Page 13 of The Thing About My Rival

“Thing is…he did have a chance.”

They all stare at me and make a lowooosound, like three pigeons sitting on a branch and cooing in unison.

Joyce rests her arms on the table and leans in, her grin devilish. “I like the sound of this story.”

I take a deep breath. “Okay. Well. There was this one time?—”

“Oh my God, you already did him?” Joyce slaps her hands on her mock shocked face and looks around the table. “She already did him!”

“I wouldn’t have put it like that exactly.”

“She did!” Mona almost knocks her sherry over in the excitement.

Winston nods slowly.

“Details.” Joyce taps my arm with her teal-polished fingertips. “Allthe details.”

“I’m not proud of it.” And I’m not. Lord knows I’m not. It was definitely not my finest moment. “Six years ago I was working in France for the Dijon women’s team and?—”

“Like the mustard?” Mona asks.

“Of course like the mustard,” Winston says. “It’s where the mustard is from.” He turns to me. “Carry on, dear.”

“Well, it was a Euros year, and someone from work somehow got a bunch of us invited tothebig end-of-tournament party in Paris.”

“Oh, I think I can see where this is going.” Winston holds up his glass and jiggles it.

“Yes. Lots of free booze. And loud music. And dim lighting.”

“Lethal cocktail,” Mona says, as if she’s spent her life in nightclubs. Which I’m fairly sure she hasn’t, since most of her stories revolve around raising kids and working behind the deli counter at Sapori’s.

“Yeah, well, I was dancing with my work friends, and a bunch of guys from the England team joined us.”

“Is he a good mover?” Joyce asks. “Because you know what they say—good mover on the dance floor, good mover in the bedroom.”

“That’s not a saying.” Winston pushes his glasses up his nose.

Mona nods at me to continue.

“Well, it was fun, you know. There we were, a bunch of nobodies, dancing with these household-name England players.”

“And one of them was very handsome,” Joyce says.

“More than one of them,” I tell her. “But Hugo looked at me, and it was…”

“Oh my God.” Mona sits up straight. “This is a story of love at first sight.” She places her hands right over her heart and gazes into the middle distance. “Two people meet. Have one night of passion. Don’t see each other again for six years. Then one day their paths cross again and they live happily ever after.”

“Except not,” I tell her.

“Come on.” Joyce taps my arm. “Details.”

“Well, when he looked at me, I went all kind of squishy inside.”

“Might have been the beer,” Winston says. “Those Europeans make it strong.”

“Possibly. Something had clearly messed with my capacity for good judgment. I mean, obviously I knew he pretty much slept his way through every issue ofPeoplemagazine. But in that one moment it felt like?—”

“Love!” Mona says.

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