Match Point

Chapter 12

12

I’m waiting for him to come home. Literally waiting. Checking the time on my phone excitedly, sitting up straight whenever a car drives past. Finally, one slows and comes to a stop, before I hear a car door open and shut, and his bounding footsteps up to the door. As his key turns in the lock, I jump to attention, ready for when he appears in the room.

‘Hey,’ he says warmly, before he notices the pricey bottle of wine and the two glasses set out on the table next to the flickering candle. He glances up at me curiously. ‘You lit the three-wick. What’s the occasion?’

‘I wanted to thank you for helping me with the tennis lesson yesterday,’ I say, hoping I don’t sound as nervous as I feel. ‘Is this okay, or should you not be drinking two days out from Wimbledon?’

He doesn’t say anything, his eyes flickering down to the neckline of my dress.

I’ve actually been in a T-shirt and pyjamas all day, but I put this on half an hour ago in preparation for his arrival. It’s a blue and white mini summer dress with a sweetheart neckline and spaghetti straps. A lot of skin is on show and I’ve always felt sexy and confident in it. I want to feel that way with him because of what happened last night before we went to bed – it was such a small gesture, it may not have meant anything, but if there’s a chance that it did… I guess, I want him to know that it meant something to me.

Last night, after we’d both got ready for bed, I was getting a glass of water in the kitchen, and he came into the room. Usually, he might say goodnight, but yesterday was different. Yesterday, he came over to where I was standing by the sink and leant towards me to kiss me softly on the cheek, just a centimetre from the corner of my lips. He pulled back, but kept his head dipped to look straight into my eyes.

‘Goodnight,’ he’d said huskily.

‘Night,’ I’d managed to whisper, my heart in my throat.

He’d lingered there for a moment and then frowned, before turning and leaving the room. It was only once he’d left the kitchen that I’d exhaled, steadying myself on the edge of the sink, my legs shaking. I had tossed and turned on the sofa most of the night, unable to stop thinking about him, a warm tingling sensation spilling through my body.

Up until a week ago I was under the impression that he was a short-tempered, uncompromising, ill-mannered stubborn prick who couldn’t use a coaster. But his walls are crumbling, and hidden behind them is a carefully guarded softness. He’s proven to be kind and thoughtful. Within these walls, he’s not so distant; he’s observant and encouraging. The more I get to know him, the more I think the world has got him wrong.

I also think last night, he wanted to kiss me. And I wanted to kiss him back.

So that’s why I’ve put on this dress.

‘You look…’ He swallows, removing his cap and running a hand through his damp hair. ‘That’s a nice dress.’

Just the reaction I was hoping for.

‘Thanks.’ I smile shyly, wilting under his gaze.

‘I’m going to shower,’ he says slowly. ‘Then, we’ll open that bottle. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

He takes a beat, standing still in the doorway with his brow furrowed, his eyes pensive. He eventually leaves and, as I hear the shower turn on, I take a few deep breaths, trying to steady my heart rate. He must only take a few minutes to shower and change, but it feels like forever. By the time he reappears in a shirt and jeans, I’ve rearranged the coasters on the coffee table too many times to count.

Kieran joins me on the sofa and I pour him a glass of the red, handing it to him, before sorting one for myself. Neither of us say anything for a moment. The room feels charged and electrifying. I can sense him watching me as I lean forwards to place the bottle down, before swivelling on the edge of the seat to face him, tilting my glass towards him.

‘Here’s to feeling empowered on the tennis court. Sláinte,’ I add, way too proud of myself for a quick google of how the Irish say ‘cheers’ before he got home. I practised the pronunciation and everything.

‘Sláinte,’ he repeats with a knowing smile, clinking his glass against mine and taking a sip. He emits a sound of approval and I breathe a sigh of relief. I’d had to ask the shop assistant for help in picking a bottle suitable for a sophisticated palate.

‘How was your day?’ I ask, hoping to sound breezy, but my voice is a lot higher-pitched than usual.

‘Tough. But I played well today.’ He takes a large gulp of wine, before glancing at me. ‘I told Neil I had an extra training session with you yesterday, which must have helped.’

‘You’re welcome. If you need any tips, you know where to come.’

He almost smiles, fighting to keep a straight face. ‘I also informed him I’d be introducing a ritual to my pre-match routine, I just didn’t know what it was yet.’

I sip my wine. ‘I’m glad he’s on board.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far. He told me to stop talking shit and focus on the game.’

‘Sounds like sage advice. Did he ask about how our living arrangement was going?’

‘He asks every day.’

‘And what do you tell him?’

His eyes lock with mine. ‘That, so far, it’s fine.’

I nod, taking a drink. He follows suit. I press my lips together. He taps his knee with his finger. I have another large gulp. God. I can’t remember the last time I felt this nervous. I feel so alert, fizzing with energy and apprehension. I’m so painfully aware of every move either of us makes, I can’t relax. My mind is racing. I wish I knew what he’s thinking.

‘I have to tell you something,’ I blurt out.

He tilts his head. ‘Okay.’

I bite my lip, unable to fight an excited smile. ‘I started my book today.’

His eyes brighten and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped around his glass. ‘You’re kidding.’ When I shake my head, he breaks into a wide grin, his dimples sending my heart into a sequence of somersaults. ‘Hey, congratulations. You had an idea?’

‘It suddenly came to me.’

‘It was the tennis. I knew it would help.’

‘I started storyboarding and working out the characters, and I had a couple of scenes in my head that I had to sketch even though I haven’t finished plotting.’

‘Can I see them?’ he asks eagerly. ‘The sketches you did today.’

‘No. Not all of them.’

His smile drops. ‘What? Why not?’

‘They’re early sketches, first drafts! They don’t mean anything yet. You’ll have to wait until the book is finished.’

‘It takes a long time to create a graphic novel – that could be a year from now,’ he says slowly, frowning at me.

‘Patience is a virtue,’ I tease, before shooting him a sly grin. ‘I did, however, think you deserved a sneak preview since you’ve been so integrated into the artistic process, so, I set aside one panel for you to look at. You want to see?’

He downs the rest of his wine and gets to his feet. ‘Yes. Where is it?’

‘It’s in the kitchen.’

Putting down my glass next to his and, standing up, I reach for his hand, interlacing our fingers, and leading him out of the room. It feels so instinctive to take his hand in mine that I don’t really think about how forward it is to do so until I notice his warm hand grasp mine tightly in return. I should feel apologetic for taking his hand so brazenly, embarrassed even, but I don’t. He stays close behind me as I walk the few steps into the kitchen. I release his hand to turn and gesture to the sketch waiting for him on display on the table. He stops still, taking it in, before he moves to press both hands down either side of the page, leaning forwards to properly examine it.

It was the first panel I drew this morning, before I’d even thought of a story to go with it. It’s just a rough draft of what it could be, there’s no colour, but I’m proud of it all the same: it’s a single framed box and in it you see the back of a young teenage boy wearing a hoodie and shorts, with headphones resting round his neck and his hands in his pockets. He’s standing alone, looking out across a neglected tennis court in an empty public park, the net frayed, the lines faded. In the distance, the sun is setting.

The caption in the box above the character’s head reveals his inner monologue:

It saved me.

I nervously wait for Kieran to react, studying his expression as closely as he’s inspecting my sketch. He hasn’t said anything. His breathing is slow and heavy. His jaw twitches. My stomach is twisting itself in knots from nerves. I can’t wait any longer.

‘What do you think?’ I ask quietly. ‘Do you like it? You inspired it. I was thinking about our chat yesterday on the court and how tennis can be therapeutic, and then I kept thinking about what you said to me the other day, about how tennis saved you after… after losing Aidan. I couldn’t shake it.’ I hesitate, digging my teeth into my bottom lip, the doubts creeping in. ‘Maybe… maybe it’s too personal. I don’t want to make you feel as if I’ve intruded on how you feel. If you don’t like it, it doesn’t have to go in the book, it was just—’

‘I like it,’ he says, his voice cracking.

‘Really? You do? You’re not just saying that to be nice?’

He pushes himself up from the table, straightening and turning to face me. His eyes catch the light and I see that they’re glistening. He fixes them on mine and steps towards me, closing the gap between us. He’s going to kiss me. I want him to kiss me.

Please kiss me.

I tilt my head up towards him, my breathing shaky and shallow.

‘It’s… perfect,’ he says in a low, steady voice, reaching out to brush his fingers along my cheekbone, tucking my hair behind my ear, just like he did the other day.

But this time, he’s not apologetic.

Cupping my face in his hands, he dips his head and presses his mouth to mine. His lips are soft and tentative at first, and I hear myself sigh as I close my eyes and melt into him, relief and elation flooding through my body. I reach up to wrap my arms around the back of his neck and his hands slip down to my waist to pull me closer to him.

The kiss grows deeper, his tongue caressing mine making me feel dizzy. He was holding back at first, but now that I’ve reciprocated, he’s revealing how much he wants it and I’m returning the favour. He wants this; I want this. A growling noise comes from the back of his throat and my breath catches at his sudden urgency. I’m desperate to savour this moment, how he tastes, how his body feels pressed up against mine, but I’m hungry for what’s next. I can feel him hard through his jeans, pushing against my stomach.

Giddy with excitement and anticipation, I find myself smiling against his lips. Keeping his brow pressed to mine, he breaks the kiss to briefly look at me, his eyes ablaze as he breaks into a grin, his dimples sending my heart into a frenzy.

No more waiting. I draw his mouth to mine again, feeling a thrill of satisfaction in my stomach as he leans into me, kissing me harder. I almost lose my balance and stumble backwards, but I’m caught by his warm, strong hands that have been roaming freely over my back before they drop to my thighs. In one swift movement, he lifts me up onto the table without breaking the kiss.

Fuck, he’s strong. He’s so strong.

My legs naturally wrap around his waist, his hands moving my dress up, scrunching the hem around my hips. My thighs feel cold as his hands desert them to move to the small of my back, his muscular arms holding me in place. He runs his lips along my jaw and down my neck, my skin burning beneath them. I tip my head back and inhale sharply, arching my hips into him and causing him to let out an involuntary groan of pleasure, his warm breath tickling my collarbone and covering my skin in goosebumps. When he comes back up to claim my mouth fervently again, he nips my bottom lip.

I swear to God that one tiny nip makes my whole body shudder. My nipples are hard beneath my dress and there’s a pulsing ache between my thighs. I want him closer.

Instinctively I tighten my legs around Kieran’s back, causing him to groan again into my mouth, while his left hand slides up my back to find its way to my hair, grasping it with a gentle, exhilarating tug.

No one has ever kissed me like this. I’ve never felt so wanted, so needed.

His lips leave mine again to graze back along my collarbone, his fingers helping to clear their path by pulling at the shoulder strap of my dress and letting it drop over my shoulder. It’s a signal and I respond by slipping my hands beneath his shirt, digging my fingernails into the skin of his hips, etching them along to the bottom of his spine. I can feel his erection twitch against me and I widen my knees, opening myself more fully for him.

Kieran lets out a low shaky breath against my skin. ‘Christ, Flossie.’

His mouth traces lower and I gasp at the feel of his stubble on my skin as his lips trail the low neckline of my dress. All the while his thumb is sliding closer up my legs, trailing and teasing suggestively along the top of my thong. I bite back a moan as he circles my clit through the lacy fabric.

‘Do you want—’ he begins, lifting his head to look into my eyes, his voice raspy and strained.

‘Yes,’ I answer before he can finish the question because for fuck’s sake, please.

He leans back in and kisses me again, his lips demanding and urgent. I feel like my own lips are bruised and swollen, but I can’t stop. I just want more.

‘You have no idea,’ he says between breaths, his thumb slipping beneath the fabric of my damp underwear. ‘You’re all I think about. All I fucking think about.’

My head tilts back and my hand curls instinctively around the nape of his neck, as I bite my lip and—

The doorbell goes.

We freeze, locked together, our breathing rasping and heavy in unison.

‘Ignore it,’ he whispers, but he doesn’t sound convinced, and when it rings again and he rests his forehead in defeat against my shoulder, I realise that he must have been expecting someone.

Kieran steps back away from me and I slide off the table, letting my dress fall back down my thighs and nudging the strap into place over my shoulder. Reality sets back in and I immediately feel self-conscious. What just happened?

‘That will be someone from my team,’ Kieran says in a low, regretful voice. ‘I… forgot. They said they’d come over later to… talk. Strategy and stuff.’

I nod, my cheeks flushing. ‘Right. Of course. Sure. That makes sense.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ I assure him, folding my arms across my body.

The bell rings again. Ignoring it, he sways towards me and his hand curves softly around my hip. Kieran looks at me searchingly before leaning in and kissing me, deeply and slowly, sending another delicious wave of heat rippling through my body. This kind of kiss could swear me off all other kisses from anyone else ever again.

As he pulls away, his hand lingers on my waist. His throat bobs, his hungry gaze searing into me and making my skin prickle, before he turns to leave the room. He didn’t need to say anything, I understood everything from that silent exchange.

This isn’t over.