Page 42 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

“Is it over?” she asked when the closing credits started rolling.

“Yes, you coward. You can come out from your hiding spot now. And by hiding spot, I mean the area between the seat and my back.”

Scarlett detached herself from me with great dignity, or as much dignity as one could muster with tousled hair and red cheeks.

“Great.” She straightened her top, the picture of prim elegance once more. “Tell anyone about this, and I will…”

“Scream some more?” I grinned. At this point, I was immune to her glares. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were a wuss when it comes to horror. I assume you’ve never performed in any spooky ballets.”

“Actually, I performed inThe Cagefor a season, but that’s different.”

I had no clue whatThe Cagewas, but it sounded appropriately unsettling.

“What was your favorite ballet?” I asked.

It was late, the movie was over, and weshouldbe heading to bed—separately. That would be the smart thing to do.

Unfortunately, my decisions andsmartdidn’t belong in the same sentence where Scarlett was concerned. My brain screamed at me to leave before I did something stupid, but I wasn’t ready to say good night yet.

Besides, it wasn’t like I was grabbing her and kissing her. I was engaging her in friendly conversation. What could it hurt?

“Favorite ballet.” A furrow dug between her brows again. “That’s hard. For choreography, probablyPetite Mort. For a classic,Giselle. That was the first show my mother took me to, so I guess there’s sentimental value.”

“Did you know you wanted to dance professionally since you were young?”

“Yeah.” Scarlett’s face softened. “My mother put me in pre-ballet classes when I was four. Some of my classmates were onlythere because they were forced to be there, but I looked forward to the lessons every week. It was…I don’t know. It was nice being part of something so structured. I get anxious when there’s too much uncertainty. Also…” A small smile peeked out. “The costumes were pretty.”

That smile shouldn’t have snuck through me the way it did, like a burglar breaking into a vault at night.

Dangerous, a voice whispered.Stay away.

“I was good at it too, which helped. I think I have too much pride to love something that doesn’t love me back.” Scarlett let out a small laugh.

If her smile was a burglar, her laugh was a fucking thief because I was pretty sure she just stole a piece of my heart from right out under me.

Stop being dramatic. No one stole anything. It’s a laugh. Get over it.

Except it wasn’t just her laugh. This was the first time she’d opened up to me. Sure, her childhood dance lessons weren’t exactly deep, dark secrets, but they weresomething.

She was letting her guard down, and I’d be damned if I did anything to ruin that.

“What about you?” she asked. “When did you know you wanted to be a footballer?”

“Probably around the same time you knew you wanted to be a ballerina.” I settled deeper into my seat. “I told you earlier my father bought me my first Holchester kit when I was five, but he’d been prepping me since I was in the womb. My mother said that instead of music, he’d play his favorite post-match analyses for me. I think he hoped Fetus Me would soak up all that strategy and pop out ready for the Premier League.”

Scarlett laughed again. “Your mother must’ve loved that.”

“Oh, she let him get away with it for a week before she threatened to toss all his Holchester memorabilia if he somuch as uttered the word ‘football’ near her again during the pregnancy.” I smiled, imagining my mother’s ire and my father’s protests. “He wasn’t stupid enough to call her bluff, but the minute I was old enough to kick a ball, that was it. My future was set.”

That was hyperbole, to an extent. No one could guarantee a career in professional football. There’d been aspiring players who’d worked equally as hard but never made it close to the big leagues. Luck and timing mattered.

I’d benefited from both. Teddy hadn’t.

A rock lodged in my throat. I forced myself to swallow past it. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on the past.

“What would you want to be if you hadn’t gone into football?” Scarlett asked, unknowingly throwing me a lifeline before I drowned in a sea ofwhat-ifs.

“I have no idea,” I said. “Football is the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”