Page 78 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

“I will.”Stop talking.But I couldn’t. It was like my mouth had a mind of its own. “He’s taking me to the Golden Wharf this Friday. It’s supposed to be one of the best restaurants in the city.”

“Great.”

“Afterward, we might head to this secret cocktail bar that?—”

“I get it,” Asher bit out. He faced me again, his expression stamped with irritation. “Can we start training, or will you continue to regale me with unsolicited details about your love life?”

I suppressed a flinch, but he was right. Why was I provoking him? We should be working, not engaging in this ridiculous back and forth.

However, things had been so coldlycivilbetween us that it was nice to see sparks fly again.

“I guess things didn’t work out with your West End suitor,” Asher said, more calmly this time.

My brows knitted. “West End suitor?”

“The guy you went to see a West End show with earlier this summer.”

What is he—ohhhh.He was talking aboutmy girls’ night with Carina. We’d watched a musical and gotten smashed on blueberry cocktails afterward.

I hadn’t outrightsaidit was a date, but I’d led Asher to believe it was a romantic outing. Even back then, I’d unconsciously been trying to make him jealous.

The realization struck with the force of an anvil. I swallowed, wishing I had a pair of magic scissors so I could snip my way out of this tangled mess.

When it came to Asher,shouldandwantbattled for dominance over my decisions, and the winner changed by the hour.

I hated myself for how wishy-washy that made me. I kissed him, then I ran away. I told him to pretend the kiss never happened, then I tried to provoke him by discussing my upcoming date with Clive. I wanted to make him jealous, but I wanted him to leave me alone.

I was turning into the type of person I hated, the kind who couldn’t make up her mind and flip-flopped between what she said and what she did.

The problem was, I didn’t know how to stop it.

“No,” I said in response to Asher’s statement. “It didn’t work out romantically. We decided we’re better off as friends.”

It was the truth…if I stretched the truth out and dipped it in a bowl of lie-by-omission sauce.

“I see.” Asher’s jaw ticked again. “It’s funny you mentioned the Golden Wharf. I have a date there this Friday too.”

I couldn’t hold back a snort. “Oh, please.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“What are the chances you have a date at the same restaurant on the same night as me right after I tell you about it?”

“What are the chances you run into Clive at some hole-in-the-wall cinema a week after meeting him when you’ve never seen him there before?” he countered.

Dammit. He got me there.

“Who’s your date?” I asked, still suspicious.

“Someone I met over the weekend. She’s cute, funny, and loves football. I’m excited to take her out.”

The fact he was clearly trying to make me jealous didn’t stop me from feeling, well, jealous. “Great.”

“It is.”

More silence, punctured only by the instrumentals soaring in the background.

“We should go on a double date,” Asher said after ten long, tense seconds.

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