Page 35 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)
I knew his estate was big, but I hadn’t realized howmassiveit truly was until we reached the southwest corner.
“You built a football pitch in your back garden?” I stared at the sea of perfectly cut grass. White lines marked the most important playing areas, and nets anchored both ends of the pitch. “That’smad.”
“It’s not an official pitch.” Asher lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. “It’s a mini pitch.”
“A pitch is a pitch.” I kept my eyes glued to his backyard andnoton the flash of chiseled abs and tanned skin.
Admittedly, calling this place a back garden was like calling Versailles a house. Besides the football pitch—sorry,minipitch—it boasted an Olympic-size pool with a waterfall and attached Jacuzzi, heated cabanas, two clay tennis courts, a wisteria walkway, and an outdoor dining area.
I couldn’t imagine how much Asher shelled out for landscaping every year; the flowers alone must’ve cost tens of thousands of pounds.
“Fair enough. You play?” Asher grabbed a football from the ground and tossed it lazily in the air. He caught it with his toe, flipped it to one knee, and bounced it to his other knee.
“No.” I grabbed the ball, halting his impromptu show. “Show-off.”
His eyes gleamed with laughter. “Not even a little? You must’ve kicked a ball around once or twice.”
“Kicking a ball around isn’t the same as playing.”
“Let’s see.” He snatched the ball back and dribbled it onto the pitch. “First person to score a goal wins bragging rights and a pint of ice cream.”
“That’s stupid. There’s no goalkeeper!” I yelled. Unguarded football nets were so large a toddler could score if they got close enough, which meant the challenge was retaining possession of the ball and, well, getting close enough.
Asher’s laughter drifted across the pitch.
Oh, screw it.My competitive drive kicked into high gear, and I sprinted after him.
My muscles protested immediately. I’d avoided high-impact activities like running since my accident, but I gritted my teeth and focused on the satisfaction of scoring on Asher.
I caught up to him surprisingly fast. I suspected he’d held back for my sake. Even so, it was frustratingly difficult to stealthe ball from him. I succeeded twice, but he stole it back almost as quickly as he lost it.
“You’re better than you let on.” He wasn’t even breathing hard, the bastard. “Come on. Put that fancy footwork of yours to the test.”
I issued a little growl that earned me another laugh. Then we were off again, and my mind blacked out everything except for the need to score.
I may have been better than I let on, but there was a reason Asher was the top-paid footballer in the world. Playing against him, even in an unserious two-person match, was like pitting David against Goliath (if David lost). Nothing could’ve prepared me for it.
I’d watched him play before, of course. There wasn’t a single person in the UK who didn’t remember his legendary halfway line goal against Liverpool or his spectacular header in the quarterfinals of the last World Cup.
Asher was incredible onscreen, but up close, in person? He was magic.
He matched me turn for turn, feint for feint. He intuited what I’d do before I did it, and he was barely trying.
Sweat poured down my face and neck, but sheer stubbornness held me together.
One goal.I just needed one goal.
A wheezing cough rattled my lungs. I should’ve warmed up or drank more water before I came out here.
Asher slowed, concern sliding over his face. I took the opportunity and attempted a steal. To my shock, it worked.
However, my triumph was short-lived. Asher reacted so fast, he almost regained possession immediately, but I wasn’t letting go that easily this time.
Back and forth, left and right. Somewhere during our tussle, our legs tangled.
I hit the grass with jarring force, and I didn’t have time to move before Asher fell too. He braced himself against the ground so he didn’t totally crush me, but he was still there—right on top of me.
We froze in simultaneous shock. If someone were to come across us at that moment, I imagined we’d pass for stone statues in Medusa’s garden, entangled and unmoving.