Chapter 13
13
Iris is already waiting for me at the café when I cross the road. Sitting at one of the outdoor tables in the sunshine wearing a red playsuit with tan strapped wedges, her dark hair swept over one shoulder accessorised with huge sunglasses and bright red lipstick. She looks like she should be on the set of a 1950s Hollywood movie. She’s sitting back, sipping her coffee and people-watching with no idea that the whole street is watching her – men are double-taking as they stroll past, so distracted that they stumble into the chalkboard propped up on the pavement advertising the Wimbledon-themed speciality coffees.
She sees me and sits up straight, waving me over excitedly.
‘How are you?’ she asks, getting up to pull me into a hug as I approach. She smells like an expensive delicate floral perfume. ‘I got you a flat white.’
‘Perfect, thanks,’ I gush, taking the seat opposite her.
She slides her sunglasses down her nose to peer at me over the top of them. ‘Don’t you look pretty. Your butt in those shorts – I’d kill for your figure.’
‘Says the woman with those pins,’ I remark, glancing down at her long slender legs, her ankles neatly crossed under her chair. ‘You’re sending the Village into meltdown.’
‘Oh stop it, you,’ she says with a dramatic sigh, before breaking into a grin. ‘Isn’t this weather glorious? If it stays like this tomorrow, it will be the perfect start to the tournament. God, I love it here in Wimbledon at this time of year. The atmosphere is unbeatable, don’t you think?’
‘I do,’ I agree, taking a sip of coffee. ‘There’s nothing like it.’
‘It’s so exciting and fun. You can feel it in the air.’
She’s right, the Village is buzzing with anticipation for tomorrow as it readies itself for the influx of people about to descend on this small south-west corner of London, the rest of the world watching eagerly to see who will be crowned the Champions of Wimbledon. Even someone actively against sport would be hard pushed not to get caught up in the joy and charm of it all.
And with the sun shining, everything seems that bit better. The flowers are blooming perfectly, the bar and restaurant fronts are bathed in a sparkling golden glow, and everyone seems to be in a good mood. I’m hit by a wave of gratitude to be sitting in Wimbledon right now with my best friend watching the world go by. We spend a moment quietly taking it in. We watch a group of friends taking it in turns to get photographs next to the shop that’s covered its entire wall in purple and green flowers; we laugh at the dog walker trotting by with dogs all sporting some Wimbledon tennis neckerchiefs; and we can’t help smiling at the kids on their way home from a party blowing bubbles, trying to pop them as they float up into the air, blown out of their reach with the gentle breeze.
‘How fucking mesmerising are bubbles?!’ Iris blurts out.
‘They really are!’ I agree enthusiastically. ‘I was seriously entranced there.’
‘We need to go get some bubbles after this. I’ve never felt more relaxed.’
‘Me neither. Bubbles. What a revelation.’
She chuckles. ‘Ah, I’m so grateful to be out of the office the next couple of weeks to cover the tournament.’
‘The office is that bad?’
‘Ugh.’ She wrinkles her nose. ‘It’s worse than ever. I don’t think I’ll have a job much longer, if I’m honest. I’m trying not to freak out about it.’
‘They wouldn’t get rid of you,’ I say sternly, lowering my cup. ‘You’re the best writer on the sports desk. I saw you launched your Wimbledon blog on the paper’s app. Last year it was a huge hit, and this year will be the same.’
She shrugs. ‘Other people can write that, Flora. I’m not indispensable.’
‘But you are.’
She gives me a grateful smile. ‘Unfortunately the powers that be don’t always think the same way we do. Anyway, it’s fine. All I can do is keep working my arse off and hopefully they’ll keep me on for a bit longer.’
‘If they let you go, then it’s proof they’re absolute idiots.’
‘They already proved that with you, darling.’ She tips her head back and sighs, adjusting her glasses as she squints into the sun. ‘All this overtime is doing nothing for my love life, though. And I haven’t had time to look for a flat, so I’m stuck with my parents for a bit longer.’
I grimace. ‘How’s that going?’
‘Fucking awful,’ she says bluntly, making me laugh. ‘I hear them fighting all the time and then whenever I enter the room, they go all quiet.’ She hesitates. ‘I think something is going on with them, but they won’t tell me. They treat me like a child still.’
I shrug. ‘Natural for them to want to protect you.’
‘Whatever, I need to move out ASAP. Now, enough about my boring life, let’s talk about you.’ She picks up her cup to take a sip. ‘How is Kieran? Nervous about tomorrow?’
‘I think so, but it’s hard to tell.’ I pause. ‘We almost had sex last night.’
Iris sprays her coffee out all over the table, coughing and spluttering, thudding her chest with her fist. I giggle, passing her a napkin.
‘Flora!’ she cries, dabbing at her mouth with the napkin and then whipping off her sunglasses to stare at me accusingly. ‘What the fuck?!’
‘What?’ I shrug innocently.
She throws her hands up. ‘You let me sit here and talk about WORK and my PARENTS when you and Kieran O’Sullivan almost had sex last night? Why the fuck are we talking about anything else?’
‘Keep your voice down, please,’ I hiss, glancing nervously at the passers-by.
‘How did it happen?’ she asks eagerly, putting her sunglasses back on and leaning across the table towards me. ‘Tell me everything.’
‘I don’t know. We had a glass of wine and then… I don’t know, it got heated.’
‘Oh my God, this is amazing,’ she squeals. ‘Look at your face. You’ve gone all shy! Fuck, Flora, do you like him?’
I bite my lip. It’s one thing admitting to myself that I can’t stop daydreaming about him. A warmth pools in my stomach when I think about him and I love how he makes me feel, somehow shy and confident, excited and terrified, all at the same time. It’s like I’m only scratching at the surface of his character and I’m desperate to know more. I like that he’s started to open up to me. I really like how he kissed me. But to say any of this out loud makes it real. And if it becomes real, then the chance of getting hurt becomes real, too.
‘I don’t know,’ I answer eventually.
Iris leans back in her chair with her arms crossed, a knowing smile spreading across her face. ‘Uh-huh. So what happens now? You live in the same flat. Are you two going to, like, be together?’
‘It was one night,’ I remind her, placing my cup back down in its saucer. ‘And we were interrupted by his coach. We didn’t get the chance to talk about it. Plus, I don’t want him worrying about… stuff like that. He needs to focus on Wimbledon.’
‘That’s true. I hear it could be his last hurrah,’ she remarks, before giving me a hopeful look.
‘You’re not getting anything out of me. Take that journalist hat right off.’
She shoots me a mischievous grin. ‘You know, you’re genuinely glowing. You’ve got to give it to me, Flora, I predicted this. I said this would happen. And there is only one bed in that flat.’
‘I’ve been on the sofa the whole time.’
‘Yeah?’ She snorts as she lifts her cup to her lips. ‘Let’s see how long that lasts.’
*
When Kieran gets back from training that evening, he’s not alone. His whole entourage has accompanied him back to the flat and Neil is talking at him from the moment they step through the front door to when Kieran places his bag down on the floor next to the sofa in the living room. Kieran offers me an apologetic smile as I glance up from the sketch pad resting on my crossed legs on the sofa. Just the sight of him makes me feel giddy.
‘You need to keep focused, Kieran. I don’t know where your head is at today,’ Neil is saying, before he follows Kieran’s eyeline landing on me. ‘Ah.’
‘Hi, Neil,’ I say brightly.
He frowns, putting his hands on his hips. ‘I didn’t realise you were in here.’
‘That’s okay, I can leave,’ I offer, swinging my legs down to get up as his team start filing into the room.
‘No, Flossie, you don’t need to move,’ Kieran begins, holding up his hand. ‘Sorry, I should have warned you that a few people would be here; they just need to run through a few things if that’s okay.’
‘Of course. I’ll go to your room and work in there. It’s really no problem,’ I assure him with a smile, dodging around the physio who has come in carrying a massage table.
Picking my way across the room under his gaze, I pop into the kitchen to grab a drink before I get out of their way and find his nutritionist in there, filling up our fridge.
‘Would you like some Evian?’ she offers, glancing at the tap water in my hand and gesturing to the crate of bottled water by her feet.
‘I’m good, thanks,’ I say, smiling to myself as I recall Kieran’s aversion to tap.
He’s such a diva,I think affectionately.
Tucked away in the bedroom, I’m so engrossed in my sketching that I don’t notice the flat has fallen quiet an hour or so later until there’s a soft rap on the door and Kieran comes in with a sheepish expression.
‘Hey,’ I say, noting his hoodie and pyjama bottoms, ‘you’ve had an outfit change.’
‘Slipped on something comfortable after the acupuncture,’ he informs me, rubbing the back of his neck as he leans against the doorframe. ‘I’m sorry about that. I feel bad that you had to shut yourself away in here.’
‘Don’t feel bad; I was really happy to draw,’ I assure him brightly, getting up and moving across the room to the door. ‘How did today go? How are you feeling about tomorrow? Confident?’
He shrugs. ‘As confident as I can be. Neil wants me to spend the evening watching some videos to analyse my play.’
‘Sounds fun.’
‘Doesn’t it,’ he says drily.
‘I… uh… I have something for you.’
He arches an eyebrow at me. ‘A gift?’
‘Sort of,’ I answer, reaching into my back pocket to pull out a bottle of bubbles that I picked up from a shop on my way home from seeing Iris.
His forehead creases in confusion. ‘Bubbles.’
‘Do you remember blowing bubbles as a kid and being completely mesmerised by them to the point where you didn’t care about anything else, you were just looking at pretty little bubbles floating through the air?’
He doesn’t look convinced. ‘Uh. I guess. Although I don’t remember feeling that poetic about them.’
I roll my eyes at his teasing. ‘It hit me today. Blowing bubbles is perfect for your pre-match ritual! It’s calming and sweet and it focuses the mind. Here.’ I lift his hand and press the bottle into his palm. He closes his fingers round it. ‘Before you go on court, if you’re nervous, you blow some bubbles and it will help you feel better.’
‘You want me to sit in the men’s locker room at Wimbledon blowing bubbles,’ he clarifies. ‘It will sure give the other lads a laugh.’
‘Which is also relaxing! Laughter is therapeutic, reduces stress, boosts endorphins,’ I list cheerfully. ‘I am telling you, Kieran, we have found your pre-match thing.’
‘Bubbles,’ he repeats with a sigh.
‘Yes,’ I confirm. ‘Bubbles. Personally, I think you should keep that bottle on you at all times. If you’re really in trouble during a match, you can even blow bubbles during the breaks when you switch ends.’
He narrows his eyes at me, scrutinising my expression to check I’m being serious.
‘Flossie,’ he begins, sliding the bottle of bubbles into his pocket, ‘if you ever see me on a court at Wimbledon blowing bubbles then you’ll know I’ve officially lost it.’
‘I’ll know you’re doing everything you can to win,’ I challenge. ‘And that would make me proud of you. Plus, you know, I’ll get a little thrill from it.’
He quirks a brow. ‘You’ll get a thrill from my international humiliation.’
‘No,’ I sigh. ‘It would be exciting to see you using this gift I personally gave you. I’ll know you’re… you’re…’
I trail off, his intense gaze wiping the entire English language from my brain.
‘You’ll know I’m thinking of you,’ he finishes for me, but his voice is uncertain and hopeful, as though he’s not sure that he’s got the correct answer.
There must be something in my eyes that tells him that’s exactly what I want, because suddenly his mouth is on mine. He’s kissing me as desperately as I’m kissing him, my back pushed up against the doorframe, one of his arms propped over my head, the other behind me, his hand pressing against the small of my back as I arch into him. My fingers slide into his hair and he lets out a low moan as his demanding tongue finds mine, heat pooling between my thighs at every stroke.
Oh God, he’s so hot, so fucking hot and everything about him sends me into a dizzying spin of desire. How solid and warm his body feels pressing into mine, the way he smells so clean and musky and masculine, the way he’s kissing me so roughly like he needs this as much as I do, maybe more. His hands are roaming everywhere, over my shoulders, splaying down my back, stroking the curve of my hips, teasing across my thighs, cupping my arse, back to my hips, his fingers digging into my skin.
‘You’re driving me insane,’ he says through ragged breaths, leaning into me and kissing a path along my jaw. He doesn’t need to tell me that. I can feel him hard and throbbing against my hip. I want him so much it makes every nerve ending tingle, every inch of me ache. But a small, niggling voice at the back of my mind fights back.
Pushing against every instinct in my body, I pull away from him. And it’s torture.
‘We shouldn’t,’ I whisper, hating myself as his nose nudges mine, looking for more. ‘Tomorrow is so important, Kieran. You’re playing in Wimbledon.’
‘Fuck Wimbledon,’ he growls, kissing me again.
He’s making this so difficult. It’s physically painful to bring this to a stop.
I force myself to turn my head away from his. ‘No, don’t say that. You’ve worked so hard for this. I’d never forgive myself if anything we did impacted how you play. Please, we have to stop. You need to be focused. And you have all those videos to watch.’
He exhales with frustration, his hands still gripping my hips, his fingers beneath my top, burning into my skin. Resting his forehead against mine, he swears under his breath.
‘I want to,’ I emphasise huskily, ‘but it’s important that you rest. We can’t risk it.’
I don’t know how but I find the will to step out of his grasp and he lets his hands drop to his sides, leaning back against the doorframe. He sighs, lifting his eyes to the ceiling.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, tucking my hair behind my ears.
He shakes his head. ‘No, you’re right. I need to be on top form tomorrow. Don’t want to wear myself out tonight. Besides, I’ve waited this long. I can wait a bit longer.’
I swallow, blushing. ‘I know. I’ve been thinking about this all day.’
‘That’s nothing,’ he says, bringing his eyes down to meet mine. ‘I’ve been thinking about this since the day we met.’