Page 39 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)
“Two hundred fifty million pounds is a lot of money.”
“It is, but I don’t think that’s the only reason.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t strike me as someone who’d do something solely for a paycheck.” For all his flash and show, Asher possessed an honest, tangible reverence for the sport. It came through in his training, his interviews, his collection of mementos featuring other football greats, not just himself.
Players like that didn’t make huge decisions based on money alone. Besides, he’d already been mind-bogglingly rich before the transfer.
A small smile touched his face. “A DuBois saying something nice about my character? Someone check the temperature in hell.”
“I’m not my brother.” I’d been biased against Asher for reasons that had nothing to do with Vincent, but the more time we spent together, the harder it was to hold on to that initial animosity.
“No.” Asher’s gaze held mine for a fraction longer than was customary. “You’re definitely not.”
His words floated softly between us. My skin buzzed to life, and I was suddenly hyperaware of the fact that we’d been naked in the same house—hishouse—less than an hour ago. Me in my bath, him in his shower.
That shouldn’t feel so intimate. But it did.
Asher’s mouth parted. Anticipation ricocheted through my chest, but before he could speak, a boom of thunder rocked the house. The unmistakable sound of pouring rain followed, drawing my attention to the window at the end of the hall.
I’d been so caught up in this—whateverthiswas—that I hadn’t noticed the shift from beautiful summer afternoon to sudden downpour.
“Shit,” Asher said. Our earlier moment was gone, shattered by the distraction and our gradual return to our senses. At least, that applied to me; I had no idea what he was thinking. “We should get you home before the rain gets worse. I’ll call Earl and check on your laundry. It should be done.”
I’d forgotten I was only wearing a bathrobe.
My cheeks flamed. Nevertheless, I followed him to the laundry room, where my clothes were still spinning in the dryer.
“Four minutes left,” Asher reported. He appeared to be avoiding my eyes, though that might be my paranoia talking. “Not too long. We’ll have you out of here in no?—”
A shrill alert emanated from both our phones.
Interruptions seem to be the theme of the day.Firstthe pap, then the thunder, now this.
However, my annoyance soon morphed into alarm when I read the accompanying emergency text.
A flash flood warning is in effect for this area until 8:00 a.m. BST. This is a dangerous and life-threatening situation. Do not attempt to travel unless you are fleeing an area subject to flooding or under an evacuation order.
8:00 a.m. BST. That was tomorrowmorning,which meant…
Asher and I lifted our heads and stared at each other in horror.
Which meant I was stuck here for the night.
CHAPTER 12
ASHER
This was a nightmare.
The Met Office had warned of possible severe thunderstorms today, but the morning and afternoon had been so beautiful, I’d dismissed their concerns.
Now, all of a sudden, I was trapped with the one person I didn’t want—orshouldn’twant—to spend the night with.
I glanced at Scarlett, who’d finally changed out of her bathrobe and into her freshly dried clothes.
Thank God.The robe had been distracting, to say the least, which was irritating because it’d beenmybloody guest robe.