Page 41 of The Thing About My Rival

“Well, your words served me well, my friend. If it hadn’t been for that, maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here with the world’s greatest fiancée and world’s greatest stepson-to-be.”

Wherever I dug up that wisdom, I’ll never know. Maybe it’s just easier to see it in someone else’s life than it is your own.

“It’s entirely the wrong advice for me though,” I tell him.

“Are you sure about that? I mean, how much longer do you plan on playing the field?”

“I dunno, mate.” I sigh. “Not really given it any thought.”

“Does it make you happy?”

“Man, these are very big questions for someone who needs a team that didn’t win a single match last season, and has only won a handful so far this year, to win on Saturday and validate my appointment. And I’ve got precisely one more day to figure out how to make that happen.”

“Except that’s obviously not what you’re thinking about. You’re thinking about the woman you had dinner with. Who you actually like. Even though she probably hates you for being a dick in Paris.”

“You know what the most frustrating thing is? I’ve squeezed my brain as hard as I can, but I still don’t remember if we did it or not.”

“I’m sure she’s flattered.”

“Not sure she’d be flattered by anything, to be honest.Like I said, she’s different. She has convictions. And believes in stuff. And thinks I’m full of shit.”

“Ha.” Tom’s sharp, loud laugh distorts and rattles out of my phone. “Similar to how Hannah felt about me. It’s pretty hot when someone calls you on your crap, eh?”

“Annoying. It’sannoying.” I breathe a heavy sigh, the phone rising and falling on my chest. “And irritating. And difficult.”

And yes, hot. But I’m not prepared to say that out loud.

“Look, Hewg. Thirty-four isn’t exactly over the hill. But you’re not getting any younger either. I mean, if you want a family?—”

“Suddenly feel very tired, mate. Like I could drop right off.” I make an exaggerated yawning sound. “Must go.”

“Sure.” Tom’s chuckle ends abruptly when I hang up.

I toss the phone back on the nightstand and roll onto my side.

He’s wrong. I refuse to accept that it’s Wilcox I’m hung up on.

The only thing bugging me has to be the fact that this job should be mine. But she’s there too. And I have to fight her for it.

But, also, what the fuckdidhappen in Paris?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

DREW

Five minutes to go and it’s one-all.

If I were rigged up to a heart rate monitor, it would have exploded by now. And I’m not sure I’ve ever sweated so much in my life—and it’s not only because of the disgusting Atlanta humidity.

A less-stressful first game at the helm would have been appreciated.

On the upside, if the score stays like this, at least we will have drawn and not lost.

Swear to God, Hugo hasn’t had his backside on the seat next to me for more than two consecutive seconds the whole game. He’s been bouncing around like an overcaffeinated yo-yo.

But at this tension-fueled stage of the game, we’ve now both permanently left our chairs and stand side by side on the touchline, a united front in the face of the ticking clock.

The sound of the fans cheering, shouting, whistling and singing reverberates within the stadium. Almosteveryone is on their feet, waving flags and scarves—each side trying to drown out the other.

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