Page 26 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)
“Sure.” I managed a wan smile. “Tell me how you got us here.”
My studio was on the first floor, the infirmary was on the fourth, and the lift was currently under maintenance.
“I carried you.” He answered so matter-of-factly it took a minute for his words to sink in.
“Youcarriedme up three flights of stairs?”
Broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It was my strength training for the day.”
A vague recollection of strong arms and pounding footsteps floated through my brain but vanished as quickly as it surfaced. I couldn’t tell if it was an actual memory or a fantasy brought about by his words.
Either way, it made the room feel just a little bit less cold.
“Wow, I’m good at my job,” I said with small laugh. “Unconscious and I still made you work.”
“You’re a tough taskmaster.” Asher’s mouth tipped up before softening again. “If it still hurts, I can ask the nurse for a heating pad or pain meds.”
The curl of warmth returned, spreading from my stomach and down my legs to my toes.
I shook my head. “I just want to go home.” Pilates, sleep, and a warm bath were my go-tos for managing flare-ups, and the infirmary’s cot wasn’t a great place for any of those things.
Normally, I would’ve never confessed something so vulnerable out loud. I followed a chin-up, suck-it-up philosophy, but fatigue had set in, loosening my inhibitions, and Asher’s presence was oddly comforting.
“We can make that happen.” Asher’s gaze dipped, and to my horror, I realized I’d been holding onto him this entire time.
I dropped his arm immediately, fire crawling up the back of my neck.Why didn’t hesayanything earlier?
My palm tingled in the absence of his warmth, and I wiped it against the side of my leg, hoping that would help.
It didn’t. It only succeeded in aggravating the tenderness of my muscles.
I winced.Smart move, Scarlett.TrulyMensa-worthy.
A brief frown touched Asher’s face before he looked away. “A warning, though,” he said. “The press is back. The guy I was chasing earlier? He was a young pap disguised as a prospective student. That was how he got in.”
My chest swam with disbelief. “Seriously?” That wasunhinged. What story could they sell with photos of Asher at RAB anyway? Him cross-training at a dance studio wasn’t scandalous in any way.
I was all for people making a living how they could, but I firmly believed paparazzi deserved a special place in hell next to the telemarketers and corrupt politicians.
“That’s going to be a problem,” I said.
I didn’t want to worry about candid pictures of me ending up in some sleazy tabloid every time I came to work. Asher was their target, but as his trainer, I had a high likelihood of getting caught in the crossfire.
“I agree, but I’ve been thinking about it since our first run-in with them, and I might have a solution,” Asher said. “Can you send me a list of everything we need for training? Equipment, supplies, room dimensions. Everything.”
“Why?”
“Trust me.”
I must’ve looked skeptical because a small smile quirked at the corner of his lips.
“It’ll be a surprise. The paps will continue to be an issue because theyknowwhere I’ll be every other day. We have to throw them off our scent. Trust me,” he repeated. “I know what I’m doing.”
I didn’t have the energy to argue.
I also didn’t make a habit of trusting anyone outside my family and Carina, but in that moment, it was hard to remember why I should keep Asher at arm’s length.
He wasn’t my brother’s nemesis or my trainee—he was the person who’d carried me up three flights of stairs, stayed with me until I regained consciousness, and didn’t make me feel like an object of pity when I told him about my accident.