Page 107 of The Thing About My Rival

“That would be great.” And she even sounds like she means it. The look on her face certainly says she does. Maybe it’s another case of not giving up hope until you’re absolutely certain you’re out of the game.

“I’ll get Suzanna to sort it out,” he says to her. “And good to meet you, Hugo.” He gives me a short, sharp nod, then continues his journey along the hallway and hopefully out into oblivion.

“Oh, actually,” Wilcox pipes up, with the expression of an eager puppy.

Brent the blowhard takes a step backward and reappears in the doorway.

“Youcould text me about dinner if you like.” Her voice is hesitant, almost childlike. “Rather than Suzanna. I mean, it’s okay if she does. Butyoucould do it. If you’d like.”

Seeing her revert to a kid pleading for her dad’s interest and attention is fucking heartbreaking.

But I swear to God Brenty Boy’s mouth twitches up a little at the corners. Is this what keeps her coming back for more? Faint flickers of hope that a breakthrough might be possible?

“Sure. Yeah,” he says. “I’ll do that.”

And with all the emotion of a drill sergeant he marches off again.

I’m happy for her that she seems to have squeezed the tiniest drop of blood out of that stone, but fucking furious with him that this must be the way he’s been with her all his life.

I kick the door shut and turn to Wilcox. “Is that it? He doesn’t hug his daughter when she’s pulled his crap-arse team up from Loserville to a chance of the playoffs?”

She folds her arms and tilts her head. “And when exactly was the last time you hugged anyone inyourfamily?”

Okay. Fair point. “Look, I know he’s your dad and everything. But what a fucking arsehole.”

It’s not a nice thing to say about someone’s parent, but in my defense, this is a great day—a great day for the Commoners, a great day for us, and it should be one of the greatest, proudest days of Wilcox’s life, but her ass-dad has to take the fucking shine off it for her.

“I’m actually not sure he looked very well,” she says quietly before heading to her desk, pulling a tissue from the box and blowing her nose.

“Anyway.” She tosses the tissue in the trash and takes two long slow steps back toward me. “Let’s not talk about him right now.”

Her eyes are red-rimmed but full of mischief. Her teeth tug on one corner of her top lip. And it’s as sexy as hell.

“Agreed. Who cares if we’ve got shitty families whenwe have each other.” I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her against me. “What would you like to talk about?”

“That thing you said.” Reaching up and lacing her fingers together around the back of my neck, she looks right intome. “You told me you love me.”

Her reminder of my words sparks a quiver low in my stomach.

I drop a kiss on her forehead. “I did.”

“Were you just carried away by the moment, the atmosphere, and got caught up in the excitement?”

“No. Well, I mean, yes, I was. But it’s true. And I’ve wanted to say it for a while. But I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear it. Particularly after the whole Portland thing.”

“You know what?” She runs her finger around the edge of my lips. “I wasn’t sure either. But I am now.” She plants the softest of kisses on my lips. Hers are a little salty. “I love you too, Hugo freaking Powers.”

Well, I never knew it was possible to feel like a thousand budding flowers had just burst into full bloom in my chest, with fluffy puppies frolicking through them and rainbows in the sunny sky above.

This woman fits every part of me and fills me to overflowing.

I wrap my arms so far around her, they circle back on themselves. I can’t pull her close enough. Can’t kiss her deeply enough to show her how much she’s become to me.

“Maybe we’ll skip the drinks upstairs,” she whispers, sliding her hands down my chest and not stopping till she hits my waistband. “Come here.”

She drags me by the pants as she backs up toward the door to the locker room and kicks it open behind her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

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