Page 65 of The Thing About My Rival

Mostly because I’m watchinghimway more than I’m watching the players.

And also because I can still feel where he was on Saturday night. Which is hardly surprising since not only has it been a while, he’s also so goddamn big.

I call up his text from yesterday and read it for the four hundredth time.

HUGO

Morning, Wilcox. I’m texting you the next day so you can’t say I didn’t text you the next day. And because last nightwas amazing.

ME

It was. See you Monday.

I needed to cut off the conversation to buy some time for my head to stop spinning enough to let me think. And I knew if I’d seen him again yesterday that the second he looked at me my clothes would spontaneously fall off and my brain would cease to function again.

I should be down in my own office working on my plan to develop a Commoners’ youth academy, but I couldn’t stop myself from sneaking up here to take advantage of the view while none of the Fab Four are in.

I’m still staring at my phone when a fresh text pops up.

SUZANNA

Is 7:30 good this evening?

Shit. I’d totally forgotten. I’m supposed to be having dinner with my dad and stepmom tonight. As if my brain needs another uncomfortable relationship to handle. All I actually want is some peace and quiet to try to figure out how the hell to resist the man I want even more now that I’ve had a bit of him, despite the fact he’s the last man on earth I should have.

But there’s no way I’m canceling and giving my dad something to complain about. And Suzanna means well, so…

ME

Perfect. See you then!

Lord knows why I’m compelled to add the exclamation point. I’ve rarely felt less exclamation-pointy.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” Amelia bursts through the door. “Didn’t realize you were in here.”

“It’s okay. I’m just watching training. Since none of the bosses are here, I thought they wouldn’t mind me using their window.”

She moves toward the desk. “Wouldn’t you get a better view from out there?”

“Promised Hugo I wouldn’t interfere with his methodology.” I nod toward the field where he’s joining in with the high knee sprints, which can’t possibly be any good for his bad knee.

Amelia rounds the desk and rummages through one of the drawers. “He was weird this morning.”

“Who was?”

“Hugo.”

She’s suddenly much more interesting than the training session. “What do you mean he was weird?”

“There it is.” She takes a soccer ball-shaped stapler out of the drawer and holds it up. “Lent this to Leo last week and I guess he forgot to give it back.”

“But in what way was Hugo weird?”

“He called me early this morning.”

“Called you? How come he has your number?” My blood runs cold. Jesus Christ, has he been hitting on every woman at the club? Did the pub thing happen just because I was there and available? Am I an even bigger fool than I thought?

Amelia wrinkles her brow and looks at me like I’ve just asked her my own name. “Everyone has my number. And yours. And his. They’re all on the club call list.”

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