The Striker (Gods of the Game, #1)

by Ana Huang

Moments like this meant I’d made it and proved my critics wrong—which I had, many times over. After all, I was Asher Fucking Donovan.

a larger part boiled down to the fact that I, the league’s top scorer, and Vincent, the club’s star defender and captain, despised each other.

I didn’t know much about Scarlett DuBois, but given she was related to Vincent, I knew one thing: I wasn’t going to like her. At all.

I’d never seen Mystery Girl before, but for some reason, I had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time we ran into each other.

I didn’t wish for much outside the realm of football, but I’d give up one of my cars to see her again. Maybe. Possibly. Definitely.

“I’m a ballerina. I live by rules.” “That’s too bad.” The light finally turned green, and I broke eye contact to focus on the road. “You’d have more fun without them.”

Like it or not, I was stuck with Asher for the rest of the summer.

I also didn’t make a habit of trusting anyone outside my family and Carina, but in that moment, it was hard to remember why I should keep Asher at arm’s length.

They were the reasons I gave him, but they weren’t the only reasons. I would never tell him what the third was, though.

The most unexpected thing I’d encountered today wasn’t our impromptu trip to Asher’s house or the contents of the new studio; it was his thoughtfulness.

Everything was better coming from her.

If her smile was a burglar, her laugh was a fucking thief because I was pretty sure she just stole a piece of my heart from right out under me.

“Yeah, screw what Vincent thinks,” Carina said after Asher was out of earshot. “He’s so into you, and he checks all your criteria. Good-looking, single, employed, and not a prat? Hello, perfect match.”

“So what if it does? That’s my problem, not yours.” I cocked an eyebrow, drunk off potent whiskey and the danger swirling in the air. “Why are you so interested in what I do with Clive, Asher? Are you jealous?” I threw his question from Monday back at him. “What if I am?”

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

No one had ever looked at me like that, like they could see past all my shields and pretenses to the imperfections I fought to hide. Like those imperfections didn’t matter, and not only did they not matter, but they were a reason for appreciation instead of an obstacle. It was the first time anyone had seen me for me.

“You need anything?” My chest clenched. It was a casual question, but it was the casualness that made it so intimate. He wasn’t trying to care; he simply did.

“If it makes you feel better,” I said. “I prefer Asher to Asher Donovan.”

Also, do you think triceratops fuck with their horns?

Cackling

“Asher Donovan, I was so wrong about you at the beginning.”

“But I’m sorry you missed it. I know how much it meant to you.” “I’m not,” he said simply. “It doesn’t mean as much as being with you.”

We’d spent the better part of the summer preparing for the storm. Well, the storm was here, and he was right: we’d get through it together. We didn’t have another choice.

I would’ve felt the same way because racing is what lost me the one thing—the one person—I care about most in the world. You.”

He wasn’t perfect, but he was perfect for me.