The Striker (Gods of the Game Book 1)
The Striker: Chapter 20

“That enough popcorn for you, or should I buy you another bucket?” I asked.

Vincent grabbed the bucket from the counter and arched an eyebrow at me. “I’m preparing for you to steal half my snacks the way you always do.”

I gasped. “Do not.”

“Do too.” He pitched his voice higher. “No, thanks, I’m not hungry. Ten minutes later: Vince, can I have some of your chips?”

“Oh, shut up. Like you don’t steal my stuff all the time. Remember when you stole my limited-edition Adele vinyl one summer because she was your crush’s favorite singer and you wanted to impress her? Then you scratched it and tried to make it up to me by taking me to Nando’s.”

“First of all, Nando’s is great. Second of all, that was ten years ago. You have to let it go.”

“Never.” I followed him to our assigned theatre. “That’s what little sisters are for. To remind you of your transgressions for the rest of your life.”

Vincent rolled his eyes. “I should’ve rescheduled my promo video and stayed in Paris. I’m clearly not appreciated here.”

“Wrong. I appreciate you opening your wallet.” He’d covered our movie tickets and snacks today. “I’m so lucky to have such a generous ATM by my side.”

He snorted out a laugh and ruffled my hair with his free hand. “Brat.”

“Stop! You’re messing up my hair.” I pushed his hand away, but I couldn’t resist a laugh.

Despite his overprotectiveness, inflated ego, and totally slanderous lies about my food stealing habits, he was a great brother, which was why my kiss with Asher felt like a betrayal even though I hadn’t meant it as one.

A needle of guilt wormed through my gut.

Don’t think about it. Today was about sibling bonding and the latest Nate Reynolds movie. There was no room for anything else in this theatre.

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 made me look 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 as one 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 replace 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 do you know her?”

Oh, fuck. My fingers curled around the edge of my seat. If Clive mentioned Neon, that was a step away from mentioning Asher, and that was 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 with Carina, and you called me on my way home.”

Clive’s eyebrows rose at the emphasis I placed on Carina’s name. He knew I hadn’t shown up with a girlfriend, and I could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

Please be smart enough to pick up on what I’m putting out.

“Where was the party? You didn’t say.” Suspicion leaked into Vincent’s voice.

I didn’t blame him. Carina and I weren’t big partiers, and we certainly weren’t the types who usually attended the same events as someone like Clive.

“Some club. I forgot the name,” I said. “The night was kind of a blur.”

“Hart? You remember?” Vincent asked. The suspicion grew from a seed into a sapling.

I saw the instant the pieces clicked for Clive. I was Vincent’s sister. I’d lied about being at the party with Carina so I didn’t have to mention who I was really with (Asher). Like 98 percent of the planet, Clive probably knew Asher and Vincent didn’t get along.

It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

“Peony, Legends, MYX…it could’ve been any or none of those,” Clive said. “Honestly, I was pretty smashed. Don’t remember much beyond meeting Scarlett.”

“Huh.” Vincent’s eyes narrowed. “What happened after you met?”

“We talked for a few minutes. Then I took Carina to the loo because she, uh, got sick and threw up all over the bar.” I’m so sorry, Car. I’ll donate extra to your penguin fund to make up for the slander.

My brother grimaced.

Thankfully, we were saved from further interrogation when the lights dimmed and a prerecorded voice announced the film was about to start.

“How do you know Clive?” I whispered after the rugby player left and took his seat several rows behind us.

My nerves were still in knots from the close call. I needed to know how often Vincent talked to Clive in case the latter slipped up about Asher.

“We have a few mutual friends, but we’re not that close.” Vincent finally took his sunglasses off and dropped them in the cup holder. “Stay away from him. He’s a fuckboy.”

Interesting. Asher had said the exact same thing.

The opening credits rolled. The ensuing action sequences and up-close shots of Nate Reynolds’s face temporarily alleviated my worries, but my bladder caught up with me an hour in.

I snuck out during a lull and quickly used the loo. I didn’t want to miss anything important.

I exited the toilet and nearly bumped into Clive, who was leaving the men’s room at the same time.

“Hey!” He smiled. “Third run-in in a week. I’m starting to think the universe is trying to tell us something.”

The universe has been trying to tell me a lot of things lately. I wished it would keep its mouth shut, but it had a tendency to butt in where it wasn’t welcome.

“Perhaps, though I’m not sure the cinema and the cinema toilet count as two separate instances.” Just because I had beef with an immortal, amorphous force didn’t mean I had to bring innocent bystanders into it.

Clive laughed. “I guess not.”

“Thank you for not blowing my cover earlier,” I added. “Vincent can be a little overprotective, and I didn’t want him knowing that, um…”

“You and Donovan have a thing going on?” It might’ve been a trick of the light, but I thought I saw Clive’s eyes flicker at the mention of Asher.

“We don’t have a thing going on.” If I could bold, highlight, and underline that sentiment three times, I would. “We’re just…” Friends? Colleagues? Acquaintances? None of those terms felt right. “Platonic.”

I was starting to hate that word, but it was the most accurate description I could come up with.

Platonic people don’t kiss each other, my inner voice sang in an apparent bid to outdo the universe as my most hated incorporeal entity.

“Platonic, huh?” Clive’s eyebrows winged up. “Does Donovan know that? I thought he was going to punch me when I gave you my number.”

“I don’t know.” I forced a flippant smile. “You’ll have to ask him. From my end, we’re platonic.” The words tasted strangely like betrayal, but I swallowed nonetheless.

“That’s good to know.” Clive rubbed a thumb over his bottom lip. “In that case, would you like to get dinner sometime?”

“Are you asking me on a date?” I should’ve seen where this was going, but that didn’t stop surprise from bleeding into my tone.

“Yes.” He offered a crooked smile. When Asher did it, it seemed genuine, but for some reason, Clive’s looked a little put on. “I didn’t get a chance on Saturday, and I figure this is the universe’s way of giving me a second shot. I promise I’ll take you somewhere nicer than this.” He gestured around us.

I drew my bottom lip between my teeth. The conversation had already dragged on too long—I’d missed a good chunk of the film while we were chatting—but I was torn.

Asher and Vincent had both warned me away from Clive. What did they say? That he was a “fuckboy?” Then again, they were biased, and what good-looking professional athlete didn’t go through a player phase?

The important thing was, Clive wasn’t Asher. His smile didn’t make my heart flutter, his flirting didn’t get under my skin, and a dinner with him had no consequences beyond a few potentially wasted hours. If the date went south, I wouldn’t have to see him ever again.

Clive was still waiting with an expectant expression.

“In that case, yes,” I said. “I’d love to go out to dinner with you.”

I told Asher about my run-in with Clive and the story I’d concocted for Vincent during our next session. I doubted the party would come up between him and Vincent, but in case it did, I wanted to make sure our stories were aligned.

However, Asher seemed less concerned about my brother replaceing out we were at Poppy’s party together and more concerned about Clive.

“He just so happened to show up at the cinema you and Vincent frequent?” His nostrils flared. “That doesn’t strike you as suspicious?”

“We don’t own the place. He has as much right to be there as we do.”

“Have you ever seen him there before?”

“No,” I admitted. “Not that I remember. But that doesn’t mean anything.” He could’ve been in the area and dropped in, or we could’ve crossed paths there before but I didn’t notice.

No one paid attention to the random people they passed unless there was a good reason to. Asher was being paranoid.

“I don’t like it,” he said flatly. “You slipped through his fingers at Neon, and now he sees you as a challenge. I wouldn’t be surprised if he somehow figured out you liked that cinema and planned the ‘accidental’ run-in.”

I didn’t get a chance on Saturday, and I figure this is the universe’s way of giving me a second shot. Clive’s words echoed for a beat before logic took over.

“Okay, you need to ease off the thrillers because you’re entering conspiracy territory.” I crossed my arms. “Maybe he’s a player, but I doubt he’s a stalker. How would he know the exact date, time, and movie Vincent and I were going to see? It’s not like we broadcast that information online.”

Asher opened his mouth, then shut it without replying.

“Exactly. As for the other part…” I gripped the barre. “Do you think the only reason someone could possibly like me is if they see me as a ‘challenge’?”

Was that why he’d been so persistent in his flirting? To stick it to Vincent?

The prospect made bile rise in my throat. It was ridiculous. By now, I knew Asher well enough to know he wouldn’t do something so mean-spirited, but once the seed had been planted, it was hard to dig it out.

His mouth thinned. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Actually, I don’t.” I should’ve left it at that, but my mouth kept running of its own accord. “Also, player or not, I like Clive. He’s nice.”

“That’s what he wants you to think.”

I ignored the snark. “As a matter of fact, he asked me out on a date, and I said yes.”

The words fell into a pool of TNT-laced tension. Asher’s jaw ticked, and I instinctively braced myself for an explosion.

It never came.

After a beat of silence, he turned and jabbed the power button for the sound system. The faint strains of a classical hip-hop instrumental filled the room “Good for you,” he said, his tone unreadable. “Have fun.”

“I will.” Stop talking. But I couldn’t. It was like my mouth had a mind of its own. “He’s taking me to the Golden Wharf this Friday. It’s supposed to be one of the best restaurants in the city.”

“Great.”

“Afterward, we might head to this secret cocktail bar that⁠—”

“I get it,” Asher bit out. He faced me again, his expression stamped with irritation. “Can we start training, or will you continue to regale me with unsolicited details about your love life?”

I suppressed a flinch, but he was right. Why was I provoking him? We should be working, not engaging in this ridiculous back and forth.

However, things had been so coldly civil between us that it was nice to see sparks fly again.

“I guess things didn’t work out with your West End suitor,” Asher said, more calmly this time.

My brows knitted. “West End suitor?”

“The guy you went to see a West End show with earlier this summer.”

What is he—ohhhh. He was talking about my girls’ night with Carina. We’d watched a musical and gotten smashed on blueberry cocktails afterward.

I hadn’t outright said it was a date, but I’d led Asher to believe it was a romantic outing. Even back then, I’d unconsciously been trying to make him jealous.

The realization struck with the force of an anvil. I swallowed, wishing I had a pair of magic scissors so I could snip my way out of this tangled mess.

When it came to Asher, should and want battled for dominance over my decisions, and the winner changed by the hour.

I hated myself for how wishy-washy that made me. I kissed him, then I ran away. I told him to pretend the kiss never happened, then I tried to provoke him by discussing my upcoming date with Clive. I wanted to make him jealous, but I wanted him to leave me alone.

I was turning into the type of person I hated, the kind who couldn’t make up her mind and flip-flopped between what she said and what she did.

The problem was, I didn’t know how to stop it.

“No,” I said in response to Asher’s statement. “It didn’t work out romantically. We decided we’re better off as friends.”

It was the truth…if I stretched the truth out and dipped it in a bowl of lie-by-omission sauce.

“I see.” Asher’s jaw ticked again. “It’s funny you mentioned the Golden Wharf. I have a date there this Friday too.”

I couldn’t hold back a snort. “Oh, please.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“What are the chances you have a date at the same restaurant on the same night as me right after I tell you about it?”

“What are the chances you run into Clive at some hole-in-the-wall cinema a week after meeting him when you’ve never seen him there before?” he countered.

Dammit. He got me there.

“Who’s your date?” I asked, still suspicious.

“Someone I met over the weekend. She’s cute, funny, and loves football. I’m excited to take her out.”

The fact he was clearly trying to make me jealous didn’t stop me from feeling, well, jealous. “Great.”

“It is.”

More silence, punctured only by the instrumentals soaring in the background.

“We should go on a double date,” Asher said after ten long, tense seconds.

I burst into laughter, but it tapered off when he didn’t join me.

He couldn’t be serious.

“Are you daft?” I demanded. “What makes you think that’ll be a good idea? You don’t even like Clive!”

“I don’t have to like him to double date with him.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No, it’s not. Think about it. First dates are awkward. It’s a small restaurant, and we’ll both be there anyway. This is the perfect way for us to get to know the other person without the pressure of a one-on-one.”

“Asher, darling, if you don’t have faith in your first-date skills, you should’ve just said so,” I said, deliberately throwing his nickname for me back at him.

His smirk indicated he’d caught it. “My dating skills aren’t the ones I’m worried about.”

“Are you implying I’m a bad date?”

Asher shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. But I know I’m not a bad date.”

“Please. I’ll have Clive eating out of my hand before the main course.” I hadn’t been on a date in a while, but I could turn on the charm when I wanted.

“He’s a guy,” Asher said. “He’ll eat anything you put in front of him.”

“Way to insinuate my date has no standards.”

“You’re the one who said it, not me.”

“You shouldn’t talk. You depend on your looks and money to do the heavy lifting.” I jabbed my finger at his chest. It was like poking a brick wall. “I bet you can’t carry a dinner’s worth of conversation to save your life. Your date will be bored to tears.”

“You want to bet on it?” Asher’s eyes glinted with challenge. “Let’s see who ends the night with a second date lined up. Winner gets bragging rights. Loser suffers eternal shame.”

“A bet? What are we, teenagers?” I scoffed. A beat passed. “What happens if we both get a second date?”

“Then we can sleep soundly knowing we’ve made it to adulthood with the proper social skills.”

It was a trap. A double date with Asher was the worst idea in the history of worst ideas, and my self-preservation instincts were screaming at me not to take the bait.

But if I backed down, he’d say I was afraid. That I wasn’t up for the task. And that was unacceptable.

“Fine. I accept your bet.” Even if we weren’t betting on anything material, I had no intention of walking away from Friday night’s dinner without a second date locked in. “May the best man or woman win.”