Page 66 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)
“Right.” His grin widened. He extended his hand. “I’m Clive.”
“Scarlett.” I’d introduced myself more in the past hour than I had in months, but surprisingly, I didn’t mind.
I guess it was easier to make friends when I actually left the house.Imagine that.
Clive ordered us another round of drinks, and we fell into an easy conversation. I learned that he was a rugby player and Poppy’s cousin, hence his appearance tonight.
“I don’t like these parties either, but I’ve skipped out on her past three soirees. If I missed this one, she’d clobber me with one of her hideously expensive handbags,” he said with a sheepish smile.
I laughed again. Clive wasn’t my type, but it was nice to flirt harmlessly with a cute guy at a club. It’d been far too long.
I was telling him about my job at RAB when the temperature suddenly plunged to subarctic levels.
Goose bumps coated my arms, and I trailed off mid-sentence when Asher reappeared. He looked decidedly less pleased than when he’d left.
“Finished with your fan club already?” I quipped.
He stared back at me, unsmiling. Poppy was nowhere in sight.
Okay. What crawled up his ass and died?
Across from me, Clive’s expression turned amused. “Donovan. I take it you know Scarlett.”
“Hart.” The curt reply served as both greeting and affirmation. “Do you mind if I steal Scarlett away? We need to discuss something.”
My eyebrows winged up.We do?That was news to me.
“Sure. Before you leave…” Clive borrowed a pen from the bartender and scribbled his number on a cocktail napkin. He handed it to me with a wink. “In case you ever need safety in numbers again.”
A muscle ticked in Asher’s jaw, but he didn’t say a word until the rugby player disappeared into the crowd—nor did he say anything as he led us to an alcove near the back of the lounge.
Floor-to-ceiling velvet drapes separated it from the main floor. One tug on the tasseled ties, and we were ensconced in our own world.
I crossed my arms, unsure whether to be nervous, annoyed, or intrigued. I settled for a combination of all three.
“What’s so important that you had to drag me away from my conversation?”
“I leave you alone for five minutes and you pick up the captain of England’s national rugby team,” he said. “Impressive.”
Seriously?Thatwas what he wanted to talk about?
Men. Everything was a dick-measuring contest to them.
“I didn’t ‘pick up’ Clive,” I said. “He approached me. What was I supposed to do? Twiddle my thumbs while I wait for you to return from your meet-and-greet?”
“You could’ve talked to anyoneexceptClive bloody Hart,” Asher growled. “Don’t you know his reputation?”
“Not really.” I didn’t follow rugby, so England’s entire national team could walk in, and I wouldn’t know a thing.
“Right.” Asher’s jaw flexed again. “Don’t be fooled by his nice-guy act. He’s a notorious fuckboy.”
I stared at him for a stunned beat before I burst into laughter. “Did you just use the wordfuckboyunironically?”
He didn’t seem to share an ounce of my amusement. “It’s the right term for him. He’s slept with half the women at this party.”
“Good thing I wasn’t planning on sleeping with him. We were just talking.” I crossed my arms. “Also, hypocritical much? You’re not exactly celibate, if the tabloids are to be believed.”
“The tabloids are never to be believed.”