Page 55 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

I drew in a deep breath and exhaled. The invisible confetti fluttered, finally coming to rest on the far side of the room. So tangible yet untouchable.

“Those rules of yours again, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Those rules of mine.”

We didn’t discuss Polina or Friday night again for the rest of our session. They weren’t the real issues at hand.

No, therealissue lay dormant, as patient and incendiary as a ticking bomb.

It was only a matter of time before it exploded.

CHAPTER 16

SCARLETT

“When do rehearsals start?” Carina asked.

“On Tuesday. They’re only once a week, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

Since it was a one-night school showcase and the staff members were seasoned professionals, the rehearsal schedule was less grueling than that of a normal dance company performance.

My stomach flip-flopped. It was Saturday, five days since Lavinia appointed me understudy, and my excitement had bled into nerves.

Luckily,Lorena’s choreography didn’t involve a lot of moves that would aggravate my old injuries. My doctor had given me her tentative approval pending a full physical (to make sure nothing had changed since our last checkup) and my promise that I would commit only to one performance.

“Don’t overexert yourself,” she’d told me yesterday. “Your body can handle performing again up to a certain point, but once you pass that point, you’ll be undoing a lot of progress. If you feel any abnormal discomfort at all, call me and your PT immediately.”

She didn’t have to worry about that; I had her and my physical therapist on speed dial.

“Perfect. So we’ll still have time for shopping and trolling for good-looking men with a stable job, decent personality and no significant other,” Carina joked, drawing my attention back to her.

We were having drinks at the Angry Boar, which was packed with happy hour patrons and a handful of lost-looking tourists. I usually steered clear of this pub because it was a magnet for footballers, but it had great weekend drink specials and the number of athletes usually thinned out during the offseason.

“Good-looking, single, employed,andnot a prat? InLondon? You’re asking for way too much,” I said.

Carina grinned. “A girl can dream. Speaking of dreams…” She raised her glass. “Here’s to the bestunderstudy for Lorena in all of RAB.”

“I’m theonlyunderstudy for the role at RAB.”

“Exactly.”

I laughed and clinked my glass against hers. “How’s the second job search going?” I asked. “Any luck?”

“No.” Her shoulders slumped. “Not unless I want to strip or bartend, both of which I’d be terrible at. If some drunken finance bro tries to grab my ass while I’m working, they’ll have to haul me off to jail.”

“It’s okay. You have time,” I said optimistically. “You’re only twenty-six, and Antarctica will always be there.”

Well, unless climate change did us all in, but I kept that caveat to myself.

“I hope so.” Carina shook her head. “This is so stupid. I can’t believe I’m looking for a second job to fund aholiday.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s a childhood dream.” I nudged her leg with my foot. “We don’t downplay those, remember?”

Carina’s top bucket-list item was to visit Antarctica before she got married. It may sound random to anyone who didn’t know her, but she’d watched a documentary about penguins when she was a kid and fell in love with them. Ten-year-old Carina got it in her head that shehadto visit them in Antarctica when she grew up, and it’d been a goal for her since. As for the married part, she said a husband would cramp her style.

Unfortunately, visiting one of the most remote locations on earth wasexpensive. An executive assistant salary barely covered the cost of rent in London, much less a sojourn to the South Pole, hence her desire for a second job.

I told her once that penguins existed in less expensive, more accessible countries like South Africa. The glare she gave me almost sent me six feet under, so Antarctica it was.

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