Page 53 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

I ignored it.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed our catch-up, I have training right now,” I said. “I’m already late, so?—”

“Training, schmaining.” Polina rolled her eyes. “You’re always so concerned abouttraining, but fine, I’ll go. Before I do, I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it?” I asked warily.

“Vuk Markovic is hosting a fashion gala at the end of the summer. I was hoping you could be my date.”

My eyebrows popped up. Vuk Markovic owned the Blackcastle football club and our home grounds, aptly named Markovic Stadium. The Serbian American billionaire was anotorious recluse, and the idea of him hosting any sort of gala was absurd to the point of laughable.

However, Polina’s sources when it came to single, powerful men were enough to make MI6 weep. If she said Vuk was hosting a gala, he was hosting a gala.

A sudden burst of clarity hit me.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You want me to come and make him jealous.”

Polina had gravitated toward me because I was young, famous, and good-looking, but her real goal was to snag a billionaire. Everyone in our circles knew that.

She shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “Yes, but we can have fun before then, no? We were so good together.”

“I’d love to help, but I can’t. Too busy with training.” I ushered her out of the living room and toward the door. “However, I’m sure you can find someone much better than me. You’re too beautiful not to,” I added to soften the sting of rejection.

It worked.

Polina’s pout transformed into a preen. “Of course, you are right. I thought you would be the perfect date since you play for Blackcastle, but maybe…hmm. I wonder if Xavier Castillo is available.”

Why did that name sound so familiar?Right. He was also Sloane’s client. I was pretty sure he annoyed her more than I did, which was a commendable feat.

“You should call him and check.” I all but shoved Polina out the door. “Good luck!”

Thankfully, she left without further protest.

Once she was gone, Earl stopped buffing his car and raised an eyebrow at me.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I said. “I didn’t know she—you know what? I don’t have to explain myself to you. Where’s Scarlett?”

“Inside.” He resumed his task. “We arrived a while ago.”

I left him and his unwarranted judgment in the driveway and sprinted to the studio.

This was the one time I cursed the size of my house. Why did it take so bloody long to get from one end to the other?

When I arrived at the studio, Scarlett had already set up our cross-training equipment and was scrolling on her phone.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late,” I said breathlessly. “A, uh, friend dropped by, and our conversation ran over.”

“It’s fine.”

I frowned at her distant tone. She hadn’t been this standoffish since our first few sessions, and the chilliness seemed especially incongruous given our movie bonding time on Friday night.

Granted, she’d left without saying goodbye the next morning, but I’d slept in. I couldn’t expect her to wait around for me.

“Are we good?” I asked as she dropped her phone in her bag and walked to the sound system without looking at me once.

I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it all.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t we be?” She fiddled with the controls. “Let’s start with warm-ups. We?—”