Remember what happened with your Lambo?
That wasn’t a scandal. That was a tragedy
ADIL
A tragic scandal.
I think they finally rebuilt that wall you destroyed
It was overdue for a renovation anyway. I did them a favor
ADIL
Ask the National Historic Society if they agree
NOAH
Stop texting me
NOAH
I went to the gym and came back to 86 new messages
ADIL
This is a group chat. Texting is literally the point
Noah Wilson left the conversation.
Adil Chakir added Noah Wilson to the conversation.
NOAH
I’m blocking you
ADIL
That’s very un-Nice Single Dad of you. You have an image to protect, you know
ADIL
Noah
ADIL
Hello?
ADIL
You didn’t actually block me, did you?
ADIL
Wilson!!
I shook my head. If Noah had his way, he’d show up to work, do his job, then immediately go home to his daughter, but Adil had somehow dragged him into our Blackcastle Baddies group chat (yes, that was really the name, and no, Adil wouldn’t change it).
We had another chat with the entire team, but I rarely posted there. The other guys were nice enough on their own, but Adil and Noah were the only ones who didn’t treat me differently when Vincent was around.
An incoming call disrupted Adil’s spiral over being blocked.
“Hey, boss.” I tucked my phone between my ear and shoulder as I flipped through the post. Every week, I received bags of items to sign for my official fan club. Some players ignored their fan mail altogether, but I tried to sign when I had the time. It didn’t require much effort, and it made people happy. “I haven’t crashed any cars yet, but I promise I’m working on it.”
“You do that, and I will personally fly to London to slap some sense into you,” Sloane said without a trace of humor.
I suppressed a laugh.
Coach was the boss on the pitch, but as my publicist, Sloane Kensington was in charge of everything related to my image (much to her chagrin). I paid her a boatload of money for dealing with me, but honestly, I was surprised she hadn’t quit yet.
Then again, Sloane and “quit” didn’t belong in the same sentence. She’d soldier through a trench of paparazzi bottom-feeders and internet trolls before she gave up.
“If you’re finished with your unamusing jokes, I’d like to remind you of your
Sports UK interview on Thursday,” she said. “I’ll connect you to the reporter at noon sharp. Also, I spoke with Leon about Aoki Watches. They’re renewing your brand ambassador contract. I’ll send you details for the Japanese press tour once they’re confirmed.”
“Perfect.” Leon was my business manager, and Aoki Watches was my most lucrative brand sponsorship. “You’re worth your weight in gold.”
“Instead of gold, pay me by staying out of trouble. I mean it, Asher. I don’t want to see you near a street race unless the internet and media collectively implode and I won’t have to deal with the resulting headlines.”
“Does that mean if I comply, I won’t have to pay your monthly retainer? I just bought a new Bugatti. Cash is a little tight.” It wasn’t, but I was curious as to how she’d respond.
She hung up on me.
Well, then. There was my answer.
I didn’t have any urgent mail, so I set it aside for the moment and walked to my garage. The custom-built space was the size of an airplane hangar, and it housed all fifteen of my cars, including my favorite vintage Jaguar convertible and the Bugatti in question.
The striking all-black model was so rare, there were only three in existence. Quad-turbo 8.0-liter W16 engine, six exhaust tips, seven-speed dual-clutch transmission, custom headlights-it was a thing of beauty.
I ran a loving hand over the hood before I climbed in and switched on the ignition. The powerful growl of the engine roared to life, and an electric thrill zipped down my spine.
Besides football, driving was the only thing that truly made me feel alive. In the dead of night, when the streets were quieter and the music was blasting, I could clear my head and think.
For the next few hours, that was exactly what I did as I pulled out of the garage and took my new car out for a spin.
However, instead of vibing to the music and brainstorming strategies for the next season, my mind kept conjuring images of dark hair and gray eyes.
I shoved them aside.
They came back.
Jesus.
I rubbed a hand over my face and tried to steer my thoughts toward something, anything, other than a certain ex-ballerina.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.