“You too.”
SEVENTEEN
ALLY
“Is that Sarah Hayes?” Drew asks.
It’s the morning after my night at his condo. We’re at my apartment, waiting for Robbie to show up to look at the water damage. Drew is staring at the one and only picture hanging in the apartment, of Sarah and me in front of the Eiffel Tower. Her arm is draped around my shoulder, and we’re laughing as though we’ve just heard the world’s most hilarious joke.
Looking at the picture, you’d never guess that I’d just lost my first-round match at the French Open, or that Sarah hadn’t even made it through qualifying. We were only nineteen at the time, and we still had our entire careers ahead of us.
“Yep, that’s me and Sarah Hayes,” I confirm. I’m impressed Drew recognized her from a seven-year-old photo.
But I guess it isn’t that surprising, since Sarah’s currently ranked number three in the world. She’s also gorgeous, and Nike’s basically made her their face of women’s tennis.
“You guys were friends?” Drew asks.
“Still are,” I tell him. “We were roommates at a tennis academy when we were teenagers, and she was my best friend on the tour.”
“Do you still keep in touch?”
“Yeah, we’re still pretty close. I hardly ever see her, because she’s on tour most of the year, but we FaceTime almost every week. She’s having a great season. I think she’s got a great shot at the French this year.” The French Open started a week ago, and Sarah just made it through the third round.
Drew nods. Fortunately, he’s too polite to ask the questions he’s probably thinking. Like, is it painful to watch your friend do so well when you washed out of tennis?
Because the answer is yes. It’s very painful. Especially since I could beat her pretty easily when we were teenagers.
Am I jealous? Obviously.
And do I feel guilty for being jealous? Absolutely.
“Do you know, I’ve never seen the Eiffel Tower?” Drew says instead. “I went to Paris a couple years ago for a conference, and I wanted to go. But we only had one afternoon free, and my friend convinced me to go to the Louvre instead.”
“It wasn’t necessarily the wrong choice,” I say thoughtfully. “But you should go back. There’s so much else to see in Paris.”
“I will sometime.”
“I’m just going to get changed,” I say, darting to my tiny bedroom to throw on clean clothes.
When I rejoin Drew, he’s frowning at the water damage in the living room. A large section of the linoleum floor is warped, and part of the wall is still wet. “You know, you’re welcome to stay with me for as long as you need,” he offers.
“But . . .” My sentence trails off, because I have to admit, it’s tempting. Drew’s condo is within walking distance of the hospital, and his pull-out couch is more comfortable than my bed.
“Just keep it in mind,” Drew says. He glances at the clock on my oven, which reads 11:28. “Didn’t your landlord say he’d be here at eleven?”
“Yeah. Punctuality isn’t exactly Robbie’s strong suit.”
Ten more minutes pass before Robbie shows up. As usual, he’s dressed like a preppy university student, in designer jeans, expensive sneakers, and a red polo shirt with the collar popped.
“Hey, Ally.” I get a whiff of cologne as Robbie pulls me in for an awkward half hug.
Drew clears his throat, and Robbie glances up at him. “Oh, hey. You must be Ally’s boyfriend?”
“That’s right,” Drew says, sticking out his hand for Robbie to shake. “Drew Malone.”
“Pleasure,” Robbie says, shaking Drew’s hand. His eyes sweep across the apartment and settle on the wet wall and warped floor. “I see what you were talking about,” he says with a nod. “It looks mostly dry already. You did a good job cleaning it up.”
I take a deep breath in an effort to keep hold of my temper. “Robbie, there’s water in the wall and under the linoleum. The drywall needs to be replaced, and the linoleum needs to be pulled up?—”
