The hottest sports story you'll read all year

There's a reason romance author Ana Huang has sold more than 8 million books. And the reason is... well, see for yourself in this exclusive excerpt of her highly anticipated novel The Striker, about her fanfavourite hero, pro soccer star Asher Donovan, and former ballerina Scarlett DuBois. Is there sexual tension? Yes. Will there be steam, sweat, and exertion? Yes. Should you stop reading this intro and start diving right in? Yes.

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A hundred quid says you or DuBois will punch the other before the month is over,” Adil declared. “Wilson, you taking that bet?”

“Absolutely not,” Noah said, his tone dry. “Leave me out of your bets. They never end well.”

“I have no idea what you mean, and I’m offended that’s how you’re sending me off for the summer.” Adil clutched his chest. “When I’m on the flight home, I’ll remember your words. They’ll hurt.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll stop stirring up shit next season.” “Is that any way to talk to your teammate? What type of example are you setting for your daughter?”

“Yes, it is, and my daughter’s not here.”

I shook my head.

Noah, Adil, and I were at the Angry Boar, our favorite pub, for a last get together before they flew home to the US and Morocco, respectively. It was the day after our disastrous loss against Holchester, but they’d already heard all about Coach forcing Vincent and me to train together for the summer.

I’d invited them out hoping for sympathy and distraction, but I should’ve known better. Adil thought my situation was hilarious, and Noah was stoic as a rock.

Wankers.

“I’m going to order us another round,” I said. “I’ll be right back.” Adil had moved on to needling Noah about his nonexistent love life, and Noah was too busy ignoring him to do more than nod at my words.

I made my way toward the bar. I received a few glares and snide mutters from fans of other teams, but no one openly pushed for a confrontation.

There was a reason why footballers loved the Angry Boar, which served strong drinks, cheap food, and no bullshit. It had a strict no-cameras, no-autographs, and no-brawls policy, enforced by triplet bouncers the size of mountains and the meanest owner this side of the Thames.

The last person who’d violated its rules had gotten tossed out on his ass (literally) and banned for life.