The Striker (Gods of the Game Book 1)
The Striker: Chapter 10

I hated to admit it, but moving our training to Asher’s house was a genius idea. The facilities were better, there was more privacy, and I didn’t have to take the hot, jam-packed tube home every day.

The armored car did ease my anxieties, and Earl was an excellent driver. By our third day together, I was comfortable enough to release my death grip on my seat.

That was also the day Asher and I experimented with outdoor drills for the first time. We trained in the open-air gym for a while before he offered to show me the grounds during our break.

I’d agreed, thinking it would be a quick walk. I was wrong.

I knew his estate was big, but I hadn’t realized how massive it truly was until we reached the southwest corner.

“You built a football pitch in your back garden?” I stared at the sea of perfectly cut grass. White lines marked the most important playing areas, and nets anchored both ends of the pitch. “That’s mad.”

“It’s not an official pitch.” Asher lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. “It’s a mini pitch.”

“A pitch is a pitch.” I kept my eyes glued to his backyard and not on the flash of chiseled abs and tanned skin.

Admittedly, calling this place a back garden was like calling Versailles a house. Besides the football pitch—sorry, mini pitch—it boasted an Olympic-size pool with a waterfall and attached Jacuzzi, heated cabanas, two clay tennis courts, a wisteria walkway, and an outdoor dining area.

I couldn’t imagine how much Asher shelled out for landscaping every year; the flowers alone must’ve cost tens of thousands of pounds.

“Fair enough. You play?” Asher grabbed a football from the ground and tossed it lazily in the air. He caught it with his toe, flipped it to one knee, and bounced it to his other knee.

“No.” I grabbed the ball, halting his impromptu show. “Show-off.”

His eyes gleamed with laughter. “Not even a little? You must’ve kicked a ball around once or twice.”

“Kicking a ball around isn’t the same as playing.”

“Let’s see.” He snatched the ball back and dribbled it onto the pitch. “First person to score a goal wins bragging rights and a pint of ice cream.”

“That’s stupid. There’s no goalkeeper!” I yelled. Unguarded football nets were so large a toddler could score if they got close enough, which meant the challenge was retaining possession of the ball and, well, getting close enough.

Asher’s laughter drifted across the pitch.

Oh, screw it. My competitive drive kicked into high gear, and I sprinted after him.

My muscles protested immediately. I’d avoided high-impact activities like running since my accident, but I gritted my teeth and focused on the satisfaction of scoring on Asher.

I caught up to him surprisingly fast. I suspected he’d held back for my sake. Even so, it was frustratingly difficult to steal the ball from him. I succeeded twice, but he stole it back almost as quickly as he lost it.

“You’re better than you let on.” He wasn’t even breathing hard, the bastard. “Come on. Put that fancy footwork of yours to the test.”

I issued a little growl that earned me another laugh. Then we were off again, and my mind blacked out everything except for the need to score.

I may have been better than I let on, but there was a reason Asher was the top-paid footballer in the world. Playing against him, even in an unserious two-person match, was like pitting David against Goliath (if David lost). Nothing could’ve prepared me for it.

I’d watched him play before, of course. There wasn’t a single person in the UK who didn’t remember his legendary halfway line goal against Liverpool or his spectacular header in the quarterfinals of the last World Cup.

Asher was incredible onscreen, but up close, in person? He was magic.

He matched me turn for turn, feint for feint. He intuited what I’d do before I did it, and he was barely trying.

Sweat poured down my face and neck, but sheer stubbornness held me together.

One goal. I just needed one goal.

A wheezing cough rattled my lungs. I should’ve warmed up or drank more water before I came out here.

Asher slowed, concern sliding over his face. I took the opportunity and attempted a steal. To my shock, it worked.

However, my triumph was short-lived. Asher reacted so fast, he almost regained possession immediately, but I wasn’t letting go that easily this time.

Back and forth, left and right. Somewhere during our tussle, our legs tangled.

I hit the grass with jarring force, and I didn’t have time to move before Asher fell too. He braced himself against the ground so he didn’t totally crush me, but he was still there—right on top of me.

We froze in simultaneous shock. If someone were to come across us at that moment, I imagined we’d pass for stone statues in Medusa’s garden, entangled and unmoving.

My heart rate slowed to a crawl. Despite his braced position, his body pressed against mine enough for me to feel every ridge and plane.

All that muscle pinning me to the ground should’ve been uncomfortable. Instead, it was oddly comforting, like a shield against the outside world.

An extremely well-toned, sculpted shield.

I tried and failed to swallow past the dryness in my throat. I really should’ve drank more water earlier.

My tongue darted out, wetting my lips unconsciously. Asher’s eyes dipped to my mouth, and the remaining oxygen in the air snuffed out with a near audible puff.

Move. Breathe. Push him off. Do something.

My brain fired commands at me, and I didn’t heed a single one. I couldn’t. I was stuck, trapped by the heat of his body and the soft rise and fall of his chest against mine.

I was tingling all over. Either my muscles were shutting down from overexertion or it was an involuntary reaction to Asher’s proximity. Or both. Either way, the stutter in my chest when his gaze drifted up and met mine again couldn’t be healthy.

Did he always have those golden flecks in his eyes? They were absurdly beautiful, like splashes of sunlight on a verdant hill.

A hint of aftershave and sweat teased my nostrils. Instead of smelling gross, it smelled earthy and masculine and utterly addicting.

Leave it to Asher Donovan to make sweating sexy.

His chin lowered. If I tilted mine up, we would⁠—

The soft but distinct whirr of a shutter snapping smashed into the moment with the grace of a wrecking ball.

Our heads jerked toward the sound, and my jaw dropped when I saw a man peeking out at us from over the greenery.

“What the fuck?”

Asher’s outburst mirrored my feelings exactly. The cameraman had somehow climbed over the twelve-foot-hedge bordering the grounds and was capturing our interaction with a super zoom lens.

Now that he’d been spotted, he didn’t waste time. He lowered his camera, tucked tail, and ran right as Asher pushed off me and bolted after him.

After a beat, I followed suit.

Our impromptu football match earlier (if one could call it that) had sucked away most of my energy. My entire body ached, especially my legs, which burned with each step. A fresh surge of adrenaline was the only thing propping me up.

Luckily, there was a shortcut through the hedges to the driveway, so I didn’t have to traverse the entire mansion.

By the time I turned the corner, Asher had already caught and restrained the pap by pinning his arms behind his back. A fancy Nikon lay in several pieces next to them.

“You broke my camera!” the man howled. His bulbous nose reddened.“That’s an eight-thousand-pound lens!”

“Your lens?” Asher twisted his arms harder, and the man let out a pained yelp. “You trespassed on my property. Took photos of us during my personal time.” His eyes glittered like emerald knives. “I put up with your bullshit when I’m in public, but make no mistake. If I ever catch you anywhere near either of us again, I’ll break more than your camera. Understand?”

The man’s mouth flattened into a mulish line.

I didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t one of the regulars who’d hung around RAB when we trained there, and the ease with which Asher caught him suggested he was new to the job. If so, he’d made a terrible new enemy.

“I said, do you understand?” Asher twisted his arms again, and the man’s stubbornness dissolved into a pathetic cry.

“Yes.”

“Good. Now get the fuck off my property before I change my mind.”

“I can’t believe you caught him,” I said once the pap left. He must’ve had at least a minute head start on Asher. “And I can’t believe you broke his camera.”

“He got off easy with the broken camera.” The cords in Asher’s neck bunched with tension.

I’d never seen him so furious. I didn’t know it was possible for him to be furious. He was always so good-natured, but right now, with his body coiled and his face creased in a scowl, he was the picture of pure, unadulterated anger.

However, with the pap gone and air quiet once more, the anger slowly drained, leaving visible frustration behind.

“I need to upgrade my security.” Asher rubbed a hand over his face. He sounded tired, and a needle of sympathy pierced my gut. “I didn’t want to turn this place into a bloody surveillance state, but I can’t have people sneaking in like that. If we hadn’t caught him in time…”

A chill rippled over my skin. In one month, we’d had two close calls with the paparazzi. How long until our luck ran out?

“How did he get in?”

Breaking onto school grounds was one thing; breaking onto someone’s private property was another.

“My landscaping crew was in and out while we were training. He must’ve slipped in with them.” Asher’s jaw clenched. “People like him are fucking vultures, sniffing around for any scraps they can replace.”

The needle of sympathy dug deeper. “Being in the public eye like that must be awful.”

Vincent dealt with the same thing to a certain degree, but no athlete sold headlines like Asher. The scrutiny and invasions of privacy he faced were on another level.

“I could handle it if they were just coming after me. I know what I signed up for,” Asher said. “But you’re getting caught up in this mess, and that’s not fucking okay.”

His words pulsed in my veins, filling them with uncomfortable warmth. “Oh. I…” I stumbled for a second before I regained my composure. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m a big girl. I can handle an out-of-shape pap.”

That brought forth a small curve in his lips. “Says the person panting like she just ran a marathon.”

“Give me a break. It’s been years since I ran like that.” My jelly-like legs confirmed my long break with cardio.

The hint of a smile vanished. “Shit. I forgot how high-impact running is. It’s not good for chronic pain, is it?”

The warmth in my veins melted into honey. Hell, everything melted. At this rate, they’d have to scrape me off the driveway with a spatula. “You looked up chronic pain?”

A wash of dull red colored Asher’s cheekbones. “Out of curiosity, that’s all,” he said. “I didn’t know much about it, so I figured I should learn the basics. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Was it normal for a human heart to beat this fast? I had my annual checkup a few weeks ago. The doctor said everything looked normal, but maybe I needed a second opinion because something strange was going on inside my chest.

Asher’s eyes flickered with an array of emotions I couldn’t decipher. “Do you want to take a bath?”

The abrupt switch in subjects was so absurd, it jolted me back into normality. “Excuse me?”

“A bath. For inflammation. I take one after a particularly intense workout. It helps with recovery.”

“Inflammation. Right.” Of course he wasn’t asking if you wanted to take a bath with him, idiot. “It’s okay. I can take one at home.”

Except a bath did sound wonderful, and home was at least an hour away if I factored in afternoon traffic.

The remaining adrenaline drained from my limbs. I wanted to lie down on the driveway and let the sunbaked stone take away my soreness.

“Are you sure? I have a million guest baths. It’s not a big deal.” Asher’s frown suggested he’d picked up on my dip in energy. “Traffic is a nightmare at this time of day. If you’re not feeling well, I don’t want things getting worse while you’re stuck in Piccadilly.”

No. It would be too weird for me to take a bath at a trainee’s house, especially when said trainee was Asher Donovan.

I should absolutely, positively, 100 percent not accept his offer.

Except I was so tired, and my body hurt, and if I didn’t sit down right now, I might pass out for the second time in front of him and wouldn’t that be embarrassing?

“I…” Don’t do it. Suck it up. Wait until you’re home. “Okay. If you don’t mind.”