Page 70 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

I looked up. My heartbeat slowed when Scarlett entered, her black hair scraped back into a dancer’s bun and her lithe frame clad in a leotard, jumper, and ballet skirt.

I hadn’t chased after her on Saturday because we’d both needed space to think, but seeing her again after two days proved that space didn’t do shit.

I was as twisted up about her now as I’d been at Neon.

“Hey.” I aimed for casual and landed somewhere north of cautious.

“Hi.” She shrugged off her jumper and hung it on a hook by the door. “So we’re focusing on agility today. I suggest moving outside so we?—”

“Scarlett.”

“Yes?” The rigid set of her shoulders belied her cool tone.

“We should talk about Saturday night.” I wasn’t going to let her pretend nothing happened. We were beyond those games.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Or maybe we’re not.Irritation simmered low in my blood.

“I disagree,” I said silkily. If she wanted to play that game, we’d play on my terms. “We have plenty to talk about. For example, the way you taste or the way you sighed when I pressed you against the wall. Or maybe we should talk about how your hair feels wrapped around my?—”

“Stop.” Flags of color scorched the crests of her cheekbones. “It was a kiss. We were drunk, and we got caught up in the moment. It didn’t mean anything.”

The ember of irritation ignited into anger.

“Bullshit.” I closed the distance between us. She lifted her chin, her expression stubborn, but I detected a faint quickeningin the rise and fall of her chest. “I knew you were a coward when it came to movies. I didn’t expect that from you in real life too.”

Scarlett’s nostrils flared with a sharp inhale.

I tamped down a swell of regret. I’d said what needed to be said. She couldn’t run from the hard stuff forever.

This was the same girl who’d reamed out a police officer for bumping into me, who’d survived a horrible accident and came out stronger on the other side. She was so bold and resilient in so many ways that it killed me to see her fears win.

“Fine. Let’s say the kiss did mean something,” she said. “What then? Do we date? Have a summer fling? Call things off when the season starts? There arealwayspeople watching you, Asher. It’d be impossible to keep a relationship secret.” Her jaw hardened. “You lost the league last season because you and Vincent didn’t work together! Imagine how much worse it’ll get if he finds out something happened between us. Imagine how your coach will react. You’ll both ruin your careers, and I willnotallow that to happen, nor will I play a part in it.”

My bubble of anger deflated.

Of course I’d considered the obstacles she’d laid out. Hell, they were the reason I’d fought my attraction for so long. But the more time we spent together, the hazier those obstacles seemed.

Her clinical breakdown of the situation threw them right back into focus.

I wasn’t surprised by the Vincent and career angle, but the issue with the paps…I hadn’t paid as much attention to that as I should’ve. Most of the women I’d dated in the past were public figures themselves, so they were used to the attention. Scarlett wasn’t.

If anything happened between us, they’d harass her to the ends of the earth. They’d follow her, dig through her trash, talk to her old friends and classmates. Anything and everything to make a buck.

There were ways around it. I knew players who made things work with their “civilian” partners, but at the risk of sounding arrogant, they didn’t have as visible a profile as I did. The tabloids would eat Scarlett alive.

I’d let the privacy of our studio and the respite of summer lull me into a false sense of security. It didn’t matter how much I wanted her or how much I wished things between us could work; ifshedidn’t want it, and she wasn’t prepared for it, then that was it. Case closed.

The post-kiss fantasies that’d consumed me all weekend cleared, leaving a tang of bitterness in their wake.

“You’re right.” The words sounded hollow despite the thickness in my throat. “I don’t know what I was thinking. We’ll pretend the kiss never happened and never discuss it again.”

“Great.” Scarlett swallowed. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“Me too.”

We didn’t speak about anything non-workout-related for the rest of the session.