The Defender (Gods of the Game, #2)

by Ana Huang

It wasn’t even about the lack of romance in my life; it was about being someone’s priority. Having an anchor. Knowing there was a person out there who would be my first call if shit went down and vice versa.

I was a balloon drifting aimlessly through the crowd while everyone around me found their tethers.

Instead, I was greeted by a distressingly familiar face: light brown skin, dark brown eyes, and full lips that slowly curved into a smile that would make most women swoon. Key word: most. My own smile vanished. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Don’t sound so happy to see me, buttercup. I’ll get the wrong idea.” I suppressed a laugh at Brooklyn’s eye roll.

Long, wavy blonde hair that shimmered like gold in the sunlight. Big blue eyes. Full lips and an adorable smattering of freckles across her nose. It was like God had sent her specifically to test me—I mean, us. The team in general.

Brooklyn may look angelic, but she had the tongue of a viper. It was oddly attractive. I shouldn’t enjoy verbally sparring with her so much. She was the manager’s daughter, which meant he would rip my balls off if I looked at her the wrong way. On top of that, she was one of my sister’s best friends, which meant Scarlett would also rip my balls off if I looked at her the wrong way. It was a lot of potential danger for one girl. The problem was, I’d never liked playing it safe.

He was like the moon to my tide; his mere presence altered my gravitational field.

“Who’s the one who can’t control themself now?” “I never said I could control myself around you.”

mother? I was wrong. I hated her, full stop. Brooklyn wouldn’t slip up like that if someone hadn’t reinforced the sentiment that she wasn’t a “real” member of the family.

“The reason is because I couldn’t stop thinking about you while I was gone. Then I come home to see you sitting there, doing nothing except existing, and I can’t fucking breathe.” His voice was low and taut. “Maybe you were right. I am pissed at you because you can float through the kitchen, making pancakes and cracking jokes, while I’m using every goddamn ounce of willpower not to touch you. That’s why I don’t want to be around you. You’re killing me, and you don’t even know it.”

“Brooklyn.” I lowered my voice, my throat strained. “I’d lose every single fucking bet in the world if it meant I could be with you.”

“Et ça a un putain de goût, ma chérie.”

“Je serais toujours là pour toi, mon coeur. Quoiqu'il arrive.”

“If anything happened to you, I wouldn’t survive. Do you understand? Tu es plus que mon cœur. Tu es mon tout.”