Page 60 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

Brandon leans forward, taking Olivia’s hand and shaking it once. “Nice to meet you.”

“Okay,” Olivia says, cocking her head and scanning him up and down. “So, tell me more about this suit you’re wearing?”

It is an interesting suit — navy blue, with a floral pattern on the inside. Brandon is the type of guy who feels comfortable in brighter styles, his hair just long enough to brush his shoulders, his eyes a bright blue compared to Elliot’s brown. He cuts an interesting profile, and it’s no wonder my sister is interested.

“I thrifted it,” Brandon says, looking down at it. I see Elliot cringe slightly — thrift stores make him get germaphobic. I stifle my chuckle as Olivia starts grilling Brandon for details and Elliot slings his arm over my shoulder, dousing me in that spicy scent.

“I know you’re not laughing atme,Sophie,” he whispers, voice low in my ear. Even after all this time, it still sends a shiver down my spine, and I twist under his arm so we’re facing one another.

“And if I am?”

“Well,” he whispers, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “Then I’ll have to come up with some sort of repercussion.”

I hum, leaning in closer to him, but before we can make contact, my assistant coach appears out of nowhere.

“Game time!” Sanchez says brightly, outfitted in a vintage Dallas Bolts uniform. “Everyone to the stands please!”

I roll my eyes and Elliot chuckles, then another surge of nerves rolls through me.

“I’m gonna go… check on everything in the locker room,” I say, clearing my throat and pushing my hair back from my face.”

He’s completely unsuspecting, smiling down at me and leaning to kiss me on the nose. “I’ll save you a spot in the stands.”

“Okay,” I say, stomach turning as I pull away from him and make my way to the locker rooms, knowing I’m not going to see him in the stands.

Not for this game.

When I step out onto the field, suited up for the first time in years, the cheer that meets me is deafening.

The stadium is completely full, tickets selling out for the opening day event the day they went on sale. Everyone is on their feet,whooping and clapping, and a chant rises up from the crowd:Ken-dall, Ken-dall, Ken-dall!

“This is going to be great,” Sanchez says, bouncing on her toes beside me.

“Yeah,” another woman says, “as long as I don’t pull a muscle.”

We line up in our vintage jerseys — me wearing the one I unearthed from the closet when Elliot and I moved in together last year — across from the current Dallas Bolts team.

“They’re going to run us ragged,” Sanchez says, shaking her head.

I laugh, standing in front of the ball, getting ready to kick it back and into play. Emily Bacenas and Simone Bernal run past, give me a high five.

“Speak for yourself,” another of our teammates says, while another adds, “I’m just glad Athens isn’t here.”

She’s not here because she’s on the other side of the world right now, attending a training camp for the Olympic team, for which she’ll be competing this summer after a blow-out tryout session just after our first ever championship win. That was a big year for her.

While we didn’t make it to the big game last year, we had a great season. And, in this stadium, the team seeing the investment they’re worth, I’m betting we’ll have an even better one this year.

The whistle blows and I start the game with a solid pass back to our forwards. The seventy-year-old legacy player whoops and laughs when she manages a kick cross-field, and I lose myself to the game, to the endorphins of running, tracking the play,handling the ball, the quick, tap-tap-tap of turning it around and bringing it back to our goal.

Caruso scores first, but I manage to follow it up with my own goal, which makes the crowd go absolutely wild. Olivia is the only person I told that I was thinking about doing this, so it’s a surprise to everyone else.

The game ends in a tie, our five-minute halves mercifully short for the older players on the legacy game. I laugh and hug Sanchez, then turn to walk toward center field for the team photo — only to find something else waiting for me at center field.

“Elliot?” I ask, still breathing hard, looking around at the players around us, not understanding what he’s doing down on the field. He’s not even wearing cleats.

“Sophie,” he smiles, looking impossibly handsome, but also something else… nervous?

It’s only when I finally make it to him, standing at center field, that I realize why he might be nervous. Elliot sinks down onto one knee, his back straight as he looks up at me, a smile stretched wide over his face as I bring my hands to my face.