Page 10 of Shots Fired

Darcy stops at my front door, eyes following the sound before she sets them back on mine. “I guess I’ll see you around. Good luck with preseason and everything.”

“Why don’t you come to my house party next week?” I rush out.

She looks confused. “House party? I didn’t know you were having one.”

I wasn’t until five seconds ago.

“Yeah, first night of preseason training, the Blades all go out to Lloyd’s and then normally to a club. It’s good for team building, et cetera. I figured I’d host the after event at my place this time around.”

Immediately, she shakes her head, and I’m slammed with disappointment. “No can do, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?” I press, keen to know why.

“Because I’m out with the girls that night. We figure we’ll hit some bars and a club ourselves.”

I have no right to feel jealous, but I do. Ten out of ten, there will be another guy all over her—and consequently, my fist in his face.

“Where are you going?” I ask, although it sounds more like a demand.

She looks surprised at my tone. “Probably the cocktail bars in Williamsburg.”

Otherwise known as Hookup Central. I should know.

“Be careful, all right?” I tell her, unable to stop myself from sounding like an overbearing ass. “There are a lot of guys out there only after one thing.”

She reaches out and pats my cheek mockingly, the front door already half open as she makes to leave. “Yes, and that’s the idea. Girls like to have fun too. Catch you soon, Archer.”

CHAPTER THREE

DARCY

Living in Brooklyn isn’t everything I thought it would be.

When I was studying in Oxford, I worked a few placements in London, but none of that seemed surreal. Even when I spent a summer working for my now-estranged dad in Canary Wharf, it was just like any other day.

Here though, in New York, I feel like the smallest fish in the largest pond. I guess that’s because I am. When Jack got traded to the Blades, he repeatedly told me life would take some adjusting if I wanted to pull off my move to the USA. In true Darcy style, I brushed off his comments and focused on the exciting parts, like working as a junior associate editor in a fancy building for a leading fashion magazine,Glide,and searching for a place to live. It was all about finding my own feet after a shitty end to a relationship and finally coming to terms with the inevitable breakdown of another with my dad.

I was my own version of Carrie Bradshaw, living my bestSex and the Citylife, free from my cheating ex. My eyes were finallywide open to my manipulative, controlling father, and I was ready to move on.

For the most part, that’s exactly what I’m doing. I even invested in a pair of Prada heels and an overly restricting pencil skirt to carry off the look at work, and in the evenings, I hit the cocktail bars, having dragged unsuspecting colleagues along with me.

But here’s the thing: New York life isn’tfullytranspiring how I initially envisaged. I’m not saying I’m unhappy or lonely exactly. I’m simply saying … it’s different from what I imagined. Unlike my brother, who had a whole team of guys to play and practice with multiple times a week, I’m seeking out opportunities to socialize. If it wasn’t for Kendra, my sister-in-law; Collins Mackenzie, Sawyer’s new fiancée; and Jenna Miller, Kendra’s best friend and goalie for the New York Storm, I’d be lost. There are only so many times a twenty-three-year-old woman can turn up on her mum’s doorstep with a Chinese takeaway for two and a bottle of Pinot.

Sienna—another junior associate editor atGlide—genuinely rolled her eyes when I approached her desk an hour ago and asked what her plans were for tonight. She tried to hide her expression, but I saw it as she turned her head to eye a colleague, Penelope, a few seats down.

It was fine, I concluded. Maybe they had other plans.

Or maybe I annoy the shit out of them with my high-pitched laugh and overenthusiastic approach.

“Whatever,” I sigh under my breath, switching my bag of Chinese takeout from one arm to the other while I dig around for my door key in the ridiculously oversize cream tote bag I genuinely thought was a good idea when I bought it.

My A-level results might’ve been in UK’s top percentile, but I’m about as organized as a flock of wild geese being chased by a fox, and this freaking bag only serves to remind me of that.

Tissues—nope.

Hand sanitizer—not today.

Lip balm—ooh, the cherry-flavored one.I wondered where that had got to.In my bag, of course.