I laugh and clasp hands with my sister, who’s too short to attempt the type of hug over the railing that Rowan did.
“I’ll meet you both back at the hotel,” I say, stepping back and waving at the crowd.
“We’ll have the champagne ready.” Rowan winks at me and I shake my head as I make my way off the court.
“Cheers, missAustralian Open Champion,”Rowan says as we clink champagne glasses and grin at one another.
“I hope dad is kicking himself for not coming out here. I can’t believe he hasn’t bothered to call and congratulate you at least,” Andreea says and my smile falls. It’s been a year since I left home and put some distance between me and Dad. Our relationship has been strained since I told him I was moving to Florida. He wanted me to stay at his club where he could keep an eye on me and my progress.
“I don’t need his praise, I’m not doing this for him,” I mumble, downing the rest of my champagne. I love my sister, but sometimes she cannot read the room or the fact that I clearly don’t want to talk about my parents’ absence from the game.
My dad hasn’t shown up to any of my events since college, and my mom considered coming only if I put her in a “nice place.” I decided it wasn’t worth my time to entertain her so she stayed home.
Rowan clears his throat and wraps his fingers around my hand—the one that’s fidgeting with the empty flute. He gently pulls until I let go of the glass and he refills it. I give him a grateful smile and he winks. The flirty gesture mixes with the bubbly to make me feel lightheaded in the best way.
Things between us have been good. Better than good. Ever since I moved to Palm Beach to be closer to him, things have been amazing. Although I lost in the qualifiers last year, Rowanwas still there, cheering me on, even though he didn’t make it to the qualifiers himself.
Once we both returned to Florida, we made a plan together—started a more intense training schedule, focusing on sprints, running, lunges, and weight training. We entered more competitions, quickly climbing up the ranks in our individual categories. And now, we’re both here. Rowan’s finals for the men’s single category is tomorrow and I can’t wait for both of us to go home as champions.
“What are you going to do with three million dollars?” he asks me as we take a seat on the plush couch in our shared suite.
“Go shopping?” Andreea laughs from across the room, making herself comfortable in the lounge chair.
I glare at her profile but she ignores me, instead scrolling through her phone. Rowan laughs but I can tell it’s an uncomfortable one. I know he’s always struggled financially, and every bit of game prize money he’s made so far has gone to his mom and helping her with house payments. Not to mention he’s still living in his friend’s guesthouse to save up for a house.
I smile and drape my legs across his lap. His palm is warm but rough against my bare thigh and I suppress a shiver. If my sister wasn’t here right now, I’d be climbing on top of him, running my hair through his dark blond hair, grinding on his?—
Rowan’s smirk brings me out of my lust induced daze. “What?” I ask, cheeks on fire.
“I said, that must be quite the shopping trip.”
“Maybe I’ll buy a boat,” I joke. “We’ll keep it docked at my house. Maybe you can live on it,” I tease.
Rowan groans and shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll use my prize money to buy a house for myself. Happy?”
“Very. No offense, but that guesthouse is a little too cramped.”
He shrugs and leans in closer to my face, his grip tighteningon my leg. “Doesn’t bother you enough to stop coming over,” he whispers low enough so my sister doesn’t hear.
Rolling my eyes, I shove at his chest but he doesn’t budge. His hand inches further up my thigh and under my tennis skirt.
“Shut up!!” Andreea yelps from across the room and Rowan yanks his hand back as I sit up, pulling my legs back. Shit, did she see us flirting?
I haven’t told her about the agreement, and the last thing I want is for her to catch us in the act.
“Everything okay?” Rowan asks, clearing his throat and clutching a pillow over his crotch. I smirk but turn around when my sister shoves her phone in my face.
“They think you’re dating!” She laughs, like that’s the most ridiculous thing that could ever happen. I don’t know why, but the thought of her not approving makes my stomach sour. Is it because she thinks less of Rowan and his upbringing? Or is it because she doesn’t think I’m good enough for him?
Rowan takes the phone and flips through the article that was just posted. I hover over his shoulder and catch some of the key words—up-and-comers, dating, new ‘IT couple’ of tennis. My eyebrows scrunch together and Rowan looks at me in concern.
“They’re just speculating,” he says, showing me the headline picture. It’s one from earlier today when he hugged me over the railing and kissed my forehead. In the close up, I’m grinning as his lips press tightly against my forehead and his hands cup my cheeks. I can’t stop the flutter in my stomach.We look cute together.
But then the headline comes into focus:David Taylor’s Daughter Turns Heads at the Australian Open: Is She Dating a Newbie?
I hand the phone back to Andreea and bite my lip. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid bynotdating. The constantpressure from the media, the rumors, all the things that could end a relationship.
“I can’t believe them—they didn’t even acknowledge your win in the title, just that you’re David’s daughter,” Andreea says, pacing around with her balled up fists. “I’m going to call someone about this. Stupid reporters,” she mutters, taking her phone and storming out of the suite.
