Page 81 of The Thing About My Rival

He got me tea? Green tea. And how did he know it’s specifically thejasminegreen I like?

Maybe it’s some sort of weird practical joke and is actually a cup of hot liniment or something. I take off the lid and sniff the contents. Nope, that’s real tea. And it’s still steaming. Like he’s so familiar with my morning routine that he knew exactly what time I’d walk into the office, and he made sure to drop it off right before, so I got it nice and fresh.

So why didn’t I see him?

Where is he?

Why has he given me tea?

Why is holding a cup he’s held and placed on my desk sending warm ripples through my belly?

Why is this all so confusing?

Oh, yes, it’s because I gave in to the lustful instincts he brings out in me and did all that…stuff…with him in the pub.

It was great stuff though.

Very great stuff.

The mere memory of the stuff makes my pulse rise as a snapshot of his head between my legs flashes across my mind.

But was it worth the confusion? Mayb?—

The door from the hallway swings open, jolting my backside off the chair and bringing me back to reality.

A reality that has Hugo’s large, square athletic frame in it.

My stomach flips, not just in surprise, but also because of the way his white T-shirt stretches across his shoulders, and the way the edges of the sleeves grip his biceps. My fingers tingle at the memory of running over the tickling hairs on that broad, solid chest.

His eyes meet mine for a second, then pause briefly on the cup in my hand before turning down to focus on the soccer ball he’s holding. “Morning.”

“Morning.” It emerges from my throat like a weird croak, as if it’s the first word I’ve ever spoken and my vocal cords aren’t quite sure how to do it.

I wipe a drip off the side of the cup where some tea leaked out when I jumped, clear my throat, and try again. “Morning.”

So who’s going to speak next? And what are they going to say?

A spiky tension hangs in the air between us, jagged with the fight about Ramon and yesterday’s uncomfortable encounter with Hugo’s friend that brought back way too many memories of Paris.

It makes me acutely aware of my rapid yet heavy breaths and my heart beating with more weight than usual.

I should make him speak first. He might have admittedhe was wrong about the Ramon thing, but he was still an ass.

But then he did get me tea, so maybe I should say thank you for that?

“Did you—” I start at the same time as he says, “Is that the right?—”

My cheeks heat, and a girlish giggle sneaks out. “You go fir?—”

“Hey.” Schumann swings open the door from the locker room and strides purposefully into the office.

“Morning,” Hugo and I say simultaneously, eagerly turning our attention to him, both clearly overjoyed he’s shattered the awkwardness and we have someone else to talk to rather than each other.

Schumann looks from Hugo to me and back again. “You okay?”

Hugo nods and shrugs as if to sayof course, what are you talking about?

As he turns to me, Schumann’s brow furrows like he knows there’s something not quite right but can’t put his finger on it. “And areyou, okay?”

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