“That good news or bad news?”
“Neither,” I say, my thinking hardening off as I consider one of my toughest opponents. “We’re pretty much always going to face each other sooner or later. It’s just typically closer to the finals.”
I’m glad that no sentimentality sinks in, considering Everett is friends with Gabriel. When it comes to tennis, though, all I care about is meeting him on the court with my best game and staying focused on my win.
“I’ll make sure I get out of here soon and find a discreet place to stay,” Gabriel says as he plays around with the coffee machine. “Give you space before your matches.”
“No,” I say quickly. “That’s silly. You should just stay here.”
He turns to face me again, surprised. There are flowers everywhere, and a gigantic champagne flute is on display beside him, and with the exception of winning this tournament, the only thing I want right now is to have Gabriel stay here with me.
I’m not supposed to want it, but I do.
“There’s only one bed,” he points out.
“I’ll barely be here,” I say quickly. “And it makes our story a bit strange if you’re not staying with me. No?”
“Right. Of course.”
I sit up, still dizzy from the orgasm. “It is too late for caffeine. But maybe not too early for dinner? I’ll finish the last few servings of the tofu and greens if you want to order something for yourself.”
Gabriel pushes a hand through his hair. “Cool,” he says, smiling softly. “I’ll order something up.”
My routine falls in place after that. The way I want Gabriel is still clear and present, but as my friend-with-benefits plays guitar into his headphones across the suite, I’m able to bury the contradiction away and focus on my game. Gabriel even insists on going to bed with me early so that I’m not woken up by him later, although I’m sure he was lying there wide awake for hours.
I have one of the best sleeps I’ve ever had at a tournament. Warm and comfortable. My foot touches Gabriel’s when I doze off, and our hands and legs are tangled together when I wake in the morning. I extract myself carefully and head to the gym, and I’m wide awake, ready to win again.
Gabriel arrives to the stadium right on time. I find him on the street outside, and he’s wearing a black polo shirt with his darkest sunglasses, charcoal slacks, and a shiny pair of boots.
“Nice tennis look,” I tell him as I greet him with a chaste kiss, appropriate for our gathering audience.
He holds his hands up, showing me his black fingernails. “Even painted my nails this morning.AndI wrote a song.”
I smile, letting the cameras flash around us. “An entire song? That’s great, right? You’re going to be set for that meeting with Fox.”
“Okay, a half a song,” he says with a chuckle. He gives a quick wave to the crowd, and we walk back into the stadium complex. “But a half a song is good for one morning. Might be something to this 'waking up early' thing.”
“Or you’re just extremely talented, and songs pour out of you.”
He gives me a funny smile. “Something like that.”
“I’m back here,” I say, pointing the way. “There will be someone available to seat you straight from my room.” When I push the door open, I catch his eye. “What’s the song like?”
“What’s it like?”
“Yeah. Like, what’s it about?”
Gabriel chuckles as he walks into my space. “I don’t know. It’s not exactly about anything.”
When disappointment hits me, I realize I wanted the song to be about me. It’s a funny thing to feel. I don’t normally seek out that kind of attention. I’ve definitely never fantasized about someone making art about me before.
Gabriel holds my eye, and it feels like he’s reading my emotions. “Do you want to hear a few lines?”
I brighten up. Him sharing new music feels like a major breakthrough. “I’d love to.”
“For good luck,” he says. “Not that you need it.”
Gabriel takes a deep breath, and his singing voice rolls out, rough but soft, deep and steady.
