A commanding performance
i meant the match
How do you know I didn’t?
because you have better eyes than the interviewer
well?
Don’t you have post match things to do?
i’m cooling down
it’s boring without someone to talk to
Oh, you need a pity friend again
yeah, i need a pity friend again
Are you going to pay me with more steak?
yesterday’s payment wasn’t good enough?
damn. should have taken off the towel
I imagined what he looked like naked and groaned, heat rising through me. God, this was stupid. He’d only bought me dinner because he’d been lonely. Had only kissed me because he’d gotten swept up in the moment. The blowjob was harder to explain, yet some part of me still expected him to laugh and admit it had been an elaborate ruse to embarrass me – punishment for daring him to do without his team.
A familiar twinge of panic tightened beneath my sternum and I dropped my phone on the kitchen bench. No, the whole idea that Miles Callahan could be . . . what? Flirting with me? Was ridiculous. Somewhere along the way, I had misunderstood something, and any moment it would blow up in my face.
The panic swelled like a boulder compressing my chest.I needed to move, to shake it off, and started gathering my things as quickly as I could. Water. Shoes. Racquet bag. I wouldn’t need much else.
My phone buzzed again as I was changing my shirt and I dared to look down.
Scrunchie
mat?
you right there?
did i melt your brain?
I headed for the door, leaving my phone behind.
I WARMED UP. Drilled. Smashed baskets of balls shot from the ball machine. Then drilled some more. Afternoon slipped into evening while other people came and went from the surrounding courts, and though I knew I ought to head back, I didn’t. I set another basket at my feet instead and worked on my serve. Once the basket was empty, I would finally have to stop and think, but until then I could focus on nothing but the motion, nothing but—
“Mat?”
“Fuck!” My heart slammed into my throat and I almost dropped my racquet as I spun. Miles stood watching, the gate to the court slowly swinging closed behind him. “Miles,” I said, pressing a hand to my chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Seems like fair payback,” he returned, faintly scowling at me.
He was dressed in tennis gear like he’d come for a hit and just happened upon me, yet he’d brought no racquet and surely wasn’t in need of the court time. “Payback?” I said. “Why? What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? I came to find you!”
My stomach tightened and I turned away with a tense laugh. “Oh, you need a hitting partner?” I asked, grabbing a ball from the basket – focussing on my serve far easier than whatever this was.
“No? Mat, you just fucking disappeared, leaving your phone unlocked on the bench. I was worried.”
