for comfort. I then shake that thought away and make a move to drag him off, but the blonde shoves me out of her way. She stands between his legs and kicks him in the balls one more time for good measure.
“Touch me ever again, and my next kick will render you a eunuch,” she growls in a thick Scandinavian accent as the bloke looks like he’s going to pass out from the pain. He crawls away with his knackered cock, and my gaze turns to the beauty before me.
“Christ,” I croak, my jaw dropping as my body remains paralysed in shock.
Her chest heaves as she turns her fierce blue eyes on me. “What do you want?” she snaps, clearly ready for another brawl. “Do you have a problem with me eliminating this man’s cock?”
“Not at all,” I stammer, my throat suddenly dry as her voice resonates through my entire body. I glance down, taking in her wide stance and fierce, no-bullshit expression. She flips her long, golden locks over her shoulders and eyes me with a warning that causes an ache in my chest. The ache is so intense it feels like a bloody truck has just run straight through me. I clear my throat, and add, “My only problem is that I think I might be in love with you.”
The woman blinks, her intense sapphire gaze unrelenting on mine. “Emasculating a man is cause for love? Are you sick in the mind?”
I nod and shake my head at the same time because bloody hell, maybe I am. “Probably,” I reply and then mentally try to get control of myself. “Can I buy you a drink? I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
Her eyes narrow as she looks me up and down and reaches to the nearby pub table to retrieve her glass of wine. She takes a fortifying sip and lifts it to me. “I don’t need you to buy me a drink.”
“Then let me give you a life,” I reply quickly, recovering the boldness that left me for a moment.
The corner of her mouth quirks up. “Are you assuming I have no life?”
“Not at all.” My eyes roam down her pale blonde hair, glowing in the dim pub lighting. “But my life didn’t start until I met you, so I figured it was only polite of me to return the favour.”
She laughs, and it sounds like a fucking angel. I decide right then and there that I want to make this woman laugh forever.
Moments later, we’re huddled over a small pub table by the front window. The yellow street light basks her in a golden light; it feels similar to gazing into a sunset. She’s like an elegant dream with a strength I’ve never seen in a woman. She’s enchanting.
“What’s your name?” I ask hesitantly because she throws me off my game like no other.
She stares back at me with a blank, unreadable expression. “Vilma Nyström.”
I lick my lips and tilt my head. “Is that Swedish?”
She nods, impressed. “How did you know?”
“There was a famous footballer I loved who was Swedish and had the same last name. I’m sure it’s a common one up there.”
She gets a peculiar look on her face and then takes a sip of her wine. “What is your name?”
“I’m Vaughn Harris,” I reply smugly, expecting her to react because I don’t come across many people who haven’t heard my name.
She doesn’t react.
I have to fight back my smile.
“Do you like the name Harris?” I ask, eyeing her cheekily.
She shrugs as if bored while looking to the bar where her friends are busy taking shots. “It’s a fine name, I guess. Why do you ask?”
I need her attention back on me so I quickly reply, “Because if we get married someday, I’d quite like you to take my name.” I smirk and lift my drink to my lips as she whips her eyes back to me in surprise.
She tries to hide her smile.
She fails.
I fucking love it.
“Are you from London?” she asks, clearly not ready to discuss our future nuptials quite yet.
This is a good sign. She wants to know more about me. The feeling is mutual, Vilma. I want to know everything about you. “Originally, I’m from here, but I currently live in Manchester.” I lower my pint to the table and casually add, “I play football for United.”
I watch her carefully, expecting the reaction that most women have when they find out what I do for a living. When she