Page 7 of The Thing About My Rival

She presses her lips into a tight line before responding. “I’ve known him since I was nine. He used to give me rides on his cart, whizzing up and down the hallways.”

“Do you know everyone in this building?” It’s not going to do my case any favors if she’s been little Miss Popular here for more than twenty years.

“Just the people who were here when I was a kid. And Amelia, my dad’s assistant—well, the Fab Four’s assistant now—we were friends in high school. Oh, and I’ve met a couple of the players briefly when I’ve been able to get to the occasional game. Which hasn’t been that often these last…” She thinks for a moment and looks surprised by what she comes up with. “Well, ten years, I guess. So I don’t know them any better than you do, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh, I’m worried about absolutely nothing,” I say with complete confidence.

She locks my eyes with hers and stares right into them, like she’s not sure there’s a single brain cell behind them. “Are youreallynot going to mention?—”

“Morning, guys.” A beaming Chase Cooper leads the other three toward us from the far end of the corridor.

In fact, they all look very pleased with themselves.

“Thanks for coming back,” Miller says.

“Yeah, we are very excited,” Prince Oliver adds as they stop beside us.

There’s some embarrassed laughter as the two of us try to shake hands with the four of them and everyone keeps crossing arms with everyone else.

“All right, let’s get to business,” Leo says.

Wilcox’s chest heaves with a deep breath.

I’ve never been second choice when it comes to footballskills. And I’m absolutely fucking certain that’s not going to change now.

“Miller. You want to do the honors?” Leo asks.

“Sure.” Miller pulls a set of keys from his pocket and holds them in the air.

He dangles them there for a second and looks at Wilcox.

Okay, enough with this shuddering feeling in my gut. I can’t believe I want the job of coaching this terrible team so very bloody badly. But apparently I do. So please, for the love of the beautiful game, do not give those keys to her.

Miller shifts his gaze to me.

Is this a weird power trip and he’s now going to look back at her and hand them over? Like the dramatic pause in the finale of a reality show before they announce the winner?

Get the fuck on with it.

The tremor in my chest must be visible, and that is not good for the image.

“Welcome,” Miller says, passing the keys to me.

“Oh, thank fuck.” A hot wave of something washes through me from top to toe. Christ, I really thought I might not be picked. What the hell’s wrong with me? I must never, ever, let my confidence take a momentary hike like that ever again. “I mean, thank you. Thank you very much. You won’t regret it.”

I glance at Wilcox, who’s staring at the keys in my hand. Her face is pink, as is her neck and the bit of collarbone visible above her orange club sweatshirt. I bet it’s pink a fair way under there too.

“Sorry,” I tell her. Even though I’m not. But she doeslook upset, and that’s not great. “But for every winner there has to be a loser.”

I turn to the door markedcoachand stick the key in the lock.

“Not in this case there doesn’t,” Chase says.

Of course it would be him who’d try to soften the blow for Wilcox. He is virtually a saint after all—one voted Sexiest Man on Earth countless times. And so talented he can switch from playing a wisecracking superhero in a two-hundred-million-dollar movie to Shakespeare in Stratford while single-handedly saving endangered species from extinction across several continents.

Well, he was in a TV advert for elephants once. Saving them, that is. Not selling them.

The key makes the most satisfying click as I turn it in the lock. Who’d have thought that after all the titles and England caps I’ve won, opening a grimy door inside a third-rate stadium at the club with the worst record in the history of the league would give me so much satisfaction?

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