Page 18 of The Thing About My Rival

When Hugo arrived this morning, I’d hoped he might have slept on it and decided to act like an adult. Should have known better, obviously. But he was quieter, and calmer, like maybe he’d given himself a talking-to and come to terms with this unique situation.

He even managed a half smile and almost made eye contact when he came into the office to hang his track jacket on the back of the door.

But he didn’t stick around or even say a word, just dropped it on the hook and went right out again.

And when I came out for training and wanted to discuss a plan, he just said, “Let’s see how it goes.”

But what I’ve learned in the last forty minutes is that he actually meantlet’s do everything my way.

I let it go while he took the warmup, and again during sprints, then again during passing patterns. But if I let him walk over me the whole time, I’ll lose all credibility with these players in our first training session and they’ll never take me seriously.

“Not likewhat?” I shout back from the middle of the pitch.

“They’re too far apart. Not challenging enough. Put them closer together.”

I am not having this debate at the top of my lungs with thirty-five yards and a soccer squad between us. Showcasing how much their two coaches can’t stand each other won’t do much for morale. And this team needs all the help it can get.

I thrust my hands into my pants pockets and stride over to him, my heart rate increasing with every step. Confrontation is never my favorite thing, but sometimes it’s necessary.

Back straight, Drew. Chin up.That’s what my dad used to tell me.

When I reach Hugo, he continues chatting with Ramon like I’m not there. He’s telling him something about running up the field like being the front of a snowplow that knocks aside everything in its way.

While it’s a more cerebral metaphor than I would have expected from Hugo, he needs to shut the fuck up and not leave me standing here like I’m his assistant—an assistant he neither likes, wants, or needs.

He’s deliberately ignoring me, trying to provoke me. And, annoyingly, it’s working. Just the right amount for me to take on that confrontation I don’t want.

“Ramon,” I butt in. “Go stretch out with the others.” I jerk my head toward the players farther down the pitch.

He looks at Hugo, who nods his approval.

That one gesture, that tiny little tip of his head, is like a lightning strike, igniting my temper. How dare they? Both of them.

It’s a struggle to keep a lid on the hot anger swelling inside me, rising from my quaking belly to my chest. I clench my jaw to stop myself speaking until I’m sure Ramon is out of earshot.

Then I step up to Hugo until just inches separate us, almost exactly like yesterday when we were toe-to-toe on either side of the ridiculous line he’d taped down the middle of the office floor.

“How dare you?” The words spit from between my teeth.

“Whoa.” Hugo’s breath bounces off my face as he holds up his hands and steps back.

“Ramon does not need your permission to follow my instructions. And you do not need to give him the impression he does.” The rage rattling around in my head and my chest must be visible on my face.

“It’s all right.” He places a condescending hand on my shoulder. “Calm down, love.”

A flame of red heat shoots through me.

But I beat it back with a fire blanket, because if he’s deliberately patronizing me to try to make me so furious that I’ll blow my stack and make a fool of myself in front of everyone, I can’t let it work.

I yank myself out from under his touch and try to keep my voice as quiet as possible. “First, I am most definitely not your love. I am Coach Wilcox. And there are nocircumstances under which I ever want to hear you tell me to calm down ever again.”

He holds up his hands again and smirks. He glances over at the guys, like he’s trying to draw them in with an unspokenWomen, huh, aren’t they always crazy?

Thankfully they’re absorbed in stretching, otherwise I don’t doubt there would be one or two who would agree with him.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “But it’s not my fault if they take me more seriously than they take you. I’m an athlete.”

“Not any more you’re not.” I point at his left knee. “I probably work out harder than you do these days. I’ll be in that gym every morning before training, setting a good example. Whether you realize it or not—and I suspect you do—you’re encouraging these guys to disrespect me.” I point back to where they’re tapping balls back and forth to each other, warming up. “They’ve never had a female coach in their lives. And if you don’t treat me as an equal, they will never take me, or any other female coach, seriously.”

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