“I’m starting to regret inviting you,” I said.
“I can go back. There’s a bubble bath with my name on it,” she teased.
Do not think of her in a bubble bath.
“No, stay,” I said, grabbing the room service menu and offering it to her, climbing onto the bed to get comfortable.
She slid onto the other side, setting the wine bottle and glass on the bedside table. The bed was massive, but with her lying next to me, it might as well have been a single.
Picking up the phone, I looked back at her. “Do you know what you’d like?”
She hummed, taking her time to peruse the dessert section. “I’ll have the chocolate lava cake, please.” I nodded, readying myself to order. “And the apple pie, with the whipped cream on the side. If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll share my wine.”
I winced, the red liquid holding no sway over me. I still had a beginner’s palate when it came to wine.
“I would never try to get between you and your wine,” I said. “And I can’t, I’m playing tomorrow.”
Inés swirled her wine glass lazily, her gaze wandering over the room. “Maybe I would’ve played better if I had your self-control.”
“You played well. You should be proud,” I said, pressing the button to call room service.
Inés snorted softly, shaking her head, before scrolling through the TV as I ordered the dessert. Her attention lingering too long on one channel when the familiar blue court appeared, a replay of her match.
“You know,” I said, keeping a watchful eye on her as I placed the landline back on the bedside table. “Today’s loss doesn’t make you any less of a threat. Everyone out there saw exactly what you’re capable of.”
She tilted her head, amusement cutting through the grim expression that had formed across her sharp features. “Are you always this optimistic, or is this just for me?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I think you bring it out of me.”
That earned a laugh, soft but real. She leaned back against the headboard, taking another sip of her wine as she peeled off her eye patches, placing them to the side. “Careful, Chloe. You might start sounding like a fan.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but instead, I found myself wanting to agree. I had always been a fan. While I obviously hadn’t caughteverymatch, I tried to watch the important ones, like the French Open final. I’d walked away from that day wanting to play like her, my movements to look as intentional and controlled. She was graceful on clay, like she belonged there.
And for some reason, I was unsure that I was ready to admit it, to be that vulnerable with Inés.
“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” I was used to doing this by myself, killing the long evenings during a tournament alone. But now I had somebody to talk to, spend time with.
Inés opened her mouth, before hesitating, turning her attention back to the TV. She lasted a second before a wince appeared across her face, Scottie winning another set. I wanted to reach out and grab the remote from her, change it toanythingelse.
“Can I ask you an awkward question?” she asked, her dark gaze turned towards me. I nodded. “A few days ago, at breakfast, you and Henrik were together.”
“Yeah?”
“Were you catching up?” she asked. “Or were youtogethertogether?”
I searched her face, analyzing her expression, the worry creased in her forehead.
“It was only breakfast,” I answered. “Henrik was—”
“Honestly, I don’t need to know,” Inés interrupted quickly, as if she couldn’t stand to hear more. “I shouldn’t have asked, it’s none of my business.”
I knew things were weird, given the history. Given the kiss. But this wasn’t what she thought, and I wanted to set it right.
“No,” I said. “I mean to say, the relationship wasn’t ever serious.”
She fell silent, a confused line appearing between her brows. “But you were together for a while?”
She looked evenmoreconfused for a second before I explained, “It was more of a situational thing.”
