The Striker: Chapter 15

The kiss came out of nowhere.

One minute, I was trying to get Polina out of the house as quickly and politely as possible. The next, she’d tossed her arms around my neck and crushed her mouth on mine.

“Jesus!” I pushed her off and wiped my mouth with my forearm. “What the fuck, Pol?”

“What?” She blinked at me with those baby doe eyes that’d turned her into one of the biggest supermodels in the world. “It’s just a kiss. We’ve done so much more than that.”

“Not since last year.”

There’d been a time when the kiss would’ve led us straight into the bedroom, hot tub, or any nearby place with a semblance of privacy. That time had long passed because Current Me didn’t feel a single twinge of pleasure or arousal.

“We should remedy that.” Polina propped a hip against the couch. “I miss you. You never call anymore.”

“Because we’re not together anymore.” My patience frayed with each passing second.

We went on a few dates last spring. It took one date for the shine to wear off, two dates for me to realize we had nothing in common, and three dates for me to officially call it quits.

I didn’t hate her. She was nice enough (surprise kisses aside). She just wasn’t for me, and we’d ended things amicably. At the time, there’d been a filthy-rich oil magnate courting her on the side, so she hadn’t exactly been heartbroken.

Things with the oil magnate must’ve gone south, because after a year of radio silence, she’d shown up at my door half an hour ago claiming she wanted to “catch up.”

“But we could be.” Polina sounded unfazed by the reminder.

“No, we can’t.” I snuck a peek at the clock. Shit. I was late for training, so I needed to get Polina out of here fast.

I hadn’t talked to Scarlett since her thank-you text, and I wanted…I didn’t know. I wanted to see her, I guess.

That sounded pathetic even in my thoughts. Good thing no one can hear them.

“Listen, Pol⁠—”

“Why not?” She tilted her head. “Are you dating someone?”

“No. I’m not dating anyone right now.”

Liar, a voice whispered.

I ignored it.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed our catch-up, I have training right now,” I said. “I’m already late, so⁠—”

“Training, schmaining.” Polina rolled her eyes. “You’re always so concerned about training, but fine, I’ll go. Before I do, I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it?” I asked warily.

“Vuk Markovic is hosting a fashion gala at the end of the summer. I was hoping you could be my date.”

My eyebrows popped up. Vuk Markovic owned the Blackcastle football club and our home grounds, aptly named Markovic Stadium. The Serbian American billionaire was a notorious recluse, and the idea of him hosting any sort of gala was absurd to the point of laughable.

However, Polina’s sources when it came to single, powerful men were enough to make MI6 weep. If she said Vuk was hosting a gala, he was hosting a gala.

A sudden burst of clarity hit me.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You want me to come and make him jealous.”

Polina had gravitated toward me because I was young, famous, and good-looking, but her real goal was to snag a billionaire. Everyone in our circles knew that.

She shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “Yes, but we can have fun before then, no? We were so good together.”

“I’d love to help, but I can’t. Too busy with training.” I ushered her out of the living room and toward the door. “However, I’m sure you can find someone much better than me. You’re too beautiful not to,” I added to soften the sting of rejection.

It worked.

Polina’s pout transformed into a preen. “Of course, you are right. I thought you would be the perfect date since you play for Blackcastle, but maybe…hmm. I wonder if Xavier Castillo is available.”

Why did that name sound so familiar? Right. He was also Sloane’s client. I was pretty sure he annoyed her more than I did, which was a commendable feat.

“You should call him and check.” I all but shoved Polina out the door. “Good luck!”

Thankfully, she left without further protest.

Once she was gone, Earl stopped buffing his car and raised an eyebrow at me.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I said. “I didn’t know she—you know what? I don’t have to explain myself to you. Where’s Scarlett?”

“Inside.” He resumed his task. “We arrived a while ago.”

I left him and his unwarranted judgment in the driveway and sprinted to the studio.

This was the one time I cursed the size of my house. Why did it take so bloody long to get from one end to the other?

When I arrived at the studio, Scarlett had already set up our cross-training equipment and was scrolling on her phone.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late,” I said breathlessly. “A, uh, friend dropped by, and our conversation ran over.”

“It’s fine.”

I frowned at her distant tone. She hadn’t been this standoffish since our first few sessions, and the chilliness seemed especially incongruous given our movie bonding time on Friday night.

Granted, she’d left without saying goodbye the next morning, but I’d slept in. I couldn’t expect her to wait around for me.

“Are we good?” I asked as she dropped her phone in her bag and walked to the sound system without looking at me once.

I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it all.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t we be?” She fiddled with the controls. “Let’s start with warm-ups. We⁠—”

“Fuck that. We’re not starting anything until you tell me why you’re acting so strange.” I crossed my arms. “Is this about Friday night?”

Scarlett’s back turned rigid.

I’d kept my wording vague, but we both knew I wasn’t talking about the frying pan incident.

Three days later, the memory of our kitchen encounter was burned into my mind.

Scarlett straddling me.

The heat in her eyes.

The sight of those perfect fucking nipples poking through my shirt. Seeing her wear my clothes was hands down one of the hottest things I’d ever experienced. It made almost getting bashed in the face worth it.

I’d needed an ice-cold shower and a date with my right hand after that. Even now, just thinking about it made me uncomfortably warm.

Scarlett looked as tense as I felt. “No,” she said. “This is not about Friday night. However, since we’re on the subject, you could’ve mentioned your girlfriend before I—while we were in the theatre.”

My frown deepened. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Fine. Your hookup, fling, whatever you want to call it.”

What the hell was she talking about?

“I don’t…” Earl’s judgment. Scarlett waiting in the studio. The only woman she could’ve possibly seen me with since Friday. The puzzle pieces slotted together with perfect clarity. “You’re talking about Polina.”

“If Polina is the blond with legs longer than a giraffe, then yes.” Scarlett finally whirled around and faced me. “You were having quite a snog fest in the living room. I didn’t want to interrupt you, so I came downstairs and waited for you to finish.”

“It wasn’t a snog fest session,” I growled. “She kissed me.”

“Sure.”

Irrational anger simmered in my veins. “I guess you didn’t stay long enough to see me push her off,” I said. “Polina and I went on a few dates last year. That’s it. She came by because she wanted me to help her make someone else jealous, and she thought seducing me first would make it easier.” I nodded at her bag. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll give you her number and you can confirm with her.”

Scarlett faltered. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” I kept my eyes trained on hers as I carefully picked my next words. “Even if we were making out, I don’t understand why you’d be mad.”

“I’m not mad. I’m annoyed about your tardiness.”

“That wasn’t annoyance I heard.”

“Then you’re hearing things that don’t exist.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” I took in her stiff posture and the rosy flush darkening her cheeks. A slow smile spread across my face. “Wait. Scarlett, darling…are you jealous?”

“You wish.”

I’d been half joking, but her answer came too quickly, too aggressively to ring true.

My smile vanished beneath an unsteady thump of my heart. “Maybe I do.”

The confession drifted between us like confetti in the wind, blowing this way and that, uncertain of where to land.

It was the closest either of us had come to acknowledging our attraction—and there was attraction. A quiet, smoldering, mutual one. Of that, I was sure.

If she’d stayed in the kitchen a minute longer the other night, I would’ve kissed her, and she would’ve let me.

Scarlett’s throat moved with a small swallow. “You shouldn’t.”

I drew in a deep breath and exhaled. The invisible confetti fluttered, finally coming to rest on the far side of the room. So tangible yet untouchable.

“Those rules of yours again, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Those rules of mine.”

We didn’t discuss Polina or Friday night again for the rest of our session. They weren’t the real issues at hand.

No, the real issue lay dormant, as patient and incendiary as a ticking bomb.

It was only a matter of time before it exploded.