“No.” He planted a light, lingering kiss on my lips before straightening up. “Youdiddesperately need to do laundry. I took yours with me when I went after practice. Can’t promise I got everything, but I washed what was in your bag.”
I stared up at him like he’d spoken a different language. “You did my laundry?”
“Yeah. I was going anyway, so why not? You all right? Thepress didn’t give you a hard time after that on-court interview, did they?”
Spoken like a protective brother who would have beaten them up if they had, and so I shook my head. “No more than usual. I’m just exhausted. Although exhausted is good because that means no overthinking, right?”
“Well, we can collapse on the couch and watch the night session. I’ll just stick something in the oven unless you want to order in.”
He had done my laundry, he was taking care of dinner, and it had never been a question whether we were spending the evening together. It all just felt so easy, so natural, and though I should have demurred, it was all I could do to stop grateful tears pricking the corners of my eyes.
And when he bent to kiss me, I wanted to kiss him back in a way that meant not just you’re hot but also thank you for all the things I can’t put into words. In a way that said I’m so glad you’re here and I never want this to end – such dangerous thoughts when every day the end was increasingly likely, and I had no right to any of it.
I must have stiffened or twitched or something, because Miles drew back, a frown digging a notch between his brows. “Hey, are you okay? Like . . . really okay? You’ve been, I don’t know, a bit standoffish the last couple of days.”
“Standoffish? Does having my dick in you count as standoffish?”
“No,” he conceded with a shrug. “Maybe I’m just hyperaware that we’re running out of time, since we’re now at the point where losing is increasingly likely for both of us. When will I see you again? After the tournament, I mean.”
An after I hadn’t dared hope would exist and really needed not to think about. I shrugged back like the question wasn’t destroyingme. “Danny is working on new season plans, but he’s under strict instructions not to tell me anything until I’m done, so I don’t know. I could be playing Washington in two weeks, or starting my swing in Canada, but if neither work out then my original plan was to hit the challengers in Chicago and Cancún before the US Open.”
“I don’t like that last option. Six weeks is a long time to be without you.”
My heart thudded like a fucking drum. How could he say such things so easily? Like they were just observations, not statements designed to tear at my chest with their sincerity? “Six weeks is nothing to the one year and eleven months between our last meetings,” I said, determined not to show how utterly he tormented me.
“Oh my god, just call it two years, Mat!”
“Never.”
He slid his arms around me and squeezed like he could force the concession out of me. “Two. Years.”
“One year and eleven months!”
“Fine,” he said, loosening his hold. “Well, I hope it’s not going to befive weeks and six and a half daysuntil I get to see you again.”
We hadn’t talked about any future, not even a future that involved continuing to hook-up on occasion. Not surprising to assume it, I told myself, as I told myself it meant nothing.
Miles’s frown returned. “Seriously, what’s up?”
“I’m fine.”
For a moment, he stared at me as though trying to read my mind before he spun abruptly away. He paced to the bench only to return, running a hand down his face, and in that moment, he looked as tormented. “Mat,” he said. “I—”
“No, don’t.” Without thinking, I’d lifted a hand, looking awayfrom his tortured expression, away from what was surely just my own hope being reflected back to me.
“Don’t what?” he asked, the words quiet.
“Don’t say whatever you were going to say. I just . . . I need to get through this tournament without anything changing. No thinking, right?”
Miles laughed, the sound soft and fondly amused. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to say anything momentous.”
The silence that followed made it seem like a lie, yet it was a lie I grasped with both hands. “Good. I already feel like I’m hanging onto my sanity by a thread.” I scrunched up my face, and tried to release the tension on a sigh. “Someone at the press conference told me my live ranking and I’m barely containing a crisis about that already.”
“Shit,” he hissed. “You said they were no worse than usual!”
“Well? They’re always awful. That wasn’t even the worst except that in the end it was because now I can’t stop thinking about how much higher it would go if I won again.”
“Right.” He held out his hands – a man ready for anything. “What do you need?”
