I’m still offduring practice, but not enough for him to jump over the net and proposition me for sex again. Is that what he was doing? Propositioning me? Why did it feel more like a business proposal?
When we head back inside to change, the house has already started to fill up with party planners and various other people I’ve never seen before. Elias looks around at everyone like it’s all new to him.
“Who are all these people?” he asks.
“Party planners, I guess.”
“All of them?”
“Well, party planners and their staff. Caterers, agents?—”
“Agents?”
“For the performers.”
“Who’s performing? Mariah Carey?”
I laugh, enjoying the sight of him caught off guard for once.
“Doesn’t it bother you? Having all these strangers in your home?”
How do I explain to him that this has never felt like a ‘home’ exactly?
“I’m used to it.” I shrug. “Growing up, every tiny excuse for a party always turned into a huge event. The pictures from my first birthday party look like something from a post-Oscar bash. Gold and black balloons everywhere. People dressed in tuxedos—I’m not even kidding.”
Elias looks horrified and I shrink a little. Is this one of those moments where you think you’re telling a cute childhood anecdote and someone thanks you for sharing your trauma?
I try a laugh, but it comes out forced. “It’s not like I can remember it anyway.”
Elias seems to be checking my face for clues as to how he should react.
“Sure. I guess it’s just a bit … different to what I’m used to.”
“Normality? Definitely different from that.”
“Well, I, um …” He rubs the back of his neck, looking awkward. “I’d better go take a shower and get changed.”
“Sure.”
“Is there anything special I should wear for your mother’s party tonight? Is there a dress code?” He gets a cheeky glint in his eye. “I don’t think I packed my tuxedo.”
“No tuxedos. And don’t worry, we’ll probably blend right into the background tonight.”
I watch him leave, a hopeful flutter in my stomach. He made it clear out there on the courts … if I want him, I can have him.
15
ELIAS
Ideliberated for twenty minutes in the bathroom mirror about whether or not to shave the stubble on my chin for the party tonight. After finally deciding to go unshaven, I comb my hair for the fifth time before going out to meet Ben.
Why am I so nervous? It’s just a stupid party. As Ben said, no one will even notice me. His mother will be surrounded by her friends and be too busy having a good time to notice one more guest.
But Ben will notice, won’t he?
He’s waiting for me in the kitchen. Catering staff buzz around, carrying trays of tiny canapes and glasses of champagne. I’m caught short at the sight of him in a nice suit, running a hand through his dark hair. Something gnaws in my stomach at how attractive he looks. The healthy flush on his cheeks. The brightness of his big brown eyes. He turns and catches me looking and that blush deepens. The smile on his face is uncertain.
“Hey,” he says.
