Page 127 of The Thing About My Rival

“And then again for just a few seconds at the stadium, when she was a bit stressed. But you obviously have a lot in common. And, more important, she got to you. Like no other woman has ever gotten to you.”

Yes. I know. “Shut up.” Another slug of beer. “It’s okay for you with your cozy new family and the endless California sunshine beating down on you constantly. I mean, just look at that picture-perfect sunset behind you. Looks totally fake. It rained here all day.”

“You’re welcome to come out for a visit. You look like you could do with some sun. And to chill out for a bit.”

That sounds like bliss. “Yeah, I’m fucking knackered. But I need to be here for the end-of-season gala dinner bollocks the weekend after next.”

“That’s plenty of time. Come in a couple days, after you’ve slept off the stress of this weekend. Stay for a week, then you’ll be back well before the gala dinner bollocks.”

The tension racking my body eases at just the thought of that. “You know what? Fuck it. I will.”

“Good. Because I need to talk to you about being my best man.”

Bugger everything that’s happened in the last thirty-six hours. That’s my win, right there. I take my feet off the table and sit up. “Seriously? You want me to be your best man?”

“Of course I do. Who the hell else would I ask?”

“Er, your brother?”

“Ha. He’s fine. He even joked that of course I’d want you.”

“Man, it would be an honor, thank you.” I thump my chest, a lump in my throat at how touched I am he would choose me over his own family. “Oh, in my speech, can I tell the story of how I knew Hannah was the one for you the second I met her? Like, even before you did.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “When I’m your best man, can I tell everyone how you wooed Drew in a Parisian janitor’s closet?”

“Fuck off.”

“Anyway, I did know Hannah was the one. I just didn’t want to admit it. Because it wasn’t convenient timing.” He pauses for a second, then turns his head so he can side-eye me. “Remiiind you of anyone?”

“Fuck. Off.”

“The intellectual power of that response confounds me. So, will Drew be at the gala dinner bollocks?”

“No idea.”

“Would it be better if she was, or better if she wasn’t?”

Now there’s the hardest question of all. Seeing her would be the greatest thing. But it would also be the worst thing—because is there anything worse than looking at something you want with every pore of your being but know you can never have?

“Also no idea.”

CHAPTER FORTY

DREW

I knew I shouldn’t have come.

My fingers grip the handrail at the top of the stairs leading down into the sunken ballroom of the lavish Manhattan hotel where the great and good of the league are gathered for the annual end-of-season dinner.

Up until two days ago I was one hundred percent sure I wouldn’t be here.

Miller had sent me an invitation, saying he would understand if I didn’t attend, but the Fab Four would like to speak with me about something.

Of course, my instinct was to tell them to stick it—if I’m not good enough to work for the club, I’m not good enough for the dinner.

And also, seeing Hugo isn’t exactly at the top of my bucket list. Or anywhere on my bucket list.

But then Bakari texted me, saying he hoped I’d come. One from Ramon followed, saying he couldn’t wait to see me to tell me about his extra sessions with Ashanti.

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