Miles scowled down at me, and most definitely pouted. “Fine, you were supposed to say Fuller is gross and awful and extremely not your type, thereby implying that I am hot and gorgeous and very much your type.”
“Was that ever really in doubt?” I asked, lifting my head from the couch to kiss around his still pouting lip. “Especially with the last few weeks taken as evidence.”
“No,” he said and paused, before catching one of my kisses and adding, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear you say it.”
“You are hot, and gorgeous, and very much my type. In fact, I think if you opened the book titledMatteo Russo’s Type, you would find yourself the first, last, and only page.”
His lips twitched into a smile, a brief flare of utter delight before it turned into a frown. “What about that cute French guy you missed my first-round match in Paris for?”
“Arnaud?”
“Oh, he has a name?”
“Of course he has a name, he saved my laundry and took me out for coffee. And since your match was on, we spent half the damn time talking about how hot you are.”
“Sure you did.”
“We did! He said you have come-fuck-me eyes.”
Miles gave me a glimpse of his come-fuck-me look only to heave a mock sigh. “And yet you fucked him instead.”
“Ba-bow,” I said, crossing my arms into an X behind his head like he’d given the incorrect answer on a game show. “Wrong again. What I actually did was go home and sulk, and end up getting mad at your press conference because you said it had been two years since we last played.”
His eyes widened in sudden horror. “Hadn’t it been?”
“No. It had been one year and eleven months.”
“That’s close enough!”
I laughed at his disbelief and covered his chin in kisses. “Is it? Is it really? Is one inch outside the line close enough to still win the point?”
“I’ll give you one inch outside the line,” he growled, grinding his semi against me.
“Onlyone?”
Katie strode past on the way back from the bathroom. “Horny noises out, remember? I’m going to bed now.”
As she closed her door firmly behind her, Miles pulled himself to his feet with a tired, little sigh. “I should go, before I can’t take my hands off you.”
The urge to change my mind and go with him was strong, but it was too great a risk when it wasn’t sex I wanted, rather to fall asleep beside him. “Probably for the best.”
I stayed lying where I was and he bent a kiss to my forehead. “Then I shall say goodnight. And hey,” he added, straightening up to leave. “You’ve got this match too.”
SOME PART OF me had been sure I wouldn’t be able to break my streak of second-round losses, no matter how well I had played against Bicchieri. Yet when I stepped onto the far smaller outside court, I told myself it didn’t matter. All that mattered was going out there and playing my game, enjoying the fight and the thrill and leaving nothing behind. I was going to play like Miles was watching and it was the real Matteo Russo he wanted to see, all flare and power and unpredictability. Then it wouldn’t matter if I lost, because at least I wouldn’t have let fear win.
Somehow, it worked. Just over two hours later I had won in straight sets, and while the thrill wasn’t as high as beating Bicchieri on Wimbledon’s greatest stage, the relief at the end was far sweeter.
The usual messages were waiting when I got off court, though it was Miles and Katie’s that caught my eye.
Miles C
congratufuckinglations yet again. remember, don’t tell fuller he’s a coward, you don’t need extra dick
Katie Zhang
Well done! I’m so pleased for you, Mat, you’re on fire right now. So you don’t have to check the scores, I lost. 6-4 in the third. I was so close, but it just wasn’t my day. I’m going out for a commiseration dinner with Patti, but I don’t fly out until late tomorrow, so I’ll catch you before then
Part of my joy faded. It was always better when we were both winning, but that was just how tennis went. Every round half the players would lose until only one remained, and today Katie had fallen into that half.
