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That girl is really going to be the end of me. I can't afford to have a bad season here. My personal life aside, my professional career is tanking pretty badly as well. The PR stunt of me coming here was meant to benefit everyone — it was meant to be cool for the Macaws to have a British guy, and to give the Canaries a break from me. I’m not so stupid that I can’t see that.
And if I can't pull myself together? Then I'm looking at early retirement. If only Olivia’s job wasn’t riding on me as well. Getting myself into trouble is one thing, but getting her fired because of me is another.
I line myself up with the ball and take another kick. This one lands squarely in the back of the net, and I let out a long, internal sigh of relief. I’ve still got it.
Raphael scores two penalties without even thinking, and I grit my teeth, steeling myself to up my game. I’m not going to let him win. He gives me a glare as I score again, and I elbow into him as I head back down the line. He mutters a curse at me, and I spit into the grass in response. It’s subtle enough that it doesn’t look to anyone else like it’s aimed at him, but he and I both know exactly what I mean.
It’s a declaration of war.
When he misses again, I let out a laugh under my breath, a harsh noise that makes Raphael’s already toxic frown grow darker. He puffs himself up in front of me, and I give him a withering look, folding my arms as if nothing he could do can affect me. Which it can’t. He thinks he’s the shit — and sure, he’s good, but when faced with someone who won’t bow down before him, he’s crumbling.
I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of feeling like he’s won. And I’m not going to give him the pleasure of a fight. He’s not worth it. I’m here to play the game, not get into petty fights.
As he backs down, the thought that Olivia would be proud of me for not fighting comes into my mind unbidden. She’s been so stressed-out lately, and most of that’s my fault. I’ve seen what she can be like when she relaxes. I’ve seen her smile.
For her sake, I think I’m going to have to try and change my ways. It was good to see her wind down. And it’s not my job to make her life easier, but after seeing her in the club, in my bed, I want to. I want to help her live her best life.
Damn, now I’m thinking about her in my bed again. Her face when she comes is gonna haunt me for the rest of my life, and it isn’t doing me any favors today. I take a swing at the ball, and it so nearly misses. To my relief, it doesn’t give Raphael anything else to laugh at, but it wasn’t my best work. Olivia is seeping into every inch of me, and I can’t make it stop.
It sounds pretty dramatic, but I think I might be falling hard.
Finally, practice ends and I shove past Raphael and his cronies to go and stand in the shower, to let the hot water wash over me and try to forget her, the way she moves, the way she looks. The way her face lights up when she smiles. It doesn’t work.
CHAPTER 13
OLIVIA
I take a deep breath and stretch my wrists. Working at the computer all day always makes my eyes and fingers hurt. And while it's certainly not my favorite part of the job, it is kind of nice to have an excuse to avoid Miles.
Technically, I’m supposed to be watching him still, but ever since the other night, he’s barely acted like a miscreant at all. I guess he was right; he really did need to blow off some steam. I just wish it hadn't been with me.
This whole damn situation has made my job incredibly complicated, and the last thing I want to do is develop any sort of attachments towards this man. I've been trying to keep it professional and so has he, but it's created a weird, almost awkward tension between us, a kind of tension that never used to exist even when he annoyed me more than anything.
I thought I hated it, having to follow him around, but the thing is, I don't think I really hate him at all.
I sigh again. I've been banging my head against this press release for the last half hour and I’m getting nowhere. I push my chair back and get up for a walk around the office. Time for a coffee, I think. At the very least it's an excuse to do something else.
I'm supposed to be picking Miles up from practice today, but I almost don’t want to. It feels like avoiding him altogether would be far easier than whatever’s happening now, this strange kind of dance we’re doing.
The office break room is basically an old cupboard converted into a room that our manager generously calls a kitchen. There’s a single counter with a cheap coffee machine, coffee pods, and no more than three mugs at any given time. I refuse to bring a cup I actually like in — I’ve seen how many chips those things get.
With a sigh, I fill the water for the machine, and as I stand and deliberate over which vaguely flavorless pod I want to drink, one of my colleagues wanders in.
“What's up?” asks Mia, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder. She’s very glamorous, always dressed like she’s about to go out to an exclusive event rather than showing up to the office. But she smiles warmly at me, the sharp wings of her eyeliner not reflective of her personality at all.
“Oh, not much,” I shrug. She’s nice, but I don’t really feel like chatting right now. “Keeping myself busy. You want one?” I gesture to the coffee machine.
“Please, thanks,” she says, making a heart with her fingers so her long, pink nails click together. “You've got your hands full with Miles,” she scoffs. “If I were you, I’d have locked him in his room and forbidden him from ever going out. You’re way braver than me.”
I put a pod into the machine and hit the go button. It whirs into life with a clunk. I am glad for Mia’s support, even if she’s clearly trying to mine me for information. She’s made no secret of how much she likes British boys. “He just needed a firm hand,” I say. “The first few weeks were tough, but he seems to have calmed down now.”
“That's because you've shown him who’s boss. I bet he likes a strong, powerful woman.” She bumps her shoulder playfully into me, her hair falling into her face again. I smile thinly back at her. “You’re going to Boston with him tonight, right?”
“Yeah…” The machine buzzes, interrupting us, to my relief.
“Good luck with that,” Mia says as I hand her the mug. “Don’t let him get into any mischief — unless you like that kind of thing. If I were you, I’d have jumped all over that.” She pivots, her hair swishing in a wide arc, and as she crosses the doorway, she turns back to wink at me. “Thanks for the coffee.”
Mia’s words are still echoing in my mind as Miles gets into the car that evening. He slings his bag into the trunk, then slides into the passenger seat with a grin. “Hey,” he says.
