Page 75 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

Vincent and I secured our favorite middle row seats with ease. It was Saturday afternoon, well before the evening rush, and we were at our favorite little cinema on the outskirts of London.

He’d also dressed down in one of his ridiculous disguises—baseball cap, sunglasses, hoodie with the hood pulled up. I kept telling him that wearing sunglasses inside made him look like a wanker, which in turn mademelook like someone who’d be friends with a wanker, but he wouldn’t listen.

While Vincent settled in to watch the trailers, I checked my phone.

I’d texted Brooklyn last Sunday to thank her again for getting me into Neon queue-free, and we’d been talking like longtime friends since. I had a new message from her inviting me to brunch one day (answer: Of course! I’d love to join), as well asone from Carina asking if I thought cricket drop shipping was a viable side gig (answer: No, not for her, since she hated insects).

Other than that, I had no other messages.

Not that I was expecting or desiring any, especially not from anyone I was training.

My studio time with Asher had been cordial and professional all week. I showed up, we worked out, I left. Not a single hint of flirting in sight.

I grabbed a handful of popcorn from Vincent’s bucket and stuffed it in my mouth.

“Ha! See?” He sent an accusing glare my way. “Stealing.”

I ignored him and reached for more.

All the reasons I gave Asher for why we wouldn’t work were true, and I refused to be one of those people who got mad when others did what they asked.

I told him to pretend the kiss never happened, and he had.

So why did I feel like crap about it?

“DuBois. That you?”

Vincent and I looked up at the same time.

Blond hair. Hazel eyes. Boyish grin.

My heart sank to my toes.

Clive.

“Hart. What’s up, man?” Vincent slapped hands with him while I sank deeper into my seat.

If I hadn’t been convinced the universe was fucking with me before, I was a true believer now. The chances of us running into Clive in this dinky cinema were so slim, they were near impossible, yet here he was.

If I were a more paranoid person, I’d find his appearance suspicious, but it was a huge movie opening and I didn’t have a monopoly on this cinema. Besides, I wasn’t vain or self-centered enough to think a guy would stalk me after meeting me once.

After he greeted Vincent, Clive’s attention flipped to me. His eyes widened, and a slow smile spread across his face.

“Scarlett. Wow. I didn’t expect…” His gaze slid to Vincent again. “Are you on a date?”

Full-body shudders ran through me and Vincent at the same time.

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Vincent said. “She’s my sister.”

“Sister?” Clive’s gaze darted back and forth, obviously trying to make sense of our contrasting looks.

“Adopted.” Vincent’s brows drew together. “Wait. How doyouknow her?”

Oh, fuck.My fingers curled around the edge of my seat. If Clive mentioned Neon, that was a step away from mentioning Asher, andthatwas a step away from total disaster.

“We met at a party last weekend. She?—”

“The one I told you about,” I added quickly. “Remember, Vince? I was there withCarina, and you called me on my way home.”