I’d earnt my spot at the LTA the hard way. When the post at the National Tennis Center opened, I went after it as though my life depended on it. Which, in a way, it had.
Josh had just called off the engagement, said he didn’t want kids after all, that he’d only gone along with it because he thought it was what I wanted.
At the time, I’d believed him—or half-believed him, at least—but then he’d started dating someone new within weeks. It had all happened far too quickly and conveniently, like maybe she’d been waiting in the wings the whole time. I never bothered asking; I didn’t want to know the answer.
Either way, I was left with a ring I’d never wear again, a mortgage with his name half scratched out of it, and the kind of silence that clawed the walls at night. Truthfully, having Danny around probably wasn’t the worst thing, even if he was the grumpiest bastard alive.
So I’d needed something big to throw myself into. Something I could control when everything else had stopped making sense. This job was that thing.
Now, I was thirty-one, single, stubborn, and absolutely not interested in players with reputations for smashing rackets and breaking hearts.
Except…
I exhaled and flopped back onto the bed.
Except he was hot. Annoyingly hot. And worse, he could be so charming when he wasn’t trying so hard. Today he’d flashed that grin, and for a split second I caught myself feeling…giddy.
You’re not seventeen, I reminded myself. You have a career, a home, responsibilities. Stop being blinded by the shiny sportsguy. Maybe Gwen was right, it seemed I was no longer immune to his type.
The city glimmered through the bay window, fading into nothing as I shut my eyes. I was a professional. I’d rehabbed pros through big tournaments, pressure and performance were my day job. I could handle Tyler Reed.
Even if he had a smile that screamed trouble and made my pulse determined to betray me every time he walked into my treatment room.
I’d just have to stay professional.
And if he flirted again tomorrow?
I’d crush him.
Nicely. Probably.
Chapter 8
Tyler
The headache hit first,a sharp, familiar pulsing behind my eyes. I’d grown accustomed to it now and knew it all too well.
The second thing I noticed was the used condom on the nightstand.
The third was the cold, empty side of the bed.
Whoever she was, she was already gone. Good for her. Or for me? It was getting harder to tell at this point.
I rolled over and groaned, the movement making the room tilt.
Fuck.
Could barely remember her name. Did it start with a K? Kylie? Kiera maybe? Whatever. I think she was hot, obviously. Blonde. Smelled like something you’d spray in a nightclub bathroom and regret by morning.
I’d met a few of the younger guys from the circuit last night, and got a little too loose, forgetting they were ten years younger than me with livers made of steel. I let things get away from me whilst I was showing them the ropes. By now, it was a routine I could basically run in my sleep: cheap drinks, loud music, hotgirls. But today, the pillow beside me just stank of perfume and a looming sense of ‘too old for this.’
I’d snoozed my alarm twice already. If I didn’t haul my ass out of bed soon, Ted would have a full-blown meltdown. My sponsors were already twitching and the last thing I needed was another fine when I was a day out from the Wimbledon quarters.
Then it hit me.
It was seven a.m.
Orla.
