Losing at Love (20 page)

Her phone buzzed in the front pocket of her racket bag after her shower. A quick glance at it showed a few missed calls and accompanying voicemails from Caroline that she had no intention of listening to, and a missed call from Jack but no message. The grounds were still overflowing with people and she followed a security guard back toward the private entry and exit the players used. There were a few autograph hounds hanging around, but there was a car waiting for her as well.

“Miss Gaffney,” the same man who’d chauffeured her to the grounds in the morning said, taking her bag from her. “Tough fight out there today, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Thanks,” she said, sliding into the car and letting her head fall back against the cool leather of the seat. At least someone had noticed that she’d been trying as hard as she could.

~

The drive back to Alex’s house, made a little longer than usual thanks to the midday London traffic, still went by quickly, but it had given Indy enough time to clear her head. She still wasn’t over it, not really, but as the minutes ticked by and the post-match adrenaline had faded from her veins, regret had surged through her. It had been a long time since she’d lost a match and an even longer time since she had taken a beating quite like that. She’d taken it out on both Penny and Jack.

Ahmed, the driver, had kindly informed her that the Harrison’s had gone home already and he’d dropped them off before coming back for her. She let herself into the house and looked across the foyer into the empty kitchen, and then into the library. There, she saw the back of a familiar head, dark, thick hair cropped close to his head, the back of his neck tan, as always, broad shoulders peaking up over the back of the dark brown leather couch, facing the far wall. The TV was on mute, but airing the current match at Centre Court.

“Hey,” she said, as he lifted a glass of amber colored liquid to his lips, taking a long sip.

“Hey.” He set the heavy tumbler down on the table in front of him and leaned forward, elbows on his knees as she came around the couch, sitting on the arm. She let her eyes drift to the TV but didn’t really see the match.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I was being a brat.”

He shrugged. “You lost. You should see…” he trailed off.

“When Penny loses?” she finished for him and he nodded. “It’s okay, Jack. You can say her name. I lost the match and it sucks big hairy monkey balls, but I’ve got to move past it, right? I’ve got the junior tournament to focus on now.”

“You do,” he agreed.

“The house is quiet,” she said, standing up, not hearing the pounding of feet or chatter that the crowded townhouse normally echoed with during the day.

“Everyone’s out. Penny and Alex went to lunch just before you got back.”

“You didn’t want to join them?”

“I don’t third wheel on my little sister’s dates.”

“So then, we have the house to ourselves?” she said, moving in front of him.

“Yeah.” He looked up at her, his green eyes already dilated, the green bleeding into black. She lifted a hand and ran it over the top of his head and then moved forward, nudging his shoulder back against the couch with her hip. Bracing herself against his chest, she moved in, settling a thigh on either side of his, straddling his body. She just wanted to feel something good after a morning of bad. Hovering over him, she let her lips brush against his, tasting the bourbon he’d just sipped. Jack strained his neck, trying to prolong the contact, but she pulled away, a corner of her mouth lifting in a small smirk, which he wiped away by gripping her hips and flipping her neatly onto her back, his body holding her down against the cool leather of the couch. The seconds ticked by, breathing heavy between them, chests rising and falling faster and faster, but he didn’t do anything, just stared down at her.

Indy lifted a hand to his cheek and stroked the line of his jaw with her thumb, biting her lip as he leaned into the touch, turning his lips into her hand, kissing the palm softly. Then she felt his entire body stiffen against her and his weight was gone as he sat back, taking her wrist in his hand, running his thumb over a reddish purple mark blooming on her fair skin.

“I did that?” he asked, his voice suddenly much lower, almost like he was struggling to get the words out.

“I bruise easily.” It was the truth. She had new bruises daily just from a regular practice.

Jack pushed away from her fully, dropping her wrist and shaking his head. “I hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Jack.”

“Indiana, you have a fucking bruise on your wrist from where I grabbed you. Shit like that can’t happen,” he said, pushing up off the couch and striding away from her.

“Yeah,” she said, quietly as he left the room, his strong shoulders hunched over. “But I liked it.”

June 25th

Jasmine woke when it was still dark outside. A lump at the center of the bed, on the opposite side of the room, shifted. The mattress beneath the lump gave a short squeak, as Indy moved around and then settled again, blonde hair peeking out from beneath the covers. Jasmine carefully swung her legs over the side of her bed and tiptoed to the dresser she’d claimed, pulling out some training clothes. She changed quickly before grabbing her racket bag and silently leaving the room, closing the door behind her as gently as she could.

Movement at the other end of the hallway drew her attention and she nodded to Paolo, who was leaving his own room, yawning and running his fingers through his impressive bedhead. In just a pair of low slung boxer briefs, the tight V of muscles at his core pointing down past the elastic waistband and leaving very little to the imagination. His chest was lined with dark curly hair, blending well with his olive skin.

Jasmine actually felt her mouth water at the view he was presenting to her.

“You’re up early,” she said. “I don’t think you’ve been out of that bed before noon the whole time I’ve been here.”

“The only practice session I could schedule today was very, very early,” he said. “Too early.” His eyes were still unfocused and he was using the doorframe for support.

“What time?”

“Half seven.”

Jasmine grimaced. “Um…that’s right now.”

“Merda,” he grumbled. Her mind flickered back to the other night when she’d been giving off signals to Natalie that she hadn’t meant at all and inspiration struck like lightning.

“You could come train with me,” she offered before she could stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. The way they’d left things a few days before was awkward, to say the least. He’d left her alone with Teddy and by the time she’d entered the house, he’d been upstairs behind a very firmly shut bedroom door. Left with two options, retreat to her own room or work up the courage to just charge into his bedroom, Jasmine chose the first. Then the tournament got in the way, their schedules on opposite ends of the clock, she’d barely caught a glimpse of him in three days. Except she wanted him to know she really liked him and what Natalie had said. That she’d given her vibes, that she’d been chill and friendly and sweet and it made her feel like she was interested. But that was nearly impossible to duplicate now. She wasn’t interested in Natalie, that’s why she’d been so cool and apparently sexy. Now she was just a jumble of nerves. “If you don’t want to, I’d understand, but I have a practice session in an hour and if you need…”

“Sounds good,” he said, falling back away from the door and closing it behind him, presumably to get dressed.

“So glad I could help,” she said to the large oak barrier and headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

She was sitting on the steps of the townhouse, waiting for the car to pull around when he came out the door, setting his racket bag down and taking a seat beside her.

“Sorry,” he said, bumping her shoulder with his. “I am a grouch in the mornings before I’ve had coffee.”

“Its fine,” she said, taking a deep breath and steeling her shoulders. “I’m sorry too.”

“Perché?”

“For the other night, for not…I wanted to, but I…” she trailed off, shifting toward him, ducking her head to try and meet his eye, but he was staring out onto the street.

“There is nothing for you to explain.” He said it so simply. No drama, no fuss. Except that she did need to explain herself, desperately. She wanted him to understand what was going on in her head. The only problem was, she didn’t really understand it herself.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to,” she began anyway. “It’s that I’ve never…it’s not…I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

Paolo finally turned and looked at her, their knees bumping, the rough hairs on his calf tickling against the smooth skin of hers. He took her hand. “I mean what I say. You have nothing to explain. We can go as fast or as slow as you like or not at all,” he said, dropping her hand, letting it land on his knee, but his knuckles brushing against hers. “It is perhaps a little cliché, but the ball is in your court.”

“I think,” she said, putting her own hand over his. “I think slow.”

“Slow it is then,” he said, lifting their joined hands to his lips, but Jasmine pulled away. Instead, she ran her fingers over his mouth, trailing over to the side of his face before leaning in slowly and brushing her lips against his. His hand mimicked hers, cupping her cheek and with a soft pressure against her jaw, drew her closer, deepening the kiss that she’d initiated. His tongue flickered out against her bottom lip and she opened her mouth in response. His mouth lined up against hers, soft, but hot and wet. A real kiss, a kiss that could lead to something more if they weren’t sitting outside where anyone could see. Except that as his hand fell to her hip, squeezed lightly and then drew her closer, the brick of the steps scraping against the skin of her lower thighs a little, she didn’t care who saw. She just wanted to feel him everywhere, all at once. Her hands slid up the back of his neck and into his hair, the soft, dark curls twining around her fingers and it gave her a little leverage as she pressed up onto her knees, the brick biting into the skin there, but she ignored it. His hands fell to her hips, tightening against the flesh there with each stroke of her tongue.

He pulled back to breathe, their chests heaving. “This is slow?” he asked.

Still trying to catch her breath, she balanced against his shoulders and nodded. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Maybe not, my English isn’t so good sometimes.” Jasmine smiled and rested her forehead against his. “Ah, that smile. I will kiss you every day just like this to see you smile like that.” The smile grew and it felt damn good. She hadn’t smiled like that in a long time, maybe ever. Was this what it felt like when someone wanted you just for being you?

The whirr of a car engine had them both looking down the street at the approaching black town car that had driven them back and forth to Wimbledon for the last few days. Ahmed pulled to a stop in front of the house and popped out of the car. “Just the two of you this morning?” he asked, raising a dark eyebrow at them.

Jasmine felt her cheeks grow warm as she realized they were still basically wrapped around each other. “Just us,” she said, pulling away and straightening her clothes.

~

The grounds at Wimbledon were mostly empty, but the streets outside weren’t. A queue formed nearly every night for the grounds tickets sold every day at the gate. As the car drove past the masses and through the gates, Jasmine saw security attendants making their way down the line to wake up those who’d fallen asleep during their overnight wait.

Gathering their things, Jasmine and Paolo went straight to the practice court. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she checked it quickly. There was a text from Dom.

Prepping Penny for match. Will be late. Can call Sam Grogan, have Natalie practice with you?

Jasmine’s thumbs flew over her screen.
Got practice covered. Don’t worry.
She looked up and Paolo was stretching out. The air around them was heavy and humid, the gray clouds light and high, making for an overcast morning. But in the distance, dark skies were approaching, a sure sign that rain was on its way. Wimbledon was steeped in tradition, so many famous players had graced its courts over the years, but the thing it was perhaps most famous for was the nearly constant rain delays that could send the tournament schedulers to an early grave. Later in the tournament, it wasn’t so bad, but early on in the first week, with so many players still in the hunt, one morning of rain could turn the rest of the fortnight into a logistical nightmare.

“What do you need to get in?” she asked, sitting beside him in the center of the court, stretching out as well.

“Footwork,” he said, twisting his body back and forth before kicking his legs out and bending over them, pulling his chest to his knees. “I want to get my feet under me before my match tonight.”

“Backhands for me,” she said.

“Why backhands? They give you trouble?”

“Always, for as long as I can remember.”

Paolo nodded, “You hit it two handed, yes?”

“Yeah. I need the extra stability from my right hand, the extra strength too.”

“Let me see,” he said, pushing up to his feet and grabbing his racket and a couple of balls from his bag. “What do you usually do?”

“Just drills, moving across the court and then from the center, varying up how far I have to go.”

He nodded, jogging across the court and grabbing a basket of balls, rolling it with him to the other side of the net. She started her drills, keeping her footwork solid and sending backhands over the net just as she always did. She stayed focused on ball after ball traveling over the net so when they suddenly stopped, she snapped her eyes to Paolo and waited for an explanation, but he was already headed toward her, shaking his head.

“Everything you do with that backhand is perfect,” he said. “Assolutamenta perfetto.”

“Okay, I feel like there’s a “but” coming.”

“Yes,” he said, standing in front of her. “They are terrible and you will be eaten alive by your opponents.”

“Thanks.”

“Come here, we will fix it,” he said, crooking a finger at her.