I offered a laconic salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Vincent smirked. “What he said.”
She rolled her eyes, but a tiny sprout of optimism peeked through her professional demeanor when we transitioned into our workout without a speck of argument.
Scarlett paced the studio, studying our forms and adjusting us when necessary.
When it came to football, Vincent and I were on par with each other skills-wise. But when it came to cross-training, I had the added benefit of three months’ worth of dance-based practice; he didn’t.
I fought a smug smile when I breezed past our resistance and flexibility training while he struggled with the movements. The muscles we used for dance were different than those we used for football, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t relish the way he faltered.
Just because we didn’t actively hate each other anymore didn’t mean I should pass up an opportunity to (silently) gloat a little.
Vincent growled something in French that made Scarlett sigh. “Okay, let’s take a five-minute break. Hydrate, get your heart rate down. I’m going to use the loo.”
She slid a quick look at me on her way out.
Remember, be nice, it said.
I am nice, my glance responded.
We’d been careful not to make eye contact during our session in case we gave away our feelings somehow. We’d agreed to take Vincent out after training and ply him with a few beers before we dropped our bombshell on him, but I was having second thoughts.
Should we ambush him on his first day back in the city, or should we give him time to settle in first?
Silence hummed alongside the A/C as we waited for Scarlett to return.
I chugged half a bottle of water and glanced at Vincent, who was wiping his forehead with a Blackcastle-branded sweat towel.
“What are you doing after training?” I asked, breaking the ice.
“Why? You planning to ask me on a date?”
I snorted. “DuBois, I wouldn’t ask you on a date if you were the last living creature on earth.”
Not this DuBois, anyway.
“Good, because I wouldn’t fucking say yes.” He tossed his towel back onto his gym bag. “But I don’t have plans yet.”
“You fancy a pint at the Angry Boar? For subbing in at the charity match,” I added gruffly. “Last weekend was to celebrate winning, so this is my official thank-you. I don’t like owing people.”
His smirk returned. “So you are asking me on a date.”
“Oh, piss off. Do you want a pint or not?”
“I guess I could use one today.” He patted his stomach. “Can’t drink like that after the season starts.”
I made a noise of agreement. We had to be much more careful with our diets during the season.
“Speaking of thank-yous…” Vincent glanced at the door. No sign of Scarlett yet. “Thanks for listening to what I said at the beginning of the summer.” His voice was layered with so much reluctance it sounded like someone was forcibly dragging those words out of his mouth.
My brows bent with confusion.
“About not hitting on my sister,” he clarified. “I admit, I expected to come back and see you all over her, but you’ve been respectful. And professional. And you punched that fucker Pessoa for touching her. So I appreciate it.”
His grimace indicated how much it pained him to admit he was wrong, but it probably wasn’t as distressing as my knowledge that he wasn’t wrong.
You’ve been respectful. If he only knew. There’d been nothing respectful about what I did to Scarlett in the studio yesterday.
“Right.” I coughed, hoping Vincent couldn’t see the remnants of yesterday’s activities stamped all over my face. “He deserved it.”
I purposely didn’t acknowledge the first part of his statement, but my muscles coiled with dread when Scarlett finally returned and cut our awkward conversation short.
The rest of our training passed without incident, but when Scarlett tried to bring up the Angry Boar afterward, I stopped her with a meaningful look behind her brother’s back.
“I was thinking we could…” She trailed off at my wide eyes.
“We could what?” Vincent asked.
“Uh, we could bring things up a notch during our next session. I think you’ve got the hang of the basics now,” Scarlett said.
“Sounds good,” I interrupted before Vincent could ask any more questions. “Vincent and I are going to hit up the Angry Boar for a pint. Get some of that bonding time Coach wanted us to have before the season starts.” I punched him in the shoulder like we were long-time mates.
He stared at me like I’d lost my mind.
I didn’t blame him. I was acting wildly out of character, but I was so jumpy from our earlier talk that I acted without thinking.
If Scarlett joined us, she’d attempt to tell him about us like we’d originally planned, but I couldn’t let her do that until I figured out Vincent’s current headspace. Would the sentiment he expressed earlier make him more or less angry when he learned about our relationship?
Unfortunately, I wouldn’t have time to explain all this to Scarlett before we got to the pub, since she’d have to ride there with her brother instead of me. It would be easier for me to talk to Vincent alone first.
“Oh! Okay. Um, have fun?” Scarlett’s questioning tone revealed her confusion about why I was deviating from our original plan, but she trusted me enough not to press the issue as Vincent slung his duffel over his shoulder and said goodbye to her.
“I’ll explain later,” I muttered when I passed her.
“Looking forward to it,” she muttered back. She glanced at her brother’s retreating back. “Good luck.”
If I thought a one-on-one conversation at the pub would solve my dilemma, I was dead wrong.
I figured I could ease into the possibility that I was dating his sister after a pint or two and gauge his reaction, but Vincent continued our conversation like we never stopped the instant we sat down, drinks in hand.
“I meant what I said earlier.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You and I haven’t always gotten along, and I was nervous about leaving you alone with her. You’re arrogant, you sleep around?-“
“Huh. Sounds like you could be describing yourself.”
Vincent glared at me. “And I wouldn’t want Scarlett dating someone like me, either,” he snapped. “She’s been through enough. She has a…bad history with footballers, and she doesn’t need to deal with your bullshit after all that.”
I couldn’t resist following up. “By bad history, you mean Pessoa?”
He hesitated, then confirmed with a short nod. “I’m not going to go into the details because that’s not my place, but their breakup was hard on her. I never want to see her in that dark of a place again. She’s my only sister, and I’m protective of her.”
My mouth thinned.
Fucking Pessoa. I should’ve hit him harder when I had the chance.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.