Page 68 of The Thing About My Rival

I turn away, blowing out my disgust in something between a snort and an incredulous laugh. My whole body is on fire now, hands trembling, armpits damp. “No fucking way. I love this club. I care about the players’ futures. And Ramon has no future if he gets carried away with everything, just like you did.”

“What isthatsupposed to mean?” Hugo spits out the words.

“That’s your problem here, isn’t it? You see yourself in him. You see that young brash player full of natural talent and ready to take the world by storm, and you think, ‘That was me.’”

“I had no idea you admired my skills so much, Wilcox,” he says with a flirtatious flick of his eyebrows. “But since you mention it?—”

He cannot sexy his way out of this one. “That’s why you won’t discipline him. Because it would be like saying the way you’ve lived your life was wrong. That letting your ability go to your head and getting carried away with the money and the success and the fame, and banging the current hot model or the latest pop star, wasn’t a good way to live.”

“I don’t have many complaints, to be honest.” He shrugs, a vision of calmness in the face of my frustrated fury.

“No? Sothisis what you dreamed of, is it?” I gesture toour shabby little office with the paint peeling off the concrete walls and his unloved desk and empty bookshelves. “Because perhaps if you hadn’t slept with the daughter of every coach who signed you, hadn’t shown up for so many training sessions hungover, and hadn’t been so quick with your temper, perhaps you wouldn’t be stuck here now. With me.”

Christ, yes. I should never have allowed myself to think there was anything special between us. It wasn’t that he wanted me that badly at all. It’s that he wants this job badly. And he thinks if I’m getting naked with him, I’m more likely to do whatever he wants at work and make it easier for him to get his contract renewed.

Well, screw him. “Any coach worth his salt would bench Ramon for what he did today. And I’m going to do it. He has to learn. There has to be consequences for bad behavior.” I stare hard into Hugo’s eyes. “On andoffthe pitch.”

“Oh, I see.” He gives me a superior, knowing nod, and pushes his fingers through his hair—the hair I so desperately hung onto when his face was between my legs. “Is this about Saturday night?”

“It’s about needing to take care of the players. And sometimes that means they have to learn a hard lesson.”

“Not playing Ramon on Saturday would be suicide. We’ll never beat DC without him. We need to win as many of our remaining games as possible to have the slightest chance of making the playoffs.”

“This team”—I point at the door to the locker room, which thankfully is buzzing with enough chatter and noise to drown out our raised voices—“is more than just one player. And this team has more than one coach. I stepped back and let you do things your way on the field. Igave you that. But today you made a big mistake. And for the sake of the team and Ramon himself, this one is mine.”

I spin away from him and move toward the locker room door.

Grabbing the handle, I close my eyes tight before opening it just a crack so I can shout through. “Ramon. When you’re done, in here.”

“He’s in the shower,” Schumann’s voice calls back.

“Tell him when he’s ready he needs to come and see me.”

“Sure,” Schumann says. “And thanks for closing your eyes.”

“It’s as much for my benefit as yours.” I close the door behind me and open my eyes to see Hugo standing in the doorway to the corridor, the ball back under his arm.

“You’re on your own with this one,” he says, calm now.

“Good. It’s probably better that I’m on my own with everything.”

His face drops. But then he’s probably never had a woman turn him down before. He looks genuinely dejected. Like he might even be hurt. But does Hugo freaking Powers even possess the capacity to be hurt?

He shakes his head and moves into the hallway in the direction of the exit.

“Oh, and by the way,” I call after him, “I drink tea.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

DREW

“Noway.” Ramon stares at me agog, eyes virtually bulging.

I fix him with a steady gaze across my desk. “Please don’t act like a sulky teenager who’s not getting his own way.”

“But we have to beat DC on Saturday.”

“I am very aware. And you should have thought about that before you risked Bakari’s ankles. What if he couldn’t play because of you?”

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