His lip curves. “Do you think all Swiss people are friends?”
“Look, if youarefriends with him, never tell me. I’ll probably murder you in your sleep out of pure jealousy.”
“Who did you say the serial killer was?” he asks.
“I have a secret side hobby. I guess your research didn’t pick that up.” I shrug and grab two of the balls from the basket. “Are you done with your lesson?”
Behind his sunglasses, it’s impossible to make out his expression. His stubble is back again. Just a hint of a shadow. I like him better with the stubble, I think. Makes him look handsomely unkempt.
And then I immediately hate myself for the thought.
“Are you asking me to play, Wilde?” Rafe asks.
“We have… lots of aggression. We can get that out.”
He grabs a tennis ball. “We’ll play. You’ll serve.”
I walk toward the baseline. Rafe talks to the tennis coach, and I see them shake hands, smiling again. It’s disconcerting to see him be so friendly with people. So far I’ve only seen him with his employees or designers, and he charms them all, too.
It seems like I’m the only person he argues with.
I squeeze the tennis ball hard. It’s familiar, down to the grooves and the color. I know this. I’ve done this so many times.
“We’re keeping score!” I yell over the net.
“Don’t we always?” he calls back from his spot on the baseline. He’s taller than me by a few inches. He’ll be able to cover more ground. I need to bear that in mind.
“And the winner?” I ask.
“The charity gala later. If I win here, you behaveimpeccablytonight,”he calls.
My lip curves. “And if I win, you dive into the lake with your clothes on.”
He bends at the knees, racquet gripped with both hands. A textbook starting position. “It’s a deal, Wilde.”
The exhilaration rushing through me feels better than an orgasm. Headier and infinitely more consuming. Because I can win this. I don’t know what it means, that arguing with him gives me that feeling, but I don’t question it.
I throw the ball up in the air to serve.
CHAPTER 20
PAIGE
I won.
By only two sets, sweating harder than I have in months. I’m better than him, in terms of form and technique, but he clearly plays more regularly, and he’s physically stronger. It was a closer game than I anticipated.
But I won.
So after the game, he heads to the dock to swim in the lake, and I stand on the worn stone, watching him dive clean off the dock and break the water’s surface with practiced ease.
Fully clothed.
It doesn’t seem like it bothers him in the least, and weirdly, his lack of annoyance doesn’t bother me either. I walk into my shower with my mind completely blank.
It’s the first time it’s been blank in years.
It’s bliss.
