Page 33 of The Thing About My Rival

The whole thing is awful. Being made to have dinner with Hugo is awful. Him not showing up is awful. The Fab Four being pissed off with us is awful. As is the prospect of them not choosing me at the end of the season.

But I have to face the fact that it’s a definite possibility. And given that Hugo is Hugo freaking Powers and I’m…well…no one, it’s more than likely.

In which case I’ll be jobless in a few weeks, so another thing I should use this time for is to put out feelers for a backup plan.

I don’t want to have to consider working for a team other than the Commoners, but I have to be realistic about the chances of being kept on.

Since I ruffled a few feathers leaving the national squad with almost no notice to come here, they’re off the table until I’ve fully rebuilt those bridges.

I find myself heaving out a long sigh.

Going back to Portland wouldn’t be bad. I was happy there. The only reason I left was because I was headhunted for the job in Dijon and it meant the chance to experience working for a European side and living in France.

So, with my heart in my throat, I tap out another text. This time to the coach of the Portland Cedars.

ME

Hey Jill! I know it’s been a while, but do you have time for a chat at some point?

“More water, miss?” I jump at the server’s words. His jug is hovering over my almost empty glass.

I must look pathetic. The only person in the room whose date didn’t show.

I check my phone again, eight seventeen.

A message pops up, making my heart lurch.

SUZANNA

This coming Monday is perfect! I’ll see what your dad’s up to, then arrange a time. Can’t wait to see you!

I put my hand over my racing heart and blow out a breath, unable to decide whether I’m happy or disappointed that it’s not Hugo.

Anyway, his time’s up. I’ve already been waiting for him longer than I’d planned. Screw Hugo freaking Powers. I’m not making a fool of myself hanging around here any more.And the Fab Four only have him to bepissed-off with about this. I fulfilled my side of the bargain and showed up.

I grab my impractically small purse. As someone who lugs a kit bag on a daily basis, this shiny little black thing is laughable.

“No, thank you.” I push my chair back. “I have to?—”

Oh, but…actually, I don’thaveto do anything.

This meal is paid for. I bothered to get ready to come out for the evening. And when will I get the chance to eat at Pulacini’s again? Probably never.

The last person I’d ever want to have dinner with is Hugo Powers anyway. So, it would actually be way better without him.

Yes, to hell with it. I’m staying.

I tuck my chair back under the table and pick up the menu that I’ve already read approximately four hundred times. This is going to be a much more excellent evening than the one I was expecting.

“Actually, yes,” I tell the server. “A water top-up would be great, thank you. And if you could bring me the wine list, that would be lovely. Looks like it’ll be just me after all.”

“Our solo diners are usually among the happiest,” the server whispers, like he’s sharing a trade secret.

“Oh, I’m absolutely certain I’ll have a much nicer time than if my companion had show?—”

“Shit. Sorry, Wilcox.” Hugo rushes up to the table. “There was an accident snarling up the streets around my place. The cab was delayed and then we were stuck in the jam.”

While my heart sinks at his presence, it also does a funny little shudder as he undoes the cuffs of his blush-colored shirt and rolls up the sleeves.

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