Read an Advanced Excerpt of 'The Defender,' the Latest Book in Romance Author Ana Huang's 'Gods of the Game' Series
The book, about a hotshot athlete and sports nutritionist, is releasing on October 28.

Romance book fans can't get enough of Ana Huang. Over 23 million copies of her novels—featuring fierce heroines and morally gray men— have been sold, and several of her titles have shot to the top of The New York Times Best Sellers list. In addition to her breakout Twisted series—a viral favorite on #BookTok that's soon to be adapted into a Netflix original—she writes the If Love, Kings of Envy, and Gods of the Game series.
Her highly anticipated, latest entry in Gods of the Game, The Defender, hits shelves on October 28. The sports-romance novel follows the tension that unfolds when Blackcastle Football Club captain Vincent DuBois is forced to move in with his coach's daughter, sports nutritionist Brooklyn Armstrong. Though Brooklyn can't stand Vincent, who just so happens to be her best friend's brother, their forced proximity begins to blur the line between rivalry and attraction.
Below, read an advance chapter from The Defender, when Vincent arrives at Brooklyn's home.
I’d been manipulated, and I had no one to blame but myself.
One second, I was eating my eggs at brunch. The next, Vincent was at my door with a duffel slung over his shoulder and a cocky smile on his face. “Hey, roomie.”
“Don’t call me that. You are a temporary tenant. That’s all.”
“Okay, buttercup.”
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I didn’t know why he’d picked that nickname for me, and I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of asking, but it irritated my soul.
His grin widened at my grumble of annoyance. Cockiness aside, it was a nice smile. A lethal one, even—white teeth, a shadow of a dimple, and devilishness mixed with just enough warmth to make you feel like you were the only person in the world.
I refused to fall for it. Vincent DuBois might be able to charm everyone else he met, but I’d known he was trouble from the moment we met. There was something about him that made my entire body tense when he was nearby. He was like the moon to my tide; his mere presence altered my gravitational field.
“You’ve been here before with Scarlett, so I’ll skip the tour.” I shut the door behind him after he walked in. His shirtsleeve brushed my arm on his way past, and a small tingle slipped down my spine.
See? My self-preservation instincts were already screaming. He was bad news, but it was too late for me to back out. If I went back on my word, he’d win, which would be unacceptable.
Brooklyn Armstrong did not lose, especially not to arrogant, annoyingly attractive players like Vincent DuBois.
“That’s fine,” he said easily. “Just tell me where you want me.”
I side-eyed him as I led him to his room. The corners of his mouth twitched, but I refused to respond to his double entendre.
Besides, he wasn’t going to be so amused when he saw what I’d prepared for him.
I bit back a grin as I opened the bedroom door. “I took the liberty of redecorating for you. I hope you don’t mind.”
“You didn’t have to—” Vincent stopped dead in the doorway. His duffel hit the floor with a thud as he took in his new home for the foreseeable future.
Up until last night, I’d used the spare bedroom as extra storage space for my clothes and workout equipment. All those things had been cleared out. In their place were stuffed animals—dozens and dozens of them. Pink pigs, purple horses, giant pandas and little dolphins. Plushies of every shape, size, and category crowded the small space like a kid’s estate sale gone wild, and a one-eyed doll that may or may not have been haunted sat on the shelf opposite the bed.
I’d gotten the toys courtesy of my neighbor. As luck would have it, she was a collector whose therapist recently convinced her to “release her attachments to the past.” When I saw her post offering the plushies at a discount in the building’s group chat, I immediately jumped at the opportunity.
I tied the look together with sparkly fuchsia sheets and lace-trimmed pillows.
“Do you like it?” I asked, the picture of innocence. “I read somewhere that stuffed animals can make a place feel homier, and I really want you to be comfortable here.”
Vincent may have manipulated me into letting him move in, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have a little fun at his expense.
He picked up the nearest stuffed animal and examined it. A minute later, he set it back down with exquisite care and looked me straight in the eyes.
I held my breath, my chest ballooning with anticipation.
“I love it,” he said. He radiated so much sincerity, my teeth ached. “I can’t believe you went to all this trouble for me. I’m honored.”
My gaze narrowed. Not a hint of sarcasm in his voice; not a trace of irritation on his face. Bastard.
“I’m nothing if not a good host.” It was time to switch tactics. “Since you’ll be staying here for a while, we should go over the house rules.”
Vincent leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms, the picture of insouciance.
“Let’s hear ‘em,” he drawled. Despite growing up in Paris, he didn’t have a strong French accent. It was probably because he’d attended international school and spent every other summer in the UK. But there were certain moments, like these, when a flicker of it slipped in so smoothly it was like it’d been there all along.
My spine tingled again, this time more insistently.
I ignored it and ticked off the rules on my fingers. “No smoking indoors.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“No hogging the bathroom, TV, or other communal amenities. The hot water runs out quickly, so don’t, you know, spend too much time in the shower.” I emphasized the last part.
I wasn’t an idiot; I knew what guys were doing when they took more than ten minutes in the shower.
Vincent’s eyes gleamed with laughter. “Noted.”
I ran through a handful of other rules before I reached the grand finale. “And…” I paused for dramatic effect. “No bringing girls over. Ever. I don’t want random people coming in and out of my flat.”
That had to be a dealbreaker for him. He was good-looking, single, and famous. Women threw themselves at him every day, and according to the tabloids, he didn’t exactly resist their advances. There was no way he could resist bringing someone over.
Vincent’s brow creased.
Triumph sparked until he spoke again.
“Brooklyn,” he said, “I have absolutely zero interest in bringing other girls over.”
There it was again—the subtle change in his tone, followed by a tiny swoop in my stomach. His reply sounded innocuous at first, but his faint emphasis on the word other sent my mind cartwheeling in a dozen directions, each more dangerous than the last.
Was the emphasis pure semantics, in that I was already a girl living here so anyone else he brought over would be an “other” by default?
Or did he mean he had zero interest in bringing other girls over because…
No. I wasn’t going there. It didn’t matter anyway. Vincent and I would never be more than quasi-friends and temporary flatmates. He was probably just trying to fuck with me, per usual.
“Stop it,” I said.
“Stop what?”
“Stop trying to charm me.”
His eyes flooded with surprise, and I immediately wanted to snatch my words back. Shit. I’d fucked up.
A slow smile spread over his face, turning his shadow of a dimple into a lethal weapon. “I wasn’t trying, but I’m happy to hear you’re charmed.”
“Oh, shut up. You know what I meant.”
“Not really.”
I blew out a sigh. This wasn’t how I’d imagined his move-in going. At all.
But I’d be lying if I said a tiny part of me wasn’t glad he was here to take my mind off my mom’s latest bombshell. She’d called when I was at Scarlett’s house, and I wished I’d never picked up.
My stomach cramped. I shifted my gaze away from Vincent and resisted the urge to bite my nails. I’d kicked the habit years ago, but the possibility of relapse reared its ugly head every time I was stressed.
“Let’s move on,” I said. “Towels are in the linen closet across the hall if you need them. I’m heading out early tomorrow to run errands, so don’t wait up for me.”
Vincent’s eyebrows rose. “What errands do you need to run that early on a weekday?”
My nails made it halfway to my mouth before I caught myself. “This and that.”
I didn’t mention that I hadn’t received a job offer from Blackcastle yet, so I was exploring other options for when my internship ended in late December. If the club wanted to keep me on, they would’ve said something by now.
To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to work for Blackcastle full-time. I definitely wanted to stay in the sports nutrition field, but as much as I liked the team, I didn’t love being the only female on staff. I was also sure some of my coworkers thought I’d gotten the internship because of my dad. My glowing performance reviews didn’t matter as much as the revelation that I was Frank Armstrong’s daughter.
“Is this related to why you missed the match against Holchester?” Vincent followed me out of the room and into the kitchen.
“No.” Yes. I’d interviewed for an open nutritionist role at a local gym. It was a big step down from the Premier League, but a job was a job. That was the only day they could see me, so I’d called in sick and snuck out for the disastrous interview.
Long story short: my potential manager was a pig who couldn’t stop ogling my chest or making sexual innuendos, and I ended our meeting early by calling him a shrimp-dicked weasel.
Anyway, I didn’t get the job.
Scarlett and Carina were the only ones who knew the details. I wasn’t telling anyone at Blackcastle I was looking at other employers until they officially ended my internship without a job offer, which seemed like the proper thing to do.
“What about the text from two weeks ago?” Vincent leaned against the counter while I assembled the ingredients for a salad.
“What text?”
“The one you got at Scarlett and Asher’s house. You looked like someone told you your dog died.”
I froze. Vincent was the last person I’d expected to pick up on my mood shift. I was always the perky, upbeat one, and I’d cultivated that image so strongly, most people never noticed when I became subdued.
It was my superpower. Smile for the world, crash out in silence. The perfect shield against unwanted pity.
I should’ve guessed Vincent would crack that shield the way he did everything else. That was his superpower.
It was my superpower. Smile for the world, crash out in silence. The perfect shield against unwanted pity. I should’ve guessed Vincent would crack that shield the way he did everything else. That was his superpower.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” he said when I didn’t respond. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “But you looked upset that day, and I—” He cleared his throat. “I want to make sure you’re okay. Since we’re now flatmates and all. Can’t have you spiraling when we’re in the same flat.”
A ball of emotion lodged in my chest. I breathed past it and summoned a bright smile. “Oh, that. It was a stupid message from, um, an old co-worker. Nothing major.” I busied myself with the salad so he couldn’t see my face.
There had been no ex co-worker. In reality, my mom had received my voicemail and texted me her big news.
I’m off to brunch so can’t talk, but I’m pregnant again! I’m finally getting a daughter! Will discuss later. xo
Finally getting a daughter. Implying she didn’t have one already.
It wasn’t my mom’s intention to make me feel invisible; it never was. But that made it worse. Careless cruelty always cut deeper than intentional malice.
“Speaking of upset, we can’t tell my dad you’re living here.” I washed a handful of cherry tomatoes and dropped them in my salad. “I know we already said we won’t, but I have to mention it again. He’ll freak out.”
“Trust me. I have no plans to say anything to him. I like living too much,” Vincent said dryly.
“Does he know about your intruder situation?”
“Not yet.” Vincent glanced away. “I’m not sure it’s worth bringing up.”
“It worried you enough to move out until the police get a lead on this guy. Or girl,” I amended.
“That’s more for Scarlett’s sake than mine.” His smile returned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I appreciate your concern though. Between the custom bedroom decor and this”—he gestured between us—“I’m starting to think you like me.”
I scoffed. “There’s no this. I’m only asking so I know what not to say in front of my dad.”
Despite my dismissal, a twinge of concern nagged at me. The intruder was probably a one-off thing, but what if it wasn’t? Fans did wild stuff all the time, but it only took one person going off the rails for tragedy to strike.
An image of Vincent bleeding out on the floor like Tyler Conley flashed through my mind. The twinge tightened into a knot.
I’d held off on interrogating Vincent about the situation. He had enough people fussing about it without me piling on, but my blithe comments didn’t mean I was indifferent to the danger.
We weren’t best friends, but for better or worse, he’d become an indispensable part of my life in London. If anything happened to him, my world wouldn’t be the same.
“Don’t say anything.” Vincent’s mouth set in a stern line. “I’ll handle it.”
“Sure.” I hesitated, debating, before my voice softened. “It’s okay to feel scared. I know it’s not ‘socially acceptable’ for a guy to show weakness or whatever, but if someone breaks into your house, anxiety is normal.”
His gaze flew to mine.
No tingle this time—only a beat of breathlessness that stretched out like a sigh. Warm, heavy, knowing.
Ninety-nine percent of our conversations revolved around playful jabs and insults. That was the dynamic we were most comfortable with. But every now and then, we’d drop our guards, and those moments would feel deeper than they did with anyone else because they were so rare.
It was how I knew they were real.
Vincent’s throat moved with a swallow. He held my gaze for an extra millisecond before shifting his attention to the counter.
“Good to know.” A trace of huskiness deepened his voice, but when he spoke again, it was gone. “Thanks for letting me stay here, even if it’s to prove a point.” He tossed out a grin. “No hotel concierge can match the personalized service I’ve received so far. Five stars. No notes.”
Our earlier moment splintered into twin shards of relief and…disappointment? No, that couldn’t be right.
“I do love proving a point.” I resumed making my dinner and drizzled a bit of balsamic vinaigrette over the salad. “Also, just so we’re clear, I’m not a concierge, mother, or maid. You’re responsible for your own chores and cooking, and if you slack off”—I pointed a fork at him—“I’m kicking you out onto the street. Got it?”
He gave me a laconic salute. “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled. His eyes glittered with amusement. “Don’t worry. You won’t even notice I’m here.”
You can read Ana Huang's The Defender when it hits shelves on October 28. It is available for pre-order now.
Ana Huang is a #1 New York Times, Sunday Times, Wall Street Journal, USA Today, and #1 Amazon bestselling author. Best known for her Twisted series, she writes new adult and contemporary romance with deliciously alpha heroes, strong heroines, and plenty of steam, angst, and swoon.
Her books have been translated in over two dozen languages and featured in outlets such as NPR, Cosmopolitan, Financial Times, and Glamour UK.
A self-professed travel enthusiast, she loves incorporating beautiful destinations into her stories and will never say no to a good chai latte.