The Striker: Chapter 4

I wish I could’ve snapped a photo of Asher’s face when Vincent announced I was his sister. If his jaw had dropped any lower, he’d have to reattach it.

I shouldn’t have led him on by keeping my name to myself, but part of me had been amused at seeing the Asher Donovan flabbergasted by my refusal to fall at his feet like every other woman in the world.

I wasn’t above fangirling or celebrity crushes. For example, if I ever met Nate Reynolds, my favorite actor, I’d probably scream and pass out. I just didn’t fangirl over footballers; being related to one really took the shine out of their glory.

“Your sister?” Asher finally found his words. His gaze traveled between me and Vincent.

I understood why he was so shocked. Our parents couldn’t have natural-born children, so they’d adopted us when we were babies. Vincent’s dark eyes and light brown skin were the polar opposites of my gray eyes and pale complexion, but even though we weren’t biologically related, he was my brother in every other sense of the word.

Not a lot of people knew we were adopted, though, and it was always amusing to see their reactions when they found out we were siblings.

“Scarlett DuBois,” I said with a hint of apology. I really should’ve said something earlier. “Your new trainer.”

Asher cut a glance in my direction, and an unsettling spark of electricity danced over my skin.

Anti-footballer biases aside, the man was gorgeous. As in, gave-Nate-Reynolds-a-run-for-his-money, movie-star gorgeous.

Thick dark hair flopped over his forehead, framing sculpted cheekbones and a sensual mouth. Unfairly long lashes fringed the greenest eyes I’d ever seen, and every inch of his body was chiseled to high-performance perfection.

But the attraction wasn’t even really about his looks, though they were objectively flawless. It was the charisma, the utter ease with which he moved in the spotlight that made it impossible to look away. Asher was one of the most famous athletes in the world, yet he possessed the down-to-earth charm of the boy next door.

Raw masculinity wrapped in cool confidence. The combination was so magnetic, even my antagonism toward footballers couldn’t dull it. If he weren’t my brother’s teammate and rival, I would be swooning big-time.

Except he is, so you need to get it together.

“Anyway.” I cleared my throat, my skin still tingling from our brief touch earlier. It must be the static from my clothes; that was what I got for wearing wool in May. “Let’s start. The focus of our training will be strength, stamina, and flexibility. We’ll start with warm-ups, then move to footwork.”

I gradually relaxed as the session got underway and my unease over Asher’s proximity faded beneath my desire to do a good job. I hadn’t wanted this role, but now that I had it, I was going to excel, dammit.

“Let’s move into some deep stretches,” I said after we finished basic warm-ups. “We’re going to lift our right leg onto the barre, breathe, and lower our chest to our leg. Go slowly, take your time…”

I demonstrated the movement for them, luxuriating in the stretch and the gentle music playing in the background. This was the most calming part of⁠—

“Dammit!”

My head jerked up at Vincent’s curse. I lowered my leg and turned to see him struggling to get his foot up on the barre. Football didn’t naturally develop flexibility the way dance and gymnastics did, so some stretches were difficult for the players.

However, Asher was already in the correct position and reveling in my brother’s difficulties.

“It’s a simple stretch, DuBois,” he drawled. “But it’s okay if you can’t do it. We can’t all have natural talent.”

Vincent’s face flushed. He hated being second best, especially to Asher. I never said it out loud, but I suspected that was the reason why he did what he did in the last World Cup.

If he’d been up against anyone else, he wouldn’t have faked that injury. He despised diving, but his rivalry with Asher often made him do stupid things.

“I’m not surprised you have such a low bar for what you consider talent,” Vincent snapped. “Newsflash, Donovan, tricks and flashy goals don’t mean you’re better than other people.”

“That’s not what the Ballon d’Or jurors thought when they presented me with my fourth award last year.” Asher had won the prestigious award for best player of the season four times; Vincent had won it twice. “Besides, it appears that for you, the barre isn’t low enough.” Asher smirked at Vincent’s form.

My brother’s knuckles whitened around the barre. “You⁠—”

“Enough!” I said sharply. “Let’s get back to work. If you want to argue, do it on your own time.”

They lapsed into mulish silence, but to their credit, they didn’t attempt to pick a fight with each other again during the session.

I modified some of the stretches for Vincent, and we spent the next hour drilling into different footwork techniques, which was where football and ballet had the biggest crossover.

Neither of them had cross-trained with dance before, so I took it easy on them the first day. Even so, by the time our session ended, everyone was exhausted and dripping with sweat.

“I take back everything I said about football being more strenuous than ballet.” Vincent guzzled a bottle of water. His face gleamed with perspiration. “I can’t believe you did this for fun for half your life.”

“It wasn’t just for fun. It was my job,” I reminded him. A pang hit me at the word was, as in former, as in it was no longer my job. Not the professional dance part, anyway.

And yes, I had found ballet fun when I was younger. I’d loved the discipline, the choreography, and the costumes, but most of all, I’d loved discovering something I had a natural talent for. While my peers stressed about what they were going to do after graduation, I already had my future locked in.

Then a rainy summer night stole that future away, and I was left with the pieces of what could’ve been.

A wave of prickles swarmed my skin. I turned and wiped down the barre, hoping Vincent didn’t pick up on my mood shift.

I loved that he didn’t tiptoe around my past the way our parents did, but sometimes, I wasn’t in the right mental space to talk about it.

“If the sessions are too hard for you, you could quit,” Asher said. He grabbed a wipe to help me clean the barre, and this time, the tingles suffusing my body had nothing to do with the ghosts of my past. “I’m sure Coach would understand.”

Vincent’s eyes sharpened. “Oh, I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about you.” He tossed his empty bottle into his duffel bag. “After all, only one person in this room has a World Cup to their name, and it’s not you.”

The temperature plummeted to subarctic levels.

Asher’s face hardened as I suppressed a wince. Even I knew bringing up the World Cup was a no-no around him, and I barely knew the man.

“Perhaps not, but at least I don’t have to cheat to win.”

“Cheating according to whom? Not the ref. Not the⁠—”

“Stop it!” My interjection sliced through their argument for the second time that day. “I let your earlier spat slide, but I won’t do that again. This is a training session, not a cage fight. I don’t know how you operate in your club, but in my studio, you will behave like adults and you will act like professionals. If you can’t or won’t do that, then I’m happy to relay that message to your manager because I did not sign up to be your babysitter, mediator, or therapist. Is that clear?”

Asher and Vincent gaped at me, their brewing fight forgotten.

I rarely yelled, but between my unwanted reactions to Asher and the prospect of dealing with their bickering for an entire summer, I’d just about had it.

“Is that clear?” I repeated.

“Crystal.” Asher responded first, his earlier scowl melting into something akin to appreciation as he examined me.

I almost preferred the scowl.

“You got it, sis.” Vincent offered a cheeky smile when I glared at him, but he didn’t attempt to provoke Asher again. Well, Asher had provoked him first, but he’d escalated it by bringing up the World Cup. “I’ll see you for dinner Thursday?”

I wasn’t fooled. He wanted to remind Asher that he was the odd man out in this trio, but if he thought I’d show him favoritism just because he was my brother, he was sorely mistaken.

Nevertheless, I nodded. “Remember, it’s your turn to choose.”

Vincent and I had a standing Thursday night sibling dinner every week (barring travel and club obligations). I’d stayed in London with our mother while he’d moved to Paris with our father after our parents’ divorce, so we only saw each other during holidays growing up.

After he transferred to Blackcastle a few years ago, we tried to make up for lost time. Nothing beat family, especially when you were surrounded by as many wannabe freeloaders and starfuckers as Vincent was.

“I have a Match interview in an hour, so I’ll see you later.” He shot a warning glare at Asher before leaving.

I shook my head. The Match mention was obviously aimed at Asher. The two competed for press and sponsorships off the pitch as much as they did for glory on the pitch. Everything was a dick measuring contest to them, and they were constantly trying to one-up the other.

“So,” Asher said as I packed up and got ready to leave, too. Their session was my last of the day, and I was looking forward to a nice, long bath at home. It helped with the aches and pains. Plus, I liked the bubbles. “I finally know your name.”

“Did it live up to your expectations?” I quipped.

“Half of it did. You look like a Scarlett.” His gaze briefly touched my mouth, and my skin warmed yet again.

“Ah, but the DuBois threw you off.”

“You could say that.” The careless grin he threw my way shouldn’t have made my pulse race, but it did. “However, I have to commend you on achieving something that I thought was impossible.”

“What’s that?”

“Making me like someone with the last name DuBois.”

I rolled my eyes even as I fought an exasperated laugh. “You are an incorrigible flirt.”

“Flirt? Yes. Incorrigible? That’s a matter of opinion.” Asher followed me into the hall, his long legs keeping easy pace with my brisk stride. “Besides, I have to be extra nice to you now that I know you’re Vincent’s sister. You’ve suffered enough.”

My laugh finally broke free, and his answering smile soothed my sting of guilt over laughing at Vincent’s expense.

I truly wasn’t prepared for how charismatic Asher was in person. I’d glimpsed it at the pub last week, but the effect had been muted by the beer spill and our crowded surroundings.

Being alone with him after seeing him in action during training and bearing the full weight of his attention when there was no one else around…that was a whole other matter.

He commanded attention the way no one else did. It was dangerous.

“Are you two stepsiblings?” Asher asked when I didn’t respond.

“Adopted.” It wasn’t a secret, though we didn’t go around screaming about it. “Before you say anything else, this…” I gestured between us. “Ends now.”

Amusement slid across his infuriatingly perfect face. “What’s this?”

“The flirting. It’s unprofessional.”

“I’m afraid flirting is part of my nature, darling.”

Ugh. It should be illegal for any word to sound as delicious as darling did in Asher’s deep, silky voice.

“Well, change it or suppress it.”

“That’s not how nature works.”

“It is at RAB.” I spotted my salvation at the end of the hall. “Carina! There you are.” I sped up my pace. Finally, someone who could act as a buffer. “I was looking for you.”

She glanced up from the sheaf of papers in her hands. “You were? I mean, of course you were.” Her eyes fell on Asher, and I swore I heard a dreamy sigh. Oh, no. Not you too. “Hi.”

“Hey.” His grin could only be described as panty-melting. “I saw you at the pub last week with Scarlett, right? I’m Asher.”

He held out his hand, which she grabbed with far too much enthusiasm. “Carina. It’s so nice to officially meet you. I’m a huge fan.”

Asher upped the wattage of his smile. “Thanks. Perhaps you can help convince Scarlett I’m not the devil then?” He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t think she likes me very much.”

“Oh, she doesn’t like anyone very much, but don’t worry. She’ll come around. Eventually.”

“Excuse me.” I crossed my arms. “I’m standing right here.”

“Yes, I know,” my traitor of a friend said. She tacked one of the papers to the bulletin board. “Let me finish putting this up, then we can leave.”

Asher examined the sheet. “‘Staff showcase auditions,’” he read aloud. “‘This year’s featured performance will be Lorena.’ I’ve never heard of that ballet.”

“It’s a newer piece,” Carina explained. “Contemporary, not classic.”

“Which role are you auditioning for?” he asked me. “I’d love to see you onstage. Show me how the professionals do it.”

This time, even his smile wasn’t enough to unknot the twist in my gut.

“None,” I said. “I don’t participate in showcases.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” I avoided Carina’s sympathetic stare. Besides Vincent, she was the only person who knew my hang-ups around performing. “I don’t have time.”

“The showcase is a lot of work,” she added, backing me up. “Staff participation isn’t mandatory.”

“That’s too bad.” Asher appeared genuinely disappointed.

He wasn’t the only one. If I could snap my fingers and get one wish, I’d wish for the ability to dance onstage again, but life didn’t work that way.

“We have to go, or we’ll miss our train.” I hooked my arm through Carina’s and dragged her down the hall before he drew us deeper into conversation. “I’ll see you Wednesday for our next session,” I added, glancing back over my shoulder.

His mouth tilted up like he knew exactly why I was rushing off. “Looking forward to it, Scarlett.”

A breathless shiver slipped down my spine.

If the way he said darling was illegal, the velvety intimacy with which he uttered my name was downright sinful.

I didn’t look back, but the warmth of his gaze lingered long after we’d turned the corner.

“Wow,” Carina said once we were out of earshot.

She didn’t have to elaborate.

For better or worse, I knew exactly what she meant.