Chapter 7
VINCENT
I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against the shower tile as hot water pounded my back. My heartbeat was finally returning to normal, but the knots in my back and shoulders remained.
I didn’t know what happened. She mentioned me moving home, and my body just revolted. Cold sweat. Faint nausea. Full-body chills.
I knew she’d been joking, but that hadn’t stopped the physical onslaught. It’d been so sudden and unexpected, I couldn’t think of what else to do except leave. Immediately.
I closed my eyes and took a long, deliberate breath.
I didn’t get panic attacks, not even on the pitch. I’d been anxious the night someone broke into my house, but I thought I’d gotten over it. Someone leaving a stupid doll wasn’t a big deal, right? I hadn’t been physically harmed.
But I’d forgotten what a mindfuck it’d been until now. I’d moved out before I could grapple with the consequences of that night, and Brooklyn’s words had dragged a shit ton of baggage to the surface.
It wasn’t about harm done. It was about the violation—the knowledge that someone had been in my personal space, touching my things and doing God knew what else before I came home. Who was to say they hadn’t rifled through my drawers or planted secret cameras everywhere?
That kind of unease burrowed under your skin and stayed there, no matter how many locks I changed or new security measures I installed.
You can always move back home.
My throat tightened, my mind spinning images of what that would look like—the constant checking over my shoulder, startling at every creak and rattle. The vague sense of dread every time I walked through the door. The inability to feel safe in my own fucking house.
Yes, I could hire a physical security team, but I hated the thought of strangers hovering over me, watching my every move.
Besides, bodyguards wouldn’t change anything.
My hang-ups were psychological. I could hire a hundred bodyguards, and the thought of sleeping at home would still fuck with my head.
I couldn’t do it. Not yet.
The violation was too fresh. I’d get over it with time or maybe therapy, but those things took, well, time, and I didn’t have any to spare right now.
Not when it was the middle of the season and we were contenders in the UCL.
I needed to be laser focused on the game, which meant I couldn’t return home until the police caught the perp (unlikely) or the thought of sleeping in my own bedroom didn’t make me break out in a cold sweat.
Until then, I had to stay put at Brooklyn’s place—no matter how much she tempted me.
I didn’t talk to Brooklyn again all weekend. I went to training on Saturday and spent Sunday at Adil’s house, playing video games. I needed a little space from her after our weird, tension-charged moment on Friday.
I’d teased her about staring at me as a joke.
I felt her eyes on me the entire time I’d been vacuuming, and I couldn’t resist the opportunity to get under her skin.
But fuck, being that close to her and seeing how flustered she was…
it wrecked my self-control. The fact she hadn’t been wearing a bra was the cherry on top.
Even now, days later, the memory of her nipples straining against her T-shirt brought a rush of heat to my groin.
I willed the image away as I entered the flat on Monday evening and tossed my keys in the bowl near the door. The last thing I wanted was to return home with an ill-advised erection.
The faint sound of computer keys clacking came from the kitchen. I followed it and found Brooklyn sitting at the tiled island. A pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose while an untouched green smoothie sat on the table next to her. Her brow furrowed with concentration as she typed away.
She was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t hear me enter. Every once in a while, she’d stop typing to scribble something in her notebook. Her face would light up, and she’d return to her laptop with renewed zeal.
The corners of my mouth kicked up. She looked inexplicably adorable and somewhat intimidating when she was so focused, like a kitten who wouldn’t hesitate to claw your eyes out if you interrupted mealtime.
“You should take a break,” I said. “That smoothie looks too good to go to waste.”
“Jesus!” Brooklyn startled. She slammed her laptop shut, her face turning pink. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to watch your dinner get cold.” I walked over and pulled up the stool next to hers.
“I’m not that hungry.”
“Too busy writing one-star reviews on TripAdvisor?”
“Too busy compiling a list of ways to kill someone without getting caught.” She gave me a sweet smile. “For curiosity’s sake, of course.”
“Of course,” I drawled. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Our eyes connected, and a beat of charged silence hummed between us before I tapped a gentle finger against the temple of her glasses. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
“I don’t. I mean, I do, but I don’t need them.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in an uncharacteristically self-conscious gesture. “I only wear them when I need to be productive. It’s a weird trigger. When I put them on, my brain instantly switches to work mode.”
It was a good thing she didn’t wear them all the time because those glasses were sexy as hell, but I kept that thought to myself.
“What are you working on?”
“Updated meal plans for the team. My performance evaluation is coming up, so I want to make sure that they’re, um, good.”
Normally, I would’ve zeroed in on her suspicious verbal stumble if I weren’t so distracted by another part of her reply.
“Final evaluation, huh?” I said casually. “What are you doing after the internship?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Something tugged at my gut. Hard.
I knew she was an intern and that all internships eventually ended, but I’d foolishly assumed she’d take a full-time job at Blackcastle afterward. She was a great nutritionist, and her dad was the manager, for Christ’s sake.
“I see.” I cleared my throat, not wanting to dwell on why the prospect of her leaving upset me so much.
“Speaking of Blackcastle, I forgot to tell you. I talked to your dad last week.” I summarized my conversation with Coach.
“I told him I’m staying at a hotel, but I’m not sure he buys it. We’ll have to be extra careful.”
“The police still don’t have any leads?”
“I don’t think they’re even looking.” I kept my expression studiously neutral. I’d recovered from my anxiety attack on Friday, but any mention of the intruder situation still sent a wave of unease through me.
Brooklyn groaned. “They have to. I don’t want you living here forever.”
“Because you find me too irresistible and you’re afraid you’ll throw yourself at me sooner or later,” I said with a wise nod. “I understand.”
“Not that again.” She crossed her arms. Thankfully, she was wearing a bra today. “Can you think of any other conversation topic? This one’s getting old.”
“Old but true.”
My knee accidentally grazed hers. An electric spark jolted up my leg, and from the way her breath caught, she felt it too.
We joked about each other’s self-control, but there was a glimmer of truth to our words that neither of us wanted to acknowledge—an ember of attraction buried beneath the wisecracks and feigned nonchalance.
Maybe it was purely physical, or maybe it was something more.
Either way, it was safer to treat it as a joke.
There was no risk or vulnerability in a joke.
“You’re insufferable,” Brooklyn said, moving her leg away. Yet she lingered, her body angled toward mine as if the distance between us hadn’t quite registered yet.
“I’ve been called worse.”
She huffed out a laugh.
A new silence fell, lighter than the last but simmering with something unspoken.
Heat pulsed across my skin, and it took me a second to realize it wasn’t metaphorical but literal—sweat beaded on my forehead and dampened my shirt, making it stick to my skin.
I’d been so distracted by Brooklyn that I hadn’t noticed the thick, suffocating warmth until there was a lull in our conversation.
“Is the AC broken?” I asked, breaking the quiet. “I’m roasting in here.”
Most London flats didn’t have air conditioning. Brooklyn’s was one of the rare exceptions, but I didn’t hear its steady hum in the background. The weather was unusually warm for October, and we still needed to run the AC in order to sleep comfortably.
“It gave out this morning. I already let the landlord know, but he can’t fix it until—what are you doing?” Brooklyn squeaked when I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it on the floor.
It helped. Barely.
“What does it look like? I’m cooling off.
” Now that I’d noticed the heat, I couldn’t stop noticing it.
It seemed to intensify with every passing second.
If I splashed water on myself, it would probably sizzle.
“I’d take my bottoms off too, but I figured you wouldn’t appreciate me walking around without trousers. ”
“I don’t appreciate you walking around without a shirt again,” Brooklyn sputtered. “Put it back on! We just talked about this the other night.”
“Relax, buttercup.” I hopped off my stool and strode to the fridge. I opened the door, a welcome blast of cold air hitting me in the face. “You work for a men’s football club. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“That’s at work, not in my own home. It’s different.”
I grabbed a water from the bottom shelf. “How so?”
“It just is. This is the fourth time you’ve taken your shirt off in front of me, and you’ve only been here for a week.”
She’d counted. Interesting.
I closed the fridge, turned, and cocked an eyebrow. “Remaining fully clothed in communal spaces wasn’t one of your flat rules.”
“It is now.”
“You can’t retroactively add a new item to the flat rules.”
“Yes, I can. It’s my flat, which means they’re my rules.” Brooklyn’s gaze remained fixed on my face even as I closed the distance between us again.