Page 57 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)
I groaned. “I was hoping you’d overlook that.”
“Me? Overlook a potentially juicy carrot of information? I’m not even going to dignify that insult with a response.”
“Okay.” I took a deep breath. I might as well spill the beans. She was going to find out eventually (I was convinced Carina had some secret mind-reading capability she didn’t tell me about), and I was desperate to talk to someone about what happened. “If I tell you, will you promise not to read too much into it?”
She held up her right hand. “Cross my heart.”
I told her.
“Wait. You didwhatin the guest room?” She covered her mouth with one hand, but it wasn’t enough to hide her grin. “Babe, I am so fucking proud of you right now.”
“It’s not something to be proud of,” I grumbled, my face hot. “It was inappropriate.”
“Most fun things are.” Carina’s eyes sparkled. “Does this mean you’re rethinking your anti-footballer stance?”
“No. There’s a difference between fantasy and reality.” My response came off less resolute than I would’ve liked.
I’d promised myself I’d never fall for another footballer, but I hadn’t been this consumed by a guy since Rafe, and itterrified me. Asher wasn’t my ex; he was smarter, funnier, more thoughtful.
It was awful.
Because smart, funny, thoughtful men were my weakness, and I didn’t have the option of avoiding him until my attraction petered out. I was literally forced to see him multiple times a week.
If only Vincent were here. He would’ve acted as our buffer, and we wouldn’t be in this situation.
The chimes over the door jingled. A gust of warm air swept over me, and the pub noticeably quieted as every head swiveled toward the entrance, mine included.
My entire body tensed.Oh, you havegotto be kidding me.
Whichever evil fate was responsible for throwing us together this summer struck again as Asher walked in. Even with his wind-tousled hair and worn white T-shirt, he was breathtaking enough to cause several audible sighs.
“Speak of the devil.” A mischievous glint entered Carina’s eyes as she raised her arm.
“Don’t you dare,” I hissed, but it was too late.
“Asher!” She waved, her bangles gleaming beneath the lights. His gaze slid across the room and rested on us. “Over here.”
That traitor. I was putting Carina on my shit list next to my hormones, the UK weather, and the inventor of horror films.
I prayed Asher was meeting someone else here, but no, that would be too easy.
Instead of declining Carina’s invitation or acknowledging my strong stay-away vibes, he pivoted in our direction and slid onto the empty stool across from me with infuriating ease.
“Two run-ins in five weeks,” he drawled, flashing a smile that left myex-best friend starry-eyed. “This must be my lucky spot.”
He addressed Carina, but his eyes were locked onto mine.
I lifted my chin and met them head-on. I hoped he couldn’t hear the sudden roar of my pulse.
“Must be,” Carina echoed. Her eyes ping-ponged between us before she stood and cleared her throat. “Excuse me. I have to, uh, use the loo. I’ll be right back.”
Oh, I was going tokillher. Forget the penguins; she’d be lucky if she lived long enough to see the inside of her flat tonight.
A beat of awkward silence passed.
“Are you meeting someone here?” I asked, hoping a miracle would call him away from this table, in this corner,thisclose to me.
“Nah. I was in the area and decided to drop by.” Asher’s smile could’ve melted the knickers off a nun. “Good thing I did, or I wouldn’t have run into you.”