Page 30 of The Defender
I thought London would be a goldmine of British-accented hotties in perfectly tailored suits. While theydidexist in certain pockets of the city, I’d neglected to factor in personality, work schedules, and general emotional availability when daydreaming about my great romance abroad.
My dad’s brows pinched. “You have? With who? Why didn’t I know about them?”
“Because they weren’t important.” I feigned exasperation, but secretly, a warm glow spread through my stomach. I didn’t want him micromanaging my life, but this was the closest we’d ever gotten to a normal father-daughter conversation. “I promise, if I go on more than…five dates with a guy, I’ll let you know.”
“Five?” he sputtered. “That’s too many. A second date is worth a heads-up.”
“No way. First dates are for putting out feelers. Second dates are for confirming that the first date wasn’t a fluke.”
“What about the third, fourth, and fifth?”
“Third is the first true test for a potential relationship. Fourth is when it’s getting kind of serious. Fifth is when it gets serious enough for me to alert friends and family.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It’s just the way people do it these days, Dad.”
His frown deepened. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But it better not be one of those whirlwind things where you’re married by the third date.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Don’t worry. I havenoplans to marry anyone by any date at this time.”
Theoretically, I liked the idea of marriage. Practically, I was nowhere near ready for that type of commitment.
“Good. You’re young. You should be building your career and having fun. But nottoomuch fun,” he added quickly. “I trust your judgment. Just don’t get involved with any footballers.” He pointed his fork at me. “They’re bad news. Great work ethic, terrible monogamists. Trust me. I hear their changing room chatter. I used to bepartof the changing room chatter.”
“Dad, please. I wouldn’t date a footballer if they offered me a million pounds and a Lamborghini.”
He nodded, apparently satisfied.
We returned to our meals, but my mention of a Lamborghini made me think of Vincent again. He drove a Lambo—midnight blue, fully customized, retailed for three hundred grandwithoutthe customizations.
He wasn’t obsessed with sports vehicles the way Asher was, but he’d gone all out for the one he did own.
I wasn’t going to lie. It was a sexy car.
I snuck a peek at my phone. No new messages—not that I’d been expecting any. I certainly hadn’t been expecting one from Vincent.
What was he up to anyway? He’d been in the shower when I left, but it was Friday night. Famous footballers didn’t stay home and watch TV on Friday nights. He was either out with his friends or…on a date.
Our bet didn’t exclude us from dating other people. It would be weird to keep it going if either of us entered an exclusive relationship, but non-exclusive flings? Not prohibited under the rules.
A piece of fish stuck in my throat. I coughed and quickly gulped down the rest of my water, but I drank it too fast and started coughing even more.
My dad’s brow creased. “Are you okay?”
“Uh-huh,” I gasped. My eyes watered, but the coughing eventually subsided, and our server stopped hovering nearby like he was afraid I’d choke to death on his watch.
It was fine. I was fine.
I didn’t care where Vincent was. He could do whatever he wanted, and so could I.
CHAPTER 10
VINCENT
“I can’t believe you’re living with Coach’s daughter.” Adil shook his head. “He’ll murder you if he finds out.”
“Which is why he won’t find out.Right?” I pinned the midfielder with a glare.
