Page 31 of The Thing About My Rival

“Maybe it was all a misunderstanding then,” Prince Oliver says. “You guys fighting, I mean. Good to know that everything in the garden is rosy.”

Is he naive or just kind enough to play along?

“Anyway, just in case,” Chase says, “we thought you might need a bit of time outside the stadium to get to know each other better. To improve relations.”

Improve relations? I’ve had more than enough relations with Hugo Powers to last me a lifetime. And why the hell does he still have his arm around me?

I duck out from under it. “Oh, no need for any team-building exercises or anything like that.” I have zero desire to go paintballing, or escape-rooming, or anything else-ing with Hugo. “We’re just great.”

I give him a guy-friend pat on the back. Christ, the muscles in his back have muscles on top of them. And I’ve run my fingers over those before… Good God, brain, focus on the important matter at hand.

“Great, that’s settled then. Good to see you all.” I step backward toward the door. “Gotta go. The players will be back from yoga any minute and ready for Hugo’s training session.”

My foot catches on a wrinkle in the crappy old carpet and my knees buckle.

Before I know it, Hugo’s hand has cupped my elbow and caught me.

“Yes,” he says. “Yoga. It’s brilliant.” Again, so good at the lying. “Makes them all nice and bendy for me. Very important. Thank you for setting that up, Wilcox.”

As soon as I stand up straight again, he lets go of my elbow.

What the hell was that about? Why didn’t he just let me fall flat on my backside and look like a fool in front of everyone?

“So if that’s it…” he says to the Fab Four while also backing toward the door.

“I didn’t mean team-building exercises.” Chase’s words stop us in our eagerly departing tracks. “I’ve called in a couple of favors to get a table for you at Pulacini’s tonight, so you’d better show up.”

“Pulacini’s?” If my eyes don’t look like they’re bulging, they certainly feel like they are.

Pulacini’s is one of the best restaurants in Boston. Known for its exclusivity and privacy. It’s where celebrities, like any of our bosses, would take a date if they didn’t want anyone to find out. The staff are famous for being unbribably discreet.

“Yeah,” Leo says, his stern face now back in place. “A quiet spot for you to smooth over any cracks without anyone thinking you’re on a date.”

“Heaven forbid,” I say at the same time as Hugo says, “Fuck, no.”

I can’t help but feel offended. But God knows why. I couldn’t care less if he’d hate the idea of anyone thinking he was dating me. He replies to my furrowed glance with a shrug, as if to say he thought that was the right answer.

“And maybe talk some team tactics, too,” Prince Oliver, ever the soccer fan, says.

“Really no need for the dinner thing.” Christ, I have to get out of this. Not only because I don’t want to spend an awkward hour eating with Hugo, but I have nothing towear to Pulacini’s. “We can talk about everything here. At work. In the office.”

“Or walking laps of the pitch,” Hugo adds, obviously equally as desperate not to spend an evening with me.

“Yes, or that.” I back him up.

I guess we can work as a team on some things then. Who knew it would take the horrific thought of being forced to have dinner together to bring that out?

“Nah, take the dinner. It’ll do you both good,” Prince Oliver says, before looking into his mug of tea, screwing up his nose, and placing the drink on the edge of the desk. “That’s awful.”

“Americans will never learn how to make a good cuppa,” Hugo quips.

“Not sure it has anything to do with being American,” Miller says. “My coffee’s terrible too.”

“I was drinking mine just to be polite,” Chase says.

“The hot chocolate’s not so bad,” Leo says, then takes a little sip and grimaces.

Amelia is not exactly known for her drink or food preparation skills.Once, when we were about fifteen, she had to call the fire service over a bacon-frying incident while her mom was at work.

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