At 5–4, we played the rally of the match. Twenty-six brutal shots. Backhand, forehand, slide, twist, sprint. My lungs burned, my legs threatening to give. And then the gap opened up.
I went full tilt. Slammed a forehand down the line so hard, the line judge flinched.
Ace. Match point.
The stadium went quiet, the kind of silent that roared.
I bounced the ball twice, looked up, and found her. Still there. Still watching me like I was the only thing that mattered.
I couldn’t stop the grin creeping across my face which Reed would inevitably think was a dig at him. Fucking let him.
I served. Unreturnable.
Game, set, match.
The crowd soared to its feet, but I didn’t drop to my knees or pump my fist at the box. I just shut my eyes for a second and tipped my head back. Then I turned, slowly, and looked straight at her.
I let the grin take over my face, full of everything I couldn’t say out loud.
Because it was her. All of it. The fight, the calm, the fire in my chest. She was the difference. Without a second thought, I ran over to her, racket in hand. Her face was a picture of panic and elation. I climbed into the players’ box, my heart still thundering in my ears, and kissed her.
I thought everyone in the stadium saw it. The cameras definitely caught it, but I didn’t care.
Let them know.
She’s the one.
Across the net, Reed was fuming. Racket clenched in one hand, the other raking through his sweat-soaked hair like he couldn’t believe the outcome. His mouth twisted into that sneering smirk I’d seen on him all week, the one that saidyou didn’t beat me, I just had an off day.He slapped my hand at the net harder than necessary, muttered something about, “Enjoy the luck while it lasts,” and stalked off with his shoulders still squared like he owned the place.
It didn’t matter; I’d already forgotten him. My eyes were on her.
The trophy presentation blurred. I could hear my name echoing around Centre Court, the crowd still buzzing. But the moment I turned toward the players’ box, she’d already slipped away.
But not before I caught a last glimpse; just her hair slipping behind someone’s shoulder, the edge of her dress, that flash of a smile. She was already on her way down, and my heart was hammering at the thought of seeing her.
Backstage, as I made my way through the tunnel, it happened. I practically ran to her, crashing my mouth against hers, all that adrenaline spilling out in one kiss. Every ounce of pressure, every second of the match, broke loose between us.
I’d never forget that look in her eyes—the pride, the way her hand curled around the back of my neck like I was hers and she didn’t care who saw.
“You were amazing,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
I caught her wrists, still breathless. “I can’t—fuck—I can’t believe I did it. I kept looking for you.” Her hands framed my face, her lips pressing soft against mine, steady where I wasn’t. I could feel what it meant to her, the weight of it.
“Go do your thing,” she murmured, close enough that only I could hear. “Soak in every second. I’ll meet you later at the flat, if you want?”
That was so like Kate. She was the most selfless, grounded person I knew. She understood what this moment meant, that I’d be pulled in a million directions now. She never tried to insert herself—she didn’t need the spotlight. She just existed, and that was enough.
But the undeniable truth was I wanted her there. God, I wanted to share this with her. Desperately. But she was right to hang back, and I was scared that if I leaned too hard, I’d crush her under everything that came with me.
Before I turned away, I kissed her hard, needing the taste of her to carry me through whatever circus waited beyond the tunnel. Then I forced myself to jog off, every step heavier for leaving her behind, fully aware that she was standing there, holding my entire heart.
The drive home was a complete blur. The roar of the crowd was still in my ears. My pulse hadn’t slowed for a moment, but it wasn’t from nerves anymore. The adrenaline was still there, coursing through my veins as if it had nowhere to go. But I knew exactly where I was about to put it.
I turned the key in the lock. The door clicked open, and there she was. Sitting at the kitchen island, one leg crossed over the other, looking like she’d been waiting for me all night. Her blonde haircascaded loose over her shoulders, her peachy skin glowing, still in that little floral dress that was straining against her perfect, full tits.
My girl. The only thing better than the win.
My cock throbbed against my shorts instantly. Here she was, the woman who’d come into my life like a whirlwind this week, sitting in my kitchen and looking like the piece that had always been missing.
