Page 43 of The Thing About My Rival

But I didn’t see it with my own eyes, so I can’t let myself believe it.

My pulse now pounds in my ears and my hand trembles around the cabin charm.

Then the ref blows the whistle.

It’s over.

I turn to Hugo. We stare at each other, stock-still and in total silence for a fraction of a second, seemingly checking with the other that what seems to have just happened really did happen.

Hugo’s eyes flash to the scoreboard. I follow his gaze just as the numbers change to Atlanta United 1, Boston Commoners 2.

“We won.” Hugo punches the air so hard his feet lift off the ground.

Goosebumps ripple through me and I launch myself into jumping and cheering along with the fans.

This is so much more than a win. This ismyfirst win with the Commoners. My first win with the team that feels like my home. It gives the players a phenomenal psychological start to this new phase, and it validates our coaching—my methods, as much as Hugo’s.

Hugo grabs my cheeks with both hands, his face inches from mine. “We motherfucking won, Wilcox.”

Before I can even nod, his lips are on mine. A big smacker of a kiss. A kiss that’s minty from the succession of sticks of gum he’s been chewing aggressively since kickoff.

He holds my face so tight and pulls me up to him so hard, I’m convinced he’s about to lift my feet off the ground.

Or maybe I’m floating a little.

My arms have certainly levitated out to my sides, seemingly of their own accord.

The tens of thousands of people around us fade away in a mist of cheers, drumbeats and whistles. I’m consumed by the pressure of Hugo’s mouth on mine, the slight graze of his stubble on my chin, a faint trace of his fresh sweat.

But what the hell is going on?

We just won our first game of the season and now Hugo Powers is kissing me. If you can call this enthusiastic lip-smushing thing a kiss.

But his eyes are closed. Who closes their eyes for a joke kiss?

Mine are definitely wide open. In a mixture of shock, horror, and ecstasy.

Shock because my colleague, who’s only recently learned to almost tolerate me, has his mouth on mine.

Horror because it’s happening in front of our entire team, approximately forty thousand strangers, and Lord knows how many more on TV.

And ecstasy because we’ve led this struggling team to a glorious victory.

Also, his lips do feel quite nice.

Hugo lets go of my face, beams down at me, then resumes bouncing up and down, arms raised over his head. “We fucking won!”

I’m frozen to the spot, stunned. The only movement I can manage is a slight nod.

Plenty of European soccer players kiss each other when they score. So maybe it’s just a hangover of his old habits. And I just happened to be the nearest person. But they usually do it on the forehead or the cheek. I’ve never seen anyone plant a smacker on a teammate’s lips.

Bakari jumps on my back, jolting me back to reality. The rest of the team pile on, and Hugo and I are swamped in a sweaty sea of the happiest people to wear sky blue and orange that I have ever witnessed. Our arms are around each other’s shoulders, forming one bouncing joyous mass.

As Hugo said, we motherfucking won.

And he motherfucking kissed me.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

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