Page 5 of The Defender

Thankfully, Scarlett didn’t seem put out by my sudden appearance. She chatted away as she led me through the house, which was as opulent on the inside as it was on the outside.

Scarlett was the type of girl who preferred fish and chips to foie gras and leggings to couture, but she lived with Asher, the king of flash. This was actually his second home in the area. His other mansion was on the outskirts of London, but it was too far from work for Scarlett so he’d bought something closer to the city center.

My eyebrows shot up when we passed by an indoor construction site instead. Planks of wood littered the floor, and there was a bunch of heavy-looking equipment that looked like they could do some serious damage if you got on their bad side.

“Are you still renovating? I thought you were done.”

“So did I,” Scarlett said wryly. “But the studio didn’t turn out quite the way we imagined, so we have to make some tweaks. Asher wants to add an indoor arcade as well, so we’ll be renovating for at least another two months.”

Scarlett was a former prima ballerina turned teacher at the prestigious Royal Academy of Ballet, also known as RAB, but Asher was the one who’d insisted on installing a private ballet studio in their new house. That man was so head over heels for her, it would be alarming if it wasn’t so endearing.

“Indoor arcade? Faaaancy,” I teased. “You should ask him to build a spa—one that’s fully staffed and open to friends and family. He’ll do it. You know he would.”

“I’m not asking my boyfriend to operate a spa out of our house. It wouldn’t be very practical, would it?”

“That’s the problem with you Brits. Too much focus on what’s practical and too little focus on what’sfun. What’s the point of dating a famous footballer if you can’t indulge in a little extravagance?”

Scarlett bumped my hip with hers. “Thenyoudate a footballer and ask him for the spa.”

We entered the living room, where we promptly flopped onto our favorite couch and split one of the fruit tarts. I ate healthy most of the time, but I wasn’t opposed to the occasional treat.

“Tempting, but I’m afraid you snagged the only good one in the bunch.” I’d been around athletes my whole life. I’d even dated a few of them. Unless you liked commitment issues, cheating, and gaslighting, it was best to steer clear.

“What’s the only good one in the bunch?” Asher appeared in the doorway. His hair was damp, his skin was sweaty, and he was so incredibly, devastatingly handsome that it hurt a little to look at him.

I meant that in a purely objective way. Even if he wasn’t dating one of my best friends, I wouldn’t go for him. He wasn’tmy type—like I said, I didn’t do athletes—but I could appreciate a fine specimen when I saw one.

He walked over to us.

“You are.” Scarlett tilted her head back so he could kiss her on the lips. “We’re talking about dating footballers.”

“Yeah?” Asher glanced at me with amusement. “Didn’t know you were browsing around that market, Brooklyn.”

“I’m not, which is why I said Scarlett got the only good one. No offense, but I’d rather die than date any of your teammates.”

Asher laughed. “As someone who has to share a changing room with them, I don’t blame you.” He came around and sat on Scarlett’s other side. They exchanged a smile, one so intimate and knowing it could only exist between two people who’d already envisioned forever with each other.

Another lump formed in my throat.

I was happy for Scarlett. She was one of the kindest people I knew, and she’d gone through a lot, including a freak car accident that ended her dream career early. She deserved true love.

But seeing her and Asher together underscored how unmoored I’d been feeling. It wasn’t even about the lack of romance in my life; it was about being someone’s priority. Having an anchor. Knowing there was a person out there who would be my first call if shit went down and vice versa.

I loved my friends. They had my back and I had theirs, but they had other priorities too. As for my family…well, that was a whole other story I’d prefer to leave on the shelf.

I was a balloon drifting aimlessly through the crowd while everyone around me found their tethers.

It sucked.

The sound of the doorbell interrupted my slow descent into wallowing again.

“That’s our takeaway.” Asher moved to stand. “I’ll get it.”

“No, you guys stay here. I can get it.” I jumped up, eager for the chance to do something besides feel sorry for myself. “I need to stretch my legs anyway.” I left before they could argue.

Maybe I should head out after I got their food. I didn’t want to bethatfriend who dropped by unannounced, ate their food, then left.

Besides, what was sadder—spending Sunday night alone in your dad’s house or playing third wheel to your friend and her boyfriend?