Page 60 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)
The last time we clubbed, I’d spent half the night holding her hair back while she puked up four shots worth of tequila. Afterward, it took us fifteen minutes to reach the exit because it’d been so packed.
Would I like to repeat that experience? No, thank you.
“Sadly, it’s true.” Carina sighed. “I wish we were fun club people.”
The tiniest hint of amusement tugged on Asher’s lips. “I’ll add your names to the list anyway in case you change your minds.” His gaze slid back to me with a brief, inscrutable flicker before he left.
The crowd parted without him uttering a word and closed just as easily once he was gone.
“Yeah, screw what Vincent thinks,” Carina said after Asher was out of earshot. “He’ssointo you, and he checks all your criteria. Good-looking, single, employed, and not a prat? Hello, perfect match.”
“Those are your criteria, not mine, and let’s not forget his playboy reputation.”
“Oh, so you wouldn’t mind if I went after him?” Carina smirked at whatever she saw on my face. “Exactly. Your death glare just gave you away.”
“I did not give you a death glare, and he’s not into me. Not really,” I said. “Maybe hethinkshe is because I’m the only woman he’s seeing on a regular basis this summer.”
I wasn’t trying to be self-deprecating; it was the truth. He was a famous footballer. What were the chances he was actually, truly interested in me?
Carina shook her head but didn’t press the issue. “Jokes aside, are you really going to skip the party tonight? I know we’re not club people, but it’s anAsher Donovaninvite. Can you imagine the VIPs who’ll be there?” She let out a dreamy sigh. “Sadly, my parents are staying with me, so I can’t go even if I wanted to. I don’t want to deal with their lectures about ‘drugs and debauchery.’”
Whenever her parents visited, they stayed with her for at least two weeks. I couldn’t imagine staying with my mother for that long as an adult—we’d kill each other by day three—but it was a cultural thing. Asian daughters simply did not banish their elders to a hotel when they had a perfectly serviceable flat.
“If you change your mind and youdogo, you have to tell me every detail after,” Carina said. “I’m living vicariously through you at this point.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, but tonight’s a book-and-bed type of night,” I said. “Trust me. There’s no way I’m going to that party.”
CHAPTER 17
SCARLETT
In my defense, I hadn’tplannedon changing my mind.
After Carina and I left the Angry Boar, we parted ways—her to meet her parents for a West End show, me to my flat and my comforting Saturday night routine of tea, reading, and pajamas.
However, I couldn’t focus on Isabella Valencia’s latest thriller for the life of me. I usually loved her books, but I found myself zoning out every other paragraph.
Instead of following the sociopathic detective’s adventures in hunting down another sociopath, my concentration kept scattering into images of a trendy nightclub and green eyes.
After I reread the same line four times without comprehending a single word, I gave up and closed the book with a frustrated sigh.
I was a single twenty-six-year-old living in London, and this was how I spent my weekends: alone with fictional sociopaths.
It’d never bothered me before, so why did I feel so restless now?
After all, there was nothingwrongwith staying in. A book and tea were far superior to battling drunken strangers for breathing room in a sweaty nightclub. Right?
It’s not about the club. It’s about who’s there.
I groaned and sank deeper into my armchair, covering my face with my book as I did so. I was too ashamed to look at my reflection in the dark telly screen.
The smart thing to do would be to stay home and unravel the mystery of the mountain town murders.
The stupid thing to do would be to brave a taxi ride and London nightlife simply because Asher invited me to a party hosted by someone I didn’t even know.
Silence pressed in from all sides.
The clock ticked, counting down the minutes to eleven.