Right. Okay. I finally got the hype.
I shifted in my seat rifling pointlessly through my physio bag just to give my hands something to do, because staring at him felt suddenly reckless.
Then he served.
The sound was explosive, clean. A whip of motion and power that sent the crowd to their feet. He fed off it, grinning after big points, swagger in every step but there was control, too. Absolute precision. I finally understood it.
The fuss. The fines. The way people lit up when they said his name. He was magnetic. But the worst thing of all was that I was watching him in a way I had no business watching a client.
The second set turned brutal. His opponent—a wiry Spaniard with a backhand like a sledgehammer—pushed him to a tiebreak. Tyler held his nerve, reeling off three unreturnable serves. When he took the set, the roar that tore out of him made the hairs rise on my arms. My own heart was pounding, a frantic mix of adrenaline and something I couldn't comprehend buzzing under my skin.
Then came the post-match interview. He was still breathing hard when he stepped up to the mic, sweat shining at his temple with a grin wide enough to split his beautiful face.
“Tyler Reed, how does it feel to be heading to your first Wimbledon semifinal?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “It’s pretty awesome. I’ve worked my butt off the past few months, so it feels justified.”
“You’ve been competing with an injury. It seemed to hold up well out there today.”
Tyler nodded, his expression shifting from 'showman' to something more serious. “Yeah, it’s been a battle. Honestly? I wouldn’t be standing here if it weren't for my physio, OrlaSheehan. She’s the best in the business. She’s been riding my ass—pardon the language—about my recovery, and she’s the only reason that hamstring didn't snap in the third set. I owe this win to her expertise, 100%.”
My stomach dropped and did a full backflip.Shit. He was talking about me. He’d spoken aboutme. In front of millions. And he hadn't made a joke. In fact, he’d valued me for what I was good at. This wasn’t the playboy Tyler I was used to hearing.
The reporter pressed on. “You’re up against an old rival next, Jordan Taylor. How do you feel about that matchup?”
Tyler’s grin sharpened. “Jordan’s a solid guy. Amazing player. It’s going to be a huge challenge, but I intend to give it my all. He’s getting old now, though.”
The crowd erupted, laughing and clapping, eating straight out of his hand. He tossed a few signed balls into the stands, soaking in the noise before striding toward the tunnel.
I was already waiting in the wings.
The second he saw me, his whole face changed. A softer, warmer smile that reached all the way to those ridiculous green eyes had replaced that cocky grin that he’d flashed for the cameras earlier.
“Did you watch?” he asked. He sounded hopeful, a trace of vulnerability in his voice that made my spine tingle.
“I did,” I said, aiming for casual despite the fact my pulse was doing eighty.
“And?”
“It’s lucky you’ve got a good physio,” I replied, turning smoothly to lead him down the corridor.
He laughed behind me, boyish and shameless. “Man, you’re a tough girl to impress.”
“Who said I wasn’t impressed?” I shot back over my shoulder.
His grin widened, sparkling in that way that made my stomach turn—goddamn traitorous body.
He hopped up onto the treatment bed while I washed my hands and dried them on a towel. I tried to keep it clinical, going through the usual ritual. Leg up, knee bent, hand braced behind his thigh. But the air between us felt more charged than ever. Watching him out there completely in his element had shifted something inside me.
“Impressed enough to let me take you on a date, yet?” he asked, as hopeful and infuriating as ever.
My head snapped up. “You’re not letting up on that, are you?”
“I like a challenge,” he said with an easy shrug, before his voice quietened. “And I like you.”
The lack of bravado in those four words was terrifying. I didn't answer. I couldn't. Instead, I pressed harder into the tight line of his hamstring, hearing him suck in a sharp breath through his teeth
“This is tight again,” I said briskly, my voice steadier than I felt. “You need to ice it before you head out to the press. Come and see me Thursday afternoon.”
