Deviant King (Royal Elite 1)

Dickhead.

As we weave out of the car park, Aiden threads his fingers through mine, and places our intertwined hands on his hard thigh.

My breathing cracks at the amount of tenderness in his touch. It’s almost… normal. His side profile oozes so much masculine beauty. Tingles start between my legs and the engine’s vibrations don’t help.

“Where are we going?” I ask to distract myself from ogling him.

“You’ll see.”

I narrow my eyes. “Where to, Aiden?”

“Not to a slaughterhouse. I won’t go all serial killer on you.”

I can’t help but laugh. He winks, squeezing my fingers in his.

“By the way,” He glances at me. “Why don’t you come to Elites’ games?”

“Eh… I don’t go to school games.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You only go to Premier League games, Miss Snob?”

“No. It’s…” I want to say I don’t like Elites, but that would be a lie. I hated them before, but now, I have no reason to.

“If you come to a game, I’ll take you somewhere special.”

“Where?”

“You’ll have to agree first.”

“Why do you even want me to come? Your Instagram stalkers aren’t enough?”

His grin widens. “If you know about them, then you must’ve been stalking me, too.”

My cheeks heat. “That’s not true.”

“Hmm. You’re one of those silent stalkers, aren’t you?” he continues in a contemplative tone. “You stalk all the time without liking or commenting as if you’re a ghost.”

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“Silent stalkers are the scariest.” He throws me an amusement gleam. “Do you fantasise about me, sweetheart?”

Yes. But screw him.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I sulk.

“A place you’ll love.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Turns out the place I’ll love is Arsenal.

No shit. Freaking Arsenal.

And I’m not talking about watching practice like the rest of the fans. As soon as the players headed inside, Aiden guided me to the locker room. I stood there like a gaping idiot as I stared at my favourite players. Alexandre Lacazette. Maitland-Niles. Monreal. Levi King. Freaking Ozil.

Then I got out of my stupor and asked to take selfies with as many of them as possible — including Coach Emery.

I stare in a stupor at the picture while Aiden and I sit for an early dinner. We’re in the same coffee shop-restaurant as the other time. There’s some indistinct chatter coming from downstairs. It’s quiet at the top level. Only the older gentleman from the other time sits near the window, reading a book, and sipping from his coffee.