Page 67 of The Thing About My Rival

“Have you given Ramon a talking-to?” I can’t let my nonprofessional feelings for him get in the way of the all-important professional issue at hand, so I resolutely refuse to smile back.

Hugo stops in his tracks, puzzled. “For?”

“That outrageous tackle on Bakari.”

“You were watching?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t see you out there.” He gives me a flirtatious side eye, and damn those butterflies in my belly for waking up. “I would definitely have remembered.”

“I was upstairs.”

“Ah. I see.” He bounces the ball a couple times, smirking. “Secretly watching. Me, rather than the training, I hope.”

“Shush.” I slam my finger against my lips. Anyone walking past that open door behind him could have heard that.

I’m definitely not telling him that yes, the reason I went up there in the first place was to watch him in action. The way he struts around a field like he belongs there more than anywhere. The way he so elegantly handles the ball and kicks it like it’s a part of him, like he and it are one and the same, in total harmony. Add that to his tall, muscular physique and natural swagger and it’s a beautiful sight to behold.

“Of course I was up there to watch training. And I saw what Ramon did.”

“He was a bit overenthusiastic, that’s all.” Hugo shrugs and returns to bouncing the ball.

“It was more than that, it was dangerous. Are you going to talk to him?”

“God, no.” He catches the ball and rotates it between his hands. “I’m not doing anything that might dampen that lad’s enthusiasm. He’s the best we’ve got.”

A rising tide of anger lifts me to my feet. “You’re seriously not going to talk to him about putting other players at risk of serious injury? Putting theteamat risk?”

He steps over to his still completely empty and unused desk and rests the ball on top of it. “You’re overreacting, Wilcox. Nothing to worry about.” His furrowed brow says he’s baffled as to why I’m making a big deal of it.

He places one hand on top of the ball, the other on his hip, and his sexy as hell smile returns. “But, more importantly, did you like the coff?—”

“If you’re not going to talk to him, I am.” Before I know it, I’m around the other side of my desk and face to face with him over the line he taped along the floor.

“Oh, hang on a minute.” The flirtiness falls from his expression which is now all business. “You said you wouldn’t interfere in the on-the-pitch training.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Hugo Powers? Have you forgotten what happened tothat?” I point toward his left knee. “Have you forgotten that the injury that finished your career came from a reckless training tackle from a teammate who was showing off?”

“It’s not the same. The guy who did that to me was a dick. Ramon is not.”

“But he could become one. If left unchecked.”

“I’m not checking him for something like that.”

“Well, I am. He’s benched for the next game.”

“Whoa, no.” Hugo holds his hands up and takes a step back while shaking his head, his jaw tight. “Hell, no. You don’t get to make a unilateral decision to bench a player.”

“Oh, so now you suddenly think we should work as a team, do you? You and me?”

I freeze, my own words telling me what I should have already realized.

Shit.

It’s like a veil has been lifted from my eyes. I see it clearly now, see what game he’s actually playing.

An icy, furious, and disappointed-in-myself chill runs down my spine. “So that’s what…what Saturday night was about. Bring the little woman on side and she’ll do whatever you want, roll over and give you the job.”

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