“I’m going back out on the pro tour before the end of the year, hopefully. This is just a temporary thing for me.”
“Oh, well, that’s a shame. I was getting used to you, Elias Liebrenz.”
My heart sinksa little as I take a detour across the grass, soaking up the grand buildings and groups of students walking between classes and studying out on the lawn. It’s nice to be around people who love what they do and appreciate where they are, but it will be even better when I’m around people who love tennis and appreciate getting to play as a job.
I text Ben to ask if we can meet up to discuss tactics for our next match. His reply stops me in my tracks.
Sorry, can’t. I’m going on this date thing tonight. Wish me luck!
Fuck.
I text back:
Good luck.
BEN
I swat Nate’s hand away after he starts fixing my hair for the twentieth time. It really doesn’t help that Evan is lying on his bed, reading a textbook and pretending not to listen to Nate fussing around me with an adoring smile on his face.
Maybe Tom will be my Evan? Maybe this date will be a funny story we tell our kids one day?
Whoa, too much.
“Ben, you okay? You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look great,” Nate says with a proud smile. “Ev, doesn’t he look great?”
Evan glances up from the textbook. He gives me the once over the way you might check out a car you’re thinking of buying. It’s methodical, almost clinical, but I appreciate it. It means he isn’t just going to placate me.
“You look great, Ben. If this Tom guy has any sense, he’ll snap you the fuck up.”
“Thanks.”
The doorbell chimes and my heart feels like it has leapt into my throat.
“That must be him,” Nate says.
“What a gentleman, ringing the doorbell,” Evan says.
Nate tuts. “Only hooligans honk.”
Evan laughs. God, I hope Tom turns out to be my soulmate. It’s killing me watching everyone else fall in love around me while I remain clueless and celibate.
Archer’s opened the door and is grinning as I make my way down the stairs. I know they mean well, but I wish my brothers would all back off a little. They’re making me feel like some loser the star quarterback asked to the prom out of pity. Like it’s such a big occasion that I’m going on a date. I’m just waiting for someone to pop out with a camera and start snapping pictures.
The guy waiting for me in the doorway is dressed in carefully-pressed chinos, white shirt, blazer. A tie.
“Shoot, do I need a tie?” I blurt.
Tom smiles, showing off his brilliant white teeth.
“Not at all,” he says. His accent is super refined. Sending me away to boarding school might have seemed like a good idea to my parents, but speaking Swiss French for years changed my accent a little. There’s something very ‘pure’ about Tom’s. My father would approve.
“You look great,” he says.
My heart pounds.Okay, good start.
