Page 75 of The Thing About My Rival

“Sure would be great for us,” I tell him. “Having them as sponsors would show we’re being taken seriously.” It would also show that important brands are takingmeseriously.

“And not just reputation-wise, my friend.” He pats me on the shoulder. “It would be a nice cash boost for Drew’s academy project.”

The mention of her name makes my stomach do a weird wobble. Is it written all over my face that I was buried balls deep in her just three days ago? And that I’d like to repeat the experience at every available opportunity? Even though the chances of that happening are now even less likely than us winning the cup, since she obviously hates me and I’m avoiding her wherever possible?

“Okay.” He rubs his hands together. “Now I have to go call a concrete company and yell at them for jacking up their prices.”

“Sometimes I forget the Commoners is just your side job,” I tell Boston’s Condo King.

“Oh, this isn’t a job at all. If buying this place was a business decision, it’d be the worst one I’ve ever made. I’m here for the love of soccer. Orfootyas you would say.”

He does that weird high-pitched voice thing that Americans tend to do when attempting an English accent. What’s led them to believe that all Brits squeak at each other like Alvin and the fucking Chipmunks?

I take my buzzing phone from my pocket. It’s the front desk. Christ, am I ever going to get out of here today? “Hi, Lin.”

“Hi, it’s Lin from the front desk.”

We have this conversation every time she calls me. I say, “Hi, Lin.” Then she says, “Hi, it’s Lin from the frontdesk.” She doesn’t even do it as a joke—that’s not possible since she has zero sense of humor.

“There’s a visitor here for you,” she says.

Oh Jesus, what’s this, some fan who thinks their input on team tactics would guarantee us a place in the playoffs?

“Tell them I’m in meetings till the end of time.”

“Says he’s a friend of yours. Tom. Tom Dashwood.”

A mixture of bafflement and happiness rushes through me. “What? Really? Why didn’t he call me himself?”

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask him.” Her tone would suggest I’d just asked her to explain a particularly complex subtheorem of quantum mechanics. “But he’s here. Should I send him in?”

“Nope. I’m just leaving. Be right there.”

I hang up and turn to Miller. “My mate Tom’s shown up out of the blue from LA, so I gotta run.”

“That’s Tom Dashwood, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, have you met?”

“No. But everyone’s heard of Garage Records, right? And Chase knows his brother, Walker, really well. He invests in their brewery resort on Hornby Island.”

“Oh, I’ve heard Chase talk about that place. Maybe we should schedule a team retreat out there one day.”

“Fine plan.” I pat Miller on the shoulder as he turns toward the stairs to the owners’ office. “Let me know how things go with the Under Riggs sponsorship.”

As I make my way along the corridor to the front desk, I get the sense of how the presence of an old friend who I’m completely at ease with, who I don’t have to put on a show for, who will always call me on my shit and laugh with me, can lift my spirits and turn the day around. Like I feel more myself than I have since I came to Boston.

But that thought is immediately knocked out of myhead by the thud of realization that it’s not true. The last time I felt totally at ease was actually the other night in the pub when I was trying to get Wilcox to tell me what happened in Paris. In that moment, I might have been more myself than I’ve ever been.

“Man, why didn’t you call? Or even tell me you were coming?” I release Tom from a back-slapping man-hug.

“Wasn’t sure I’d be able to fit you in. I got here just in time for a meeting today and was going to have to jump straight back on a plane home to get an early night before a breakfast meeting in West Hollywood tomorrow. But that one’s now been knocked back to the day after, so here I am with a night to spare. Thought I’d show up and surprise you.”

“Great surprise. I was just knocking off for the day. Let’s go get a drink.”

“Don’t I get a tour, first?” Tom asks. “I’d like to see your new empire.”

“You need a security pass for that,” Lin pipes up.

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