“What?”
“That morning, I woke up and you were gone.”
It was so much easier to talk with her eyes closed, when she couldn’t see him. It was almost like no one could see her—it was so easy, she decided not to be pissed off at him for tricking her into talking. “I was embarrassed.”
“Of me?”
Penny shook her head, the clay beneath her caking into her hair. “No, not you, of me. I don’t do things like that, one-night stands.”
“Oh,” he said simply.
“And then you grabbed the nearest supermodel, got drunk, and crashed your bike,” she said, the dots finallyconnecting in her head. Had he gone out and gotten himself drunk because she left? Had he wanted her to stay?
“Something like that,” he admitted.
“So it’s my fault.”
“No,” he said. The soft feel of his thumb disappeared, replaced quickly by her entire hand being wrapped up in the warmth of his. “That was all me. I was spiraling.”
“You’ve been doing really well here.”
He had been different since he arrived, still a little wild, a little reckless, but his focus was on his game, on getting back to the top, that much was clear in how he trained. Back in Australia, he’d been like a tornado, taking out everything in his path. Even her.
“Like I said, you don’t really know me.”
Penny laughed softly. “Sure I do. The youngest man to ever win Wimbledon, the first English man to do it since 1936, youngest man to ever win the career Grand Slam…”
“All that’s missing is the Olympic gold,” Alex filled in for her.
“Well, the Olympics are only two years away.”
“Yeah, in Los Angeles. Great city. They know how to party.”
“Is that really all you think about?”
“No,” he said, “I think about you a lot.”
“Alex,” she warned, but it didn’t stop him.
“First time I saw you, it was in Australia.”
“Yeah, and look how that turned out.”
“Not this year. Two years ago, your first time down under, I think.”
“Oh.”
“I thought you were the most incredible-looking girl I’d ever clapped eyes on, and Christ, you could play, too. You reminded me so much of me, of who I used to be, focused, driven, not letting anything or anyone stand in my way.”
“You can still be like that. You’ve been like that since you got here, mostly,” she said, growing more and more uncomfortable with each sweet word that spilled from his lips. It was like a confession, one she shouldn’t be privy to, even though he was talking about her.
“We’ll see, but we’re not here to talk about me. This is about you.”
“I hate when things are about me.”
His fingers laced between hers and he squeezed. “You put on a good show, then.”
“I guess I’m used to it, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
