thanks.” Scarlett opened the door. “I’ll take my?—”
“Asher! Asher, is this your new girlfriend?”
“How do you feel about losing the league during your first season with Blackcastle?”
“Is it true you and Vincent are training together this summer?”
An onslaught of questions and camera flashes exploded like a bomb amidst RAB’s otherwise tranquil sanctuary.
Paparazzi swamped us, their raincoats slick with water, their cameras shoved in our faces as I was stunned into momentary silence.
How the hell did they find me? Everyone at RAB had to sign NDAs, and I was always careful driving from my house tothe school. Most importantly, how thehelldid they get past the security gates?
“Did you see people are burning your shirts in Holchester?”
“How does it feel to be hated by the fans that used to love you?”
The clamor escalated. With their hoods up and giant black lenses obscuring their faces, they resembled a pack of vultures frothing for scraps.
My heart rate ratcheted up. The shouts and flashes blurred into white noise while my gut twisted with familiar overwhelm.
I didn’t hate the media per se. We had a symbiotic relationship, but only when the engagement was mutual.
I hatedthis—the ambushes, the invasions of privacy, the gross attempts at getting a rise out of me so they could sell my reaction for a buck. That was why I refused to give them one.
The rain fell in fat, heavy drops, soaking me to the bone. Claps of thunder rolled overhead and added to the chaos as I recovered my faculties and tried to push my way through the crowd.
I’d worry about how they found me later. Right now, I needed to get to my car and get us the hell out of here.
Us.Scarlett.
I turned, my heart giving a panicked thump when I saw her frozen at the top of the steps, her eyes wide and her face pale. I’d assumed she was right behind me, but she appeared to be in shock.
One of the paps said something that got lost in the storm and grabbed her arm.
A switch flipped, and my determination to keep my mouth shut washed away beneath a haze of red.
“Hey!” I doubled back and shoved him off her. “Don’t touch her!”
The camera flashes burst into a fresh frenzy.