The Thing About My Rival (The Boston Commoners #1)

Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

DREW

“No way .” Ramon stares at me agog, eyes virtually bulging.

I fix him with a steady gaze across my desk. “Please don’t act like a sulky teenager who’s not getting his own way.”

“But we have to beat DC on Saturday.”

“I am very aware. And you should have thought about that before you risked Bakari’s ankles. What if he couldn’t play because of you?”

“But he can. He’s fine. And they need me.” He points at the locker room, where the last few stragglers are getting their things together.

“It’s for your own good, Ramon.” I get up and walk around the desk to indicate this conversation is over and he should accept his punishment with grace.

“For my own good?” He springs to his feet. “Except this isn’t about me, is it? This is about you trying to prove to the Fab Four that you’re all bossy and in charge and can do the job.”

His comments cut like a knife, but I can’t let them get to me. I’ve had years of bullshit like that from men in this sport, including my own father on occasion, and while I’ve never quite managed to stop it from hurting, I have learned to not react.

“Ramon, the only person this is about is you. The only person’s welfare I’m concerned about right now is yours. You are an amazing talent, but you have this fiery temper. And you need to not let your head grow too big for your shoulders like you did this morning. Training sessions are not about you showing off what you can do. Yes, they’re about developing your own skills, but not at the expense of others. They’re about working as a team.”

He takes a step forward, his tall frame towering over me. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. You’re only here because you’re daddy’s little girl.”

I take a deep, trembling breath. If only he knew that I’m here despite my father, not because of him.

I will not let those words that stab at my spirit make me cry. Maybe later. But not in this moment. “I’m going to forget you said that. And I’m going to forget that you’re trying to physically intimidate me right now.” I force a long hard swallow past the emotion constricting my throat. “And I’m going to ask you to go home.”

“I am not going home.” Ramon leans into me further, almost spitting now. “I’m going to find Coach Powers. He understands. He won’t let this happen.”

“Oh, yes, he fucking will.” Hugo appears, filling the doorway, a portable dry-erase board tucked under his arm. “Get the hell away from Coach Wilcox. And don’t let me ever hear you talk to her like that again. Have some fucking respect.” He steps into the office, a picture of solid calm.

Ramon stares at him, mouth open in disbelief that Hugo could possibly agree with me.

To be honest, it’s hard for me to comprehend too.

Hugo puts the board on his bare desk and glares at Ramon with the stern face of someone who completely owns the space. I always feel like the size of a mouse against him, but his presence now makes me shrink even smaller.

“Go home and grow up.” Hugo’s tone says the matter is closed. “You are benched for the next game. And if you ever pull another stunt that puts your teammates at risk like you did this morning, you’ll be benched for two.”

“But you can’t?—”

“Yes, I can. And so can Coach Wilcox. Now sling your fucking hook. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ramon, looking a foot shorter than when he leaned over me a moment ago, skulks out of the room, kit bag over his shoulder.

Hugo points to the whiteboard, which has the eleven orange magnetic disks we use to figure out player positions clustered in one corner. “Thought I’d take this home and work on some formation options against DC. Ones without Ramon. Because you were right. I got some fresh air and realized I couldn’t argue with a single thing you said. Every word of it was right. And maybe that’s what made me angry earlier.”

He looks at me for a reaction, or maybe gratitude, but I’m too stunned to form any words. I just stare back at him as I try to control the thudding of my heart and the confused mixture of fury, hurt, and God knows what else, bubbling up inside me .

He points at a bunch of other magnets in the opposite corner. “I could only find ten black ones though. So, this old fridge magnet of the Mayflower will have to do for the DC goalkee?—”

“How dare you?” It’s infuriating that the Ramon thing was so completely nothing to him that he’s already moved on and is talking about fucking fridge magnets.

He pauses with his hand out showing me the Mayflower, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. “ What ?”

“How dare you storm in here and save me like a knight on a white charger coming to rescue the damsel in distress?”

“What are you talking about, Wilcox? He was being a dick. I was on my way out, but I heard raised voices, so I waited for a minute to give you the chance to resolve it. But it sounded like he was getting out of control, so I thought I’d help.”

“ Help? ” I slam the side of my balled fist on my desk, sending a sharp pain up my arm. “How the hell do you think that helped me?”

Hugo looks toward the door then back at me. “He’s gone, hasn’t he? Problem solved.”

He’s so casual about it. Everything is so simple for him. “Yes, he’s gone. But with even less respect for me than he had before.”

“What are you talking about?” He sticks the ship magnet back to the board and steps toward me.

Oh my God, he’s being so dense about this. But I guess I’d be a fool to expect anything else. “Because he already thought you were more in charge than I am. That you are more his coach than I am. And what you just did will have only made him even more sure of that. And now he’ll tell all the other guys that you had to march in here and fight my battle for me, and they’ll all see me as someone who needs the big man to protect her.”

“What was I supposed to do? Just stand outside and listen to him talk to you like that?”

“Yes.” I rest my hands on my hips and stare at him. Desperately trying not to look directly into his eyes for fear I might see the part of him I can’t resist, the part that would make me crumble. “That’s exactly what you should have done.”

“Well, that’s not who I am, Wilcox. If I hear someone in trouble, I’m going to step in to help.”

“That’s the thing you’re not understanding. I wasn’t in trouble. I was handling it my way .” I jab my finger into my chest. “I don’t need to be saved by anyone. Particularly not you.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, let’s just pretend Saturday night didn’t happen. It was obviously a ridiculous mistake.” I turn away to get my things so I can go.

But he takes my hand and whips me around, pulling me hard against him, like a dramatic ballroom dance move. My chest is flattened against his and I have to tip my head back to look at him.

“If it was a mistake for you”—his big chocolate eyes rove my face—“and you really mean that, that’s fine. But don’t ever think it was a mistake for me. It wasn’t.”

My whole body quivers—from the fight with Ramon, from the fight with Hugo, and now from his pecs pressing against my breasts. I might be crazy about this man…but I can’t be.

I gather every ounce of willpower I possess, press my hands flat against his chest, and push myself off him.

“This is too much, Hugo. All of it.” I gesture to the room and to him, the tightness in my throat making my eyes prickle. “The job. The pressure of being the first woman in the job. Competing against you to keep the job. You. I’m competing against you— world famous soccer star Hugo freaking Powers. How can I ever beat you? It’s impossible.”

I draw in a shaky breath. “And now we’ve had sex. Crazy, passionate, world-dazzling sex. It’s too much.” My voice trembles as I try to control the tears pooling in my eyes. “Too much for any normal person to deal with.”

“World-dazzling, huh?” He raises an eyebrow and smirks a smirk that, even under these circumstances, sparks a tingle at my core.

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter as I sniff and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. I can’t let myself smile at his saucy jokes.

“And on top of all that. Now I have to go have dinner with my father.” I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder. “The cherry on top of the shit pie.”

I brush past him as I move toward the door and, damn him, if he doesn’t drag his fingers down my arm as I pass.