The Striker: Chapter 21

I shouldn’t have suggested a double date.

I didn’t know what Monday Afternoon Asher had been smoking, but Friday Night Asher knew he was in deep shit the minute he arrived at the Golden Wharf.

“Wow.” Ivy took in the flowering plants and gilded doors, her eyes wide. “This place is amazing.”

“It’s one of the best,” I said, distracted.

It took one call for me to secure a table for four at the most exclusive restaurant in town. That wasn’t the problem.

Neither was finding a date. Contrary to what I’d told Scarlett, I’d spent last weekend at home. I hadn’t met anyone anywhere, but Ivy was a friend who’d been on board with a free meal and entertainment. She wasn’t interested in me romantically, so it was perfect. I didn’t want the complication of bringing someone who thought the date meant something.

I’d briefed her on how and when we supposedly met, so that wasn’t the problem either.

No, the problem was walking toward us right now, and she looked good enough to make me regret every decision that led me to this point in time.

I’d seen Scarlett in workout clothes.

I’d seen her in my bathrobe and my shirt (the latter remained one of the hottest sights of my life).

I’d even seen her dolled up for a night out at Neon.

But I’d never seen her like this.

Her simple black dress stopped just above her knee and hugged her in all the right places, highlighting her delicate curves and long, slender legs. Silver heels added three inches to her height, and her hair cascaded past her shoulders in soft waves. It looked so touchable, I almost reached for her before I stopped myself.

I didn’t know what she did with her makeup, but it defined her features in a way that made them pop without being overwhelming.

Huge dark eyes. Soft red lips. Perfection.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly, was different about her appearance tonight. She was always beautiful, and her outfit, though elegant, wasn’t extraordinary in its uniqueness.

But as she neared, I realized it wasn’t her clothes or hair or makeup. It was her. It was the way she moved, her hips swaying with a combination of confidence and sultriness that she kept hidden when we were in the studio. It was the soft gleam lighting up her eyes. It was the glow in her face and the smile on her lips.

Up until this point, I’d been dealing with Professional Scarlett. Even when we’d flirted and kissed, she’d clung to pieces of that mask with determined fingers.

The Scarlett that was walking toward me? She wasn’t wearing a mask. This was the Scarlett I’d see if we were dating—if I picked her up at her flat, flowers in hand; if we walked down the street, our fingers intertwined; if we woke up in the morning, her head on my chest.

This was what Scarlett would look like if she were mine.

The chatter from the restaurant fell away. I swallowed past the sudden dryness in my throat and wished I had a strong whiskey on hand.

I needed it. Desperately.

Scarlett stopped in front of us. Her eyes held mine for a fraction of a beat too long before sliding to Ivy. “Hi.”

“Hi.” A trace of roughness ran beneath my voice. “You look…” Breathtaking. “Nice.”

“Thank you.” Her mouth curved, but I could see the mask sliding back into place, hiding the momentary softness in her eyes. “So do you. Both. I mean, both of you look good.”

I almost smiled at her adorable verbal stumble when a possessive hand touched her arm.

White shirt. Blue tie.

Clive.

My mood plummeted like a dead fly into a vat of acid.

I’d been so focused on Scarlett I’d overlooked his presence by her side. He’d followed the restaurant’s dress code to a T, but his shirt stretched a little too tight across his chest and his watch gleamed a little too bright beneath the lights.

I’d bet another hundred thousand quid that he deliberately wore a shirt that was half a size too small so his muscles looked bigger.

One point for ego, zero for style.

And he was still holding onto Scarlett’s arm. That fucker.

Clive flashed a tiny smirk in my direction.

Anger simmered in my veins. He’d sought her out on purpose at the cinema. I didn’t know how, but he had. He was furious about losing the race, and he was using her to get to me.

I couldn’t say anything without looking bitter and paranoid, so I kept my mouth shut. For now.

Play smarter, not harder.

However, my anger gave way to confusion when Clive’s smirk fell. He stared at my date, his mouth agape.

“Ivy?”

“Clive?” Ivy sounded as stunned as he looked.

Color climbed high on her cheekbones, and I got the distinct impression that she would rather melt into the pavement than stand here with us.

Scarlett broke the silence first. “Do you two know each other?”

“Yes. We…” Clive cleared his throat. “We used to date.”

“A long time ago,” Ivy added quickly. “At uni.”

Holy shit. I supposed it made sense. I’d met Ivy through Poppy, and Clive was Poppy’s cousin. That entire circle attended the same schools and functions growing up.

That being said, the chances of my date and Scarlett’s date being exes were so slim it was laughable. It almost made me believe Clive running into Scarlett at the movies was just another bizarre twist of coincidence.

Almost.

“Wow.” Scarlett blinked. “It really is a small world.”

There was strained laughter all around. After a quick introduction between Scarlett and Ivy, we entered the restaurant. The cloud of tension followed us like a swarm of buzzing gnats.

The Golden Wharf’s patrons were used to famous faces, so we took our seats near the privacy-tinted windows with minimal fuss.

“So how did you and Asher meet?” Scarlett asked after we placed our orders.

In an odd seating shuffle, I’d ended up across from her and next to Ivy. Clive and I sat as far from each other as possible, though that didn’t mean much for a four-top in an intimate dining room. We were still close—and he was definitely too fucking close to Scarlett, who was hemmed in between him and the wall.

Ivy flicked a quick glance at me before answering. “We met at a wine bar last weekend,” she said. “He bought me a drink, we hit it off, and the rest is history.”

Perfect. Exactly like we’d rehearsed.

Unfortunately, our rehearsal hadn’t accounted for an ex-boyfriend with a steel-trap memory.

“I thought you hated wine,” Clive said. “You stopped drinking it after Milly Blair’s party fiasco.”

“Uh…” Mild panic crossed Ivy’s face. “I got over it. It’s been years and, um, I’ve developed a new appreciation for it.”

Clive’s brows dipped. “What was the name of the wine bar again?”

“It’s an underground spot in Shoreditch,” I interjected smoothly. If I gave him a name, I wouldn’t put it past him to check and see if I was actually there Saturday night. “Only those in the know would’ve heard of it.”

“And this underground spot doesn’t have a name?”

“Can’t share it with people outside the inner circle. Bar rules.” There were plenty of exclusive, hidden bars in London with similarly draconian rules, so my lie wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

“How convenient.”

“What about you?” I turned the tables on him. “Scarlett said she ran into you at the movies. Quite a coincidence.”

“I live near that cinema,” Clive said. “I go there all the time.”

“Really? What was the last film you saw there before last weekend?”

A beat of hesitation passed. “The horror one with Riley K. I forgot the name.”

“House of Snakes?”

“Yeah. That one.”

“Funny.” I leaned back, my pose deceptively casual. “My friend was a producer on that film. It had a limited release in the UK. Only shown in a handful of cinemas—all of them in central London. I believe the one you went to was in north London, wasn’t it?”

Ivy and Scarlett’s heads swiveled back and forth like spectators at a sporting event.

I wasn’t going to let Clive get away with whatever shit he was trying to pull. Coming after me was one thing; dragging Scarlett into it was another.

“Then I remembered wrong,” he said coolly. “Maybe I watched House of Snakes somewhere else. Either way, I’m glad I went to the cinema last weekend. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have run into Scarlett, and we wouldn’t be here.” He smiled and draped his arm over the back of Scarlett’s chair.

Ivy shifted with discomfort while I waited for Scarlett to tell him off. She wouldn’t let someone take such liberties this early into a first date.

“Exactly.” She leaned into him with an answering smile. “I’m glad I ran into you too.”

Clive’s teeth gleamed like little white targets for my fist.

What the actual fuck? She couldn’t possibly like⁠—

The bet. It hit me like a freight train. I’d forgotten about our wager, but it made sense why she was indulging Clive’s delusions.

Ivy and I weren’t on a real date, so I didn’t have to worry about scoring a second one; I could just say I had. Meanwhile, Scarlett was under the impression that she needed to work for hers.

At least, that was what I told myself because the alternative explanation was too nauseating to contemplate.

Since she didn’t know Ivy was a cover, I had to make an effort to “win” or she’d get suspicious.

“Did I mention that Ivy is studying environmental law at the University of London?” I said. “She’s brilliant.”

“You got a lawyer to go out with you? Impressive,” Scarlett said. It was lighthearted enough to pass as a joke but pointed enough for me to know it wasn’t.

I narrowed my eyes while Clive smirked.

“Law student,” Ivy corrected with a laugh. “I mean, it’s Asher Donovan. Who wouldn’t want to go out with him?”

Clive’s smirk disappeared.

A wisp of discomfort coasted through my stomach, but I washed it away with more wine.

Ivy was playing her part. I couldn’t fault her for that. Still, I wished she would’ve called me Asher instead of Asher Donovan. I shouldn’t complain, considering how many doors the latter opened for me, but sometimes it felt a little dehumanizing, like I was a walking brand instead of a person.

Scarlett’s brow creased with a small frown. She slid a glance at me, her gaze oddly questioning, before she turned back to Ivy. “So, environmental law. Do you have a specialty?” she asked.

Ivy lit up for the first time since she saw Clive. “Marine protection, but I’m interested in the management of hazardous substances and wastes too.”

For the next half hour, she regaled us with details about her courses while we ate our appetizers—Scarlett silent, Clive scowling, and me interjecting with the occasional mmm and wow.

I was all for saving the environment, but truthfully, listening to the intricacies of the UN’s High Seas Treaty while we ate gourmet crab cakes wasn’t my idea of a good time.

Ivy seemed oblivious to the growing tension. Thankfully, the server brought out our main courses and interrupted her before she could go into more detail about exploited fish stocks.

“This lobster is delicious.” Scarlett speared a piece with her fork and held it out to Clive. “Here, try.”

“Thanks, babe.” Clive shot me a smug look and ate the lobster tail straight off her fork.

Scarlett and I reacted with simultaneous grimaces, but when I focused on her, her face had already smoothed into a smile.

“Tell us about rugby,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to learn more about it.”

She cast the bait, and he fell for it hook, line, and sinker. If there was one thing men loved, it was talking about themselves.

While Clive extolled the virtues of rugby and his “importance” on the pitch, Ivy poked at her pasta with a frown.

“Ivy, darling, would you like more wine?” I asked solicitously.

The word darling tasted strange when aimed at someone who wasn’t Scarlett, but I swallowed my misgivings. We were halfway through dinner, and it was time to take things up a notch.

Scarlett’s seeming fascination with Clive’s rugby rant faltered.

“Yes, please.” Ivy pushed her glass toward me. She might’ve hated wine at uni, but perhaps she had developed a new appreciation for it because she gulped it down like a desperate woman who’d finally stumbled upon an oasis in the desert.

The dinner dragged on.

If I hadn’t regretted the double-date idea before, I sure as hell did now. Listening to Clive talk was insufferable. Seeing Scarlett stroke his ego with questions and encouraging nods was worse.

I tossed back my drink and glared as she laughed at his stupid joke about a priest taking up rugby. Anyone could’ve seen the conversions punchline coming.

“Excuse me.” Ivy’s chair scraped back with a rasp of wood against the carpet. “I don’t feel too well. I’ll be right back.”

Concern leaked through my irritation. I’d been so focused on Scarlett and Clive, I’d neglected Ivy. Her face did look paler than when we’d arrived, but she hurried off before I could respond.

Her departure cast an immediate pall over the table.

Clive stared after her, then tossed his napkin on the table and stood. “I have to use the loo, too. I’ll be right back.”

Five seconds later, he disappeared into the hall housing the toilets.

Yeah. Not suspicious at all.

I didn’t know why Ivy and Clive broke up, but judging by their reactions to each other, the attraction wasn’t dead.

I couldn’t have planned it better myself. Maybe they’d rekindle their flame and Clive could leave Scarlett the fuck alone. Ivy was too good for that wanker, but if she was into that, then it was none of my business.

Scarlett and I sat in silence, the specter of our dates and a thousand unspoken words hanging over us.

“Ivy seems nice,” she finally said.

“She is. And Clive seems…present.”

She snorted, an undignified sound that was at odds with her elegant appearance.

The corner of my mouth tilted up. I loved her reactions. They were so real, so her. No artifice, no ass-kissing. Pure Scarlett.

“I can’t believe they used to date,” she said. “What a plot twist.”

“Maybe it’s a sign.”

“Of what?”

“That we’re on dates with the wrong people.”

My words stole the last semblance of pretense between us. They hissed and crackled like a blaze in a hearth, warming my skin and bringing a tint of red to Scarlett’s cheeks.

“That’s not something you should say when we’re still on our dates.” She glanced in the direction of the toilets.

No Ivy or Clive yet.

“Perhaps, but am I wrong?” I challenged. “Don’t tell me you can endure Clive’s grandstanding about rugby. Rugby.” I made a noise of disgust. “It’s violence disguised as a sport. All brawn, no finesse.”

“You are such a snob. Other sports exist besides football, you know.”

“Not good ones.”

A hint of a smile crossed her face. “You’re insufferable.”

“But more sufferable than Clive Hart. Be honest.” My gaze burned into hers. “Are you enjoying your date with him, or do you simply want to win our bet?”

The smile disappeared. “Why wouldn’t I enjoy the date? He’s good-looking, successful, and funny. The total package.”

Funny? Sure, Clive was funny the way syphilis was funny, and his “total package” included a strong whiff of bullshit.

The same bullshit I heard in Scarlett’s response.

“That’s not what I asked,” I said softly.

Scarlett’s eyes flickered in the candlelight. They were the color of silver moonbeams, at times clear, at times obscured by wisps of clouds.

Sometimes, finding her true feelings amongst the mist was impossible. Tonight, I saw right through it.

“No.” The clouds parted, revealing a glimmer of vulnerability. “Not really.”

Her answer was as close to an admission as she would allow, in this moment where our dates were gone and we could spin an illusion of normality.

My heart pattered to an uneven beat.

“Are you enjoying your date with Ivy?” she asked.

“No.” I held her gaze. “Not really.”

The clatter of plates and silverware retreated into the background. Scarlett’s lips parted, and I felt it in my bones—a moment of perfect tension, stretched taut between our previous promises and our present desires.

Two weeks since our kiss.

Two weeks since we agreed to pretend it never happened.

And yet, beneath the surface of our otherwise innocent conversation, the rolling thunder of attraction drummed on.

Her reasons for disregarding the kiss were still valid. The consequences of not doing so were still threats.

But it was easier to choose logic during daylight, when work and distractions formed a barrier between the head and heart.

At night, that barrier dwindled, leaving us open to the possibility that consequences paled next to our wants.

“You called her darling.” Scarlett’s voice was smoke and velvet, threaded with a tinge of hurt. “You must be enjoying the date more than you admit unless you use that endearment with everyone. Does it always work for you?”

“I wouldn’t know.” The satisfaction of getting under her skin with that tactic was minute compared to my exhaustion. I was tired of our games. “I’ve only called one woman that and meant it.”

Scarlett’s soft inhale was nearly my undoing.

I didn’t want to be in a crowded restaurant, on a double date, surrounded by strangers and cosplaying indifference.

I wanted to be anywhere else, as long as I was alone with her.

“Hey. I’m sorry that took so long.” Ivy’s apology jarred us out of our trance.

Our gazes jerked away from each other, and the soft honesty of the moment disappeared in a puff of smoke.

I pasted on a smile, trying not to look too annoyed as Ivy slid into her seat. “I think the wine doesn’t agree with me,” she said. “I’m still a little nauseous.”

I frowned. Her skin looked even more waxen than before, minus the dark flush crawling over her neck and chest.

“Do you want to call it a night?” I asked. “I can drive you home. I don’t want you to stay if you’re not feeling well.”

We weren’t on a real date, but that didn’t mean I was going to be a dick and leave her to fend for herself.

She nodded, her expression miserable. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin everyone’s night, but…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get the check.” A tingle of relief loosened the fist around my heart. Leaving the date meant leaving Scarlett, but at least I didn’t have to pretend anymore.

Before I could flag down our server, Clive reappeared. “What’s going on?”

Scarlett explained the situation.

He didn’t seem surprised, and I was reminded again of their suspicious timing. They’d left for the toilets and returned at almost the exact same time.

I doubted they’d hooked up while they were gone—though that would explain Ivy’s growing nausea, in my opinion—but something must’ve happened.

Instead of staying and pursuing his vendetta against me via Scarlett, he shocked the hell out of us by saying, “I’ll take Ivy home. It’s on my way anyway.” He cast a sheepish glance at Scarlett. “I’m sorry for bailing early, but I have an emergency at home. Rain check?”

The fact that no one called him out on the contradiction of driving Ivy home when he had an “emergency” was a testament to how off the rails the date had gotten.

“Sure.” I could’ve sworn that was relief in Scarlett’s voice. “I understand.”

“I’ll take Scarlett home,” I said before Clive offered to drive her as well. I wouldn’t put it past the bastard to attempt a threesome or something similar. “Dinner’s on me. I had a big payday earlier this week.”

He didn’t miss the subtle dig referencing the money he’d lost at the race. Resentment flared anew in his eyes, but he kept his mouth shut.

I wasn’t under the illusion I’d seen or heard the last of him. I’d lucked out with the Ivy situation tonight, but Clive was petty enough to keep coming back until I knocked him out for good.

I’d deal with that tomorrow. For now, I allowed myself a measure of relaxation as he disappeared through the doors with Ivy, who went along with the change of plans silently.

“Well, this didn’t turn out the way I’d expected,” Scarlett said after I’d paid and we’d made it to my car. I’d had half a glass of wine, but I was clearheaded and sober enough to drive. “Do you think they…”

“Oh yeah.” I pulled out of the car park. “The old flame is not dead.”

She huffed out a laugh. “I should be insulted, but I’m not.”

“Trust me, anything that takes Clive’s attention off you is a good thing.”

“He’s really not that bad.”

“That’s what the Victorians said about adding boric acid to milk.”

Another, startled laugh filled the car. “Asher Donovan, a scholar of the Victorian era? Color me surprised.”

“I wouldn’t say scholar.” I flashed a quick grin. “But I did watch several YouTube videos about it.”

Five minutes of lighthearted conversation, and I was already having a better time than I’d had at dinner.

“I hope no one recognized us at the restaurant,” Scarlett said. “And by us, I mean you.”

“Some definitely did, but as long as they’re not paps, it should be fine. Most people have common decency.”

I was recognized all the time on the streets. Sometimes, fans stopped me for autographs and pictures. However, I’d never had a stranger post a private moment of me online without my consent.

The tabloids were the issue, not the average citizen.

“I hope so.” Scarlett ran a hand over the sleek leather interior. I’d picked a low-key black Porsche for tonight. It was my go-to car for when I wanted something nice but not too flashy. “I don’t understand guys’ fascination with cars. Why do you need so many?”

“Some women collect shoes and bags. Some men collect cars.” I shrugged. “I’m one of them.”

“Hmm. Can’t relate.”

Laughter rumbled past my throat. “It’s not for everyone.” I tapped my fingers on the wheel, debating whether to release the question sitting at the tip of my tongue. Screw it. “Have you thought about getting your own? I know you don’t like taxis…”

I trailed off, letting her fill in the gaps. It was a sensitive topic, but we weren’t strangers to those.

Luckily, Scarlett didn’t appear offended. “I thought about it, but…” She shook her head. “No. I’d rather take the tube. Besides, city traffic is a nightmare.”

“Fair enough.” I didn’t push the issue. “I’m happy you’re doing the showcase. It should be a good time.”

“Me too.” Her face softened. “It’s nice to sit in on rehearsals again, even if I’m only watching. It feels…I don’t know. It feels like I’m part of something bigger than myself, and I haven’t felt that way in a long time.”

“I know what you mean.”

It was one of the reasons why I loved football instead of, say, golf or tennis. Every team had its top performers, but at the end of the day, winning was a group effort. It was a brotherhood—at least, it was supposed to be, when it wasn’t weakened by perpetual infighting.

Goddamn Vincent.

The indirect reminder of Scarlett’s brother put an instant damper on my mood. If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t be stuck on this merry-go-round of emotions. Hell, I probably wouldn’t have met Scarlett in the first place. Life would be much simpler.

However, the thought of never meeting her sent an unpleasant chill through my chest. We’d known each other for two months, yet I couldn’t imagine a world where she didn’t exist in my orbit.

Even when caution kept us at arm’s length, seeing her was the highlight of my week.

I snuck a peek at Scarlett as we entered her street. She stared out the window, her brow furrowed, her expression seemingly lost in thought.

I’d give Clive his hundred grand back in exchange for the ability to read her thoughts right now. The night had been a roller coaster of surprises, but the elephant in the room—the quiet admissions we’d allowed ourselves before Ivy’s return at dinner—remained undiscussed.

“I guess neither of us won the wager,” I said, breaking the silence.

“I guess not.” Scarlett pulled her attention away from the window as I pulled up in front of her flat. “But I’m sure Ivy will agree to a second date if you call her up. You’re the Asher Donovan.”

Her tone contained lighthearted teasing, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She was still distracted by something.

“I’m not sure she will,” I said. “And I’m not sure I want her to.”

The engine cut off, bathing us in silence.

Moonlight poured through the windows and highlighted the emotions fluttering across her face.

The elephant grew larger, pressing against the windows and into my lungs until it was hard to breathe.

If there was ever a moment to rethink our pact, it was now.

Come on, darling.

Just when I thought Scarlett would give in to the haze thickening the air, she tore her gaze away from mine.

“Thank you for the lift,” she said, her voice steady but her fingers shaking slightly as she unbuckled her seat belt. “And for dinner. It’s been…an interesting night.”

My eyes lingered on her for an extra beat before I faced forward again, my jaw tight. “You’re welcome.”

I didn’t offer to walk her to her door, and she didn’t look back as she scrambled out of the car and into the building like the hounds of hell were nipping at her feet.

However, I did wait for the lights to switch on in her flat before I left.

Frustration chafed beneath my skin. I couldn’t marshal my thoughts into any semblance of order. They scattered all over the place, ping-ponging between reason and emotion, practicality and desire.

I wish I had someone to talk to about this. My old teammates at Holchester weren’t speaking to me, and Adil and Noah were on holiday with their families. Even if they weren’t, I didn’t know my teammates well enough yet to unload on them about my love life.

That was one of the downsides of fame that no one talked about—the more success you gained, the fewer friends you had.

It hadn’t been a problem before. I’d never met a woman who made me question what I wanted the way Scarlett did, but now…

I swiped a hand over my face as indecision took root inside me.

Does this feel platonic to you?

We’ll pretend the kiss never happened.

Are you enjoying your date with him?

You called her darling.

I’m not sure she will. And I’m not sure I want to.

I made it halfway down the street before I came to an abrupt halt. Thankfully, there were no cars behind me.

What the fuck am I doing?

I didn’t know whether it was the empty roads or the quiet night, but clarity unfolded with sudden, blazing sharpness.

I wanted Scarlett. She wanted me. Yes, our relationship would have obstacles, and yes, overcoming them seemed impossible, but fuck it, how would we know unless we tried? Impossible things happened every day.

Look at Eldorra’s royal couple. They overcame a centuries-old law to be together.

Even my rise to stardom would’ve been deemed unfathomable—the solidly working-class boy from a working-class town, whose teachers were so certain he’d amount to nothing, growing up to become the highest paid player in the Premier League.

Every problem had a solution. I was determined to find ours.

But in the meantime…

I switched gears and pulled a sharp U-turn. My heart thundered in my throat as I parked in front of Scarlett’s flat, cut the engine, and ran upstairs. The main door was unlocked, which couldn’t be safe, but I chose not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Please don’t be asleep yet.

If she wasn’t up and I waited to say what I had to say, I might lose my nerve and we would end up right back in limbo. That couldn’t happen.

I knocked on her door.

Once. Twice.

My pulse was a relentless anvil against my veins, and the hammering worsened when Scarlett answered the door.

She was still wearing her dress from dinner, but she was barefoot and makeup free.

Her eyes widened. “Asher? What are you⁠—”

She didn’t get a chance to finish her question before I stepped forward, grabbed the back of her neck, and crushed her mouth to mine.

Her gasp of surprise traveled into my lungs, and there was a taut, suspended moment when I thought she might push me away.

But then her gasp turned into a moan, and her lips parted for mine, and I knew nothing would be the same ever again.