Page 13 of The Hellion and the Captain
“Ready to give up?”
Yes. One thousand times yes.
She turned her head just enough to meet his eye and saw how he was challenging her, waiting for her to give in, and give up.
“No,” she said, one word emerging with each exhale. “Good.”
She had much more to say than that but didn’t have the breath to say it.
“Very well,” Rhys said. “We’ll see many give out before you.”
Before her? She had the worst stamina out of all of them. Why would he think any would be done with this idiotic exercise before her?
“They might have strength,” he said, reading her mind, “but they do not have the same end goal as you, Williams. If you want this – if you really want this – that determination should keep you going even when your heart and feet want to quit. You hear me?”
They had reached the top of the hill, and now all she could do was nod.
“Good,” he said, reaching down and picking up one of the weighted leather balls. Oh, wonderful. He was to be her partner.
She braced herself, just managing to catch the ball when he tossed it toward her. He sent so much momentum behind it, it set her back a step with an “oof,” but it only fueled her resolve, and she sent it back flying toward him.
“I-” she braced herself to catch it again.
“…will—” throw…
“…not—” catch, almost dropped that one…
“…giveup!” She put all her power into that last word and resolve as she sent the ball flying toward him, and when he caught it, he looked up at her with surprise.
“Well done,” he said, and she marched over to him, her hands on her hips as she tried to remember to deepen her voice.
“Test me all you want,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “You know that I’m the best. Sure, I haven’t played in a while. But that will come. All you have to do is give me a chance.”
She began to back away.
“Choose someone lesser than me, and that’s on you. I will help you win, and you know it.”
They were short a few throws, but she didn’t care. She was done with this. With him.
She was here to play football games, not his manipulative ones.
“Williams!”
It took her an extra second to remember thatshewas Williams, and she quickly whirled around and faced him.
“Yes?” she said, her tone clipped.
“Stop keeping to yourself,” he said, his brow furrowed. “This is a team. It won’t work if we each play as individuals and the way to start is off the field.”
“Are you saying that I have to hold hands and sing songs with the other men?”
He stopped, staring at her. Likely because she had gone from ignoring him to saying whatever she felt.
But he had pushed her far enough now that her true self was threatening to emerge.
“No. But you could come for a drink now and again,” he drawled, unaffected by her attitude.
A drink. It was one thing to face men who might recognize her when she was running by them on the football pitch. Itwas quite another to sit across the table from them face-to-face where they could scrutinize her.
