Page 98 of The Thing About My Rival

“Ah, Drew.” She leans back in her chair and gives me a knowing look. “You’re bringing back memories of those days when I kept telling you that you didn’t need to overexplain everything, that you should have confidence in your decisions because you’re so damn good at what you do. What was that, ten years ago now?”

“Closer to eleven,” I say.

“Jesus, yes.” She shakes her head in despair at the speedy passage of time. “Anyway, even then I knew you were a special talent. And would be phenomenal if you’d just believe in yourself. And look at you now.” She points at me. “The first top-level female head coach of a men’s team. I could not be more proud.”

“You’re amazing, Jill. Thank you for always believing in me. But I doubt I’ll be in this position much longer.”

“Why not?” She leans forward, brow furrowed. “Something to do with your dad?”

“No. Well, probably. I mean, it would have been better if he’d told the new owners he’d contracted me right before they bought the place. Then everything would have been perfect because they wouldn’t have taken on Hugo freaking Powers.”

“Ah, yes. God’s gift to soccer balls and women.”

My cheeks heat at the comment that reminds me I’m just the latest in a career littered with female castoffs.

No need to linger on that topic. “Thing is, they can afford to keep only one of us on beyond the end of the season. And it’s bound to be him.”

“Like I was just saying—believe in yourself, Drew. Being a natural-born player like Powers doesn’t makeanyone a great coach. But you, my friend, are a proven great coach.”

“That’s very lovely of you, but I’m scared. So…” I lean closer to the screen and whisper. “I wanted to start putting out some feelers. Just in case. And was wondering if you might have any openings for next seas?—”

The door handle jangles and a body thuds into it on the other side like they were going at full tilt and expected it to open.

“Oi. Wilcox.” Hugo’s voice booms from the other side. “Are you in there?”

“Shit.”

“What’s up?” Jill asks. “You look like you just got caught with your hand in the cookie jar. By the human-eating monster who guards it.”

“It’shim,” I whisper.

“Ah, right. Okay. You go and we’ll talk another time. But yes, I get what you’re saying. I will definitely see if anything’s coming up.”

I’m still staring at the door to the hallway when the one from the locker room swings open.

Shit—totally forgot to lock that one.

Hugo strides in, two thick vertical lines between his brows. “What’s going on? Why’s the door locked?”

I jab at the trackpad to end the call but, amid a surge of hot panic, somehow turn up the volume instead.

“For a job next season, I mean.” Jill’s voice booms out of the speakers so loudly it distorts.

Fuck, fuck,fuck.

“Gotta run,” I tell her. “Talk to you later.”

I slam the lid shut and look up at Hugo, my heart galloping, hands shaking, armpits as sweaty as a jockstrap after an August game. “The door was locked? Maybe Iclosed it too hard and it knocked the lock into place by accident. It’s so old and crappy. You’ve said that yourself.”

“Was that your meeting?” he asks.

I smooth imaginary stray hairs off my face. “No, no. That was just an old friend.”

He folds his arms and looks down at me. His eyes are big and brown and sad. “Are you lining up another job? And lying to me about it?”

My heart plummets to my stomach, where it continues to race.

He can see right through me. Knows every nuance of my expressions. Even if I had a poker face, he’d still spot my tell.

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