At match point, he served out wide. The return clipped the net, floated high. Jordan crushed it away.
Game. Set. Match.
He dropped his racket, head tipped back, chest heaving. Then he turned and found me.
I stood before I even knew he was moving. He climbed up to our box two steps at a time, barely stopping to shake hands at the net.
“Oh, he’s coming for you,” Maggie said, all smug.
And he was. He reached me in seconds, grabbed my face in both sweaty hands, and kissed me in front of everyone. Hard. Like it had been building since the moment I landed.
The crowd screamed. My knees nearly gave out. I barely registered the flashes, the noise, the chaos.
“Told you,” he whispered against my mouth. “You’re my good luck charm.”
And just like that, I forgot every reason I’d had to guard my heart.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kate
July 27th
Before my feetcould even touch the ground, we were on a flight to Montreal the next morning. Just when I’d started to unpack properly, I was packing it all up again.
Jordan had barely slept. We’d celebrated his win in the most deliciously unhinged way with room service, champagne, and not quite making it to the bedroom. We were giddy, drunk on each other. The real world had stayed outside our hotel room door.
Now it was creeping back in.
Montreal was busier. Bigger. Everything was a little slicker and colder. His media schedule had doubled. There were more people around him now; agents, PR, tournament reps, and all of them seemed to want something from him. The news of his success was spreading, and the hype was escalating. The bubble felt thinner here, like I could already feel the pressure pushing in around the edges.
Chris had asked if I wanted to come to training that afternoon. I hadn’t hesitated. I tugged on one of Jordan’s hoodies, pulled a baseball cap low over my face, and laced up my trainers. When I caught my reflection in the lift mirror, bare legs, oversized hoodie, his initials on the cap, I had a flicker of recognition; I looked like someone’sgirlfriend. Likehisgirlfriend. And I wasn’t sure when that had started to feel so natural.
Jordan was already hitting when we arrived, shirt off, glistening with sweat, his forehand cracking like a whip every time it connected.
“Try not to get too distracted staring at my arse, babe,” he called out shamelessly, not even turning around.
I smirked. “Bit late for that.”
Chris grinned as he tossed Jordan a fresh set of balls. “Jesus, you even dress like him now.”
I glanced down at myself and flashed him a grin.
“He’s been insufferable since you got here, you know,” Chris casually mentioned.
“I’ve always been insufferable,” Jordan shot back, finally turning to flash that cocky, post-win smirk. “She’s just a sucker for it now.”
Chris looked at me. “Wanna give us your insight, Doc? You watch him more than I do these days.”
“I’m not a tennis coach,” I said, folding my arms. “But fine,” I conceded with a shrug. ?“He’s got this little thing he does right before his serve, a twitch in his left wrist. Almost like he’s bracing. It’s a tell.”
Jordan raised an eyebrow at me. I bit back a smile.
“And your backhand?” I added. “You flatten it out under pressure, especially when you’re on the run. You don’t do it in practice, but in matches. It’s there, consistently.”
Chris let out a low whistle. “You might be better than the intelligence.”
Jordan walked over, wiping the sweat from his brow and stealing a quick kiss. “You’re ridiculous. Brilliant. Sexy. And still slightly terrifying.”
