Page 48 of Siren's Game

But he isn't. He won't be. Maybe his acting just fooled me, but why would he continue with Josh out of earshot?

"Touché. But don't worry, I won't attempt to seduce you or anything. Only public meetings." He holds up his hand, palm facing me. "Scout’s honor."

"You weren't in the scouts, it means nothing," I chuckle and shake my head at him, shooting Asher a glare as he walks through the cafeteria to his manager who’s buried behind a laptop screen on the other side of the room.

"Alright, let's go," I say with a sigh as I climb into Asher's car, met with a cold silence. Oh boy, he’s still angry. This is the first time that he didn't open or close the car door for me. Because I met with Josh this one time?

Seriously, does he think I hooked up with him in one of the stinky locker rooms or what is his problem?

"I got you a jersey," he says, eerily composed, and nods towards his back seat. I sigh when I see the red and white fabric crumpled in the middle seat. "Wear it."

"I might if you say please." I raise my eyebrow at him and see his whole body move with a deep annoyed sigh as his fingers flex around the steering wheel.

"Please."

He peels out of his parking spot and drives us out of the parking garage as I reach back there, unfolding the fabric to see what I’m dealing with.

The damned jacket is way too big for me, and I close my eyes, realizing exactly what he or Van or whoever bought this thing is doing.

It's supposed to look like I'm wearing his clothes. Innocent enough, right? But combined with the lack of communication about it, I’m livid.

Only a few more weeks. Less than two months and everything is done. I can wear this damned jacket as long as I keep reminding myself that it's going to be over soon.

With another big sigh, I pull it on before I buckle my seatbelt.

The drive goes by slowly and silently as he broods and I try to come up with a plan to get revenge for him ambushing me with this damned jacket.

It’s ridiculous, such a mundane thing to be angry about, but that doesn’t stop me.

If he'd let me know before, I definitely would have worn clothes that fit the team colors. Now I look like an idiot, dressed in all black and then a bright red and white jacket. I’m a fashion icon, and I’m going to look ridiculous. I can already see the headlines highlighting my fashion faux pas.

It's going to take me ages and a few pleading calls to my stylist to redeem myself.

Just as we arrive at the stadium, I get an idea. Oh, he’s not going to like this.

But I don’t give a fuck. As he parks the car, I rummage in my handbag, and when he turns the car off, I have my lipstick in my hand.

"Look here for a second," I demand, and he does, his eyes narrow and suspicion wrinkling his forehead. I swipe the pad of my thumb over the bright red lipstick, then smudge it on his lips. And his cheek for good measure.

"What the fuck?" He jerks back and looks at me with anger simmering in his eyes.

"Payback," I point out nonchalantly and put the cap back on my lipstick. "You want me to wear clothes that look like they're yours? You can look like we've had a make out session."

Without asking, I reach my hand out and pull a few strands of his hair from his bun, then pull at his top knot a bit to make it crooked. Finally I reach up to my own lips and smudge my lipstick in the corner of my mouth and run my hands through my hair.

"Alright, we can go."

"You're trouble." For the first time today, I hear him chuckle and he shakes his head at my antics.

"No shit, Sherlock." I roll my eyes and jump out of the car, not even giving him the chance to get to my door.

We’re in the car park for workers and VIPs so thank God, there are no photographers around yet. He grabs a hat from his backseat and rounds the car until he reaches me, then puts it on my head and my breath hitches when he's suddenly so close and touching me, his surprisingly gentle hands softly pulling at a few strands of my hair so they’re not trapped.

Fuck.

He nods, satisfied with how my hair looks under the hat and grabs my hand to pull me after him.

"Slow down, we're not being followed." I might almost be as tall as him, but even I have trouble keeping up with these high heels and his quick pace.

---