Match Point

Chapter 24

24

Kieran knows something is up. I’m trying my best to act as though everything is normal, but it’s not easy when Neil’s voice is in the back of my mind, telling me that I’m being selfish for even entertaining feelings for Kieran when he has the chance to achieve his childhood dream. I want that for him. And the reason I want that for him, is because I care about him and his happiness. As in, really care. I’ll admit it. I’ll hold my hands up and say it.

I’m falling for Kieran O’Sullivan.

When I’m not with him, I’m thinking about him all the time. And when I’m with him, I feel deliriously happy and safe and confident and important. All those things you’re supposed to feel when you’re falling for someone. My feelings for him are growing every single day and the idea of the tournament coming to an end makes my heart ache as I beg for time to please slow down. He makes me laugh, he’s kind and thoughtful, he’s smart and sexy, and he’s opening up to me. He trusts me and I trust him.

So lying to him isn’t coming naturally. Neil’s advice had been painful to listen to at the time, but the cuts grew deeper the more I thought about it and heard what he was trying to say. He wants me to be the one to end it. But it’s unfathomable. I can’t end this. It’s too good, too exciting, too perfect. But then the guilt comes creeping in. Am I being selfish? Have I thought properly about what comes next? Can this really work? Are we on the path of a doomed whirlwind romance that everyone else can see from a mile off?

My head was in a total spin that night, and I couldn’t tell Kieran any of it. Neil may be a dickhead, but he’s right about Kieran’s sensitive nature. I know that by now. It’s obvious that Neil’s demands are already bothering Kieran, and if I told him about our drink, I don’t think Kieran would be too happy about it. Driving a wedge between a player and their coach right before the quarter-finals would be a disaster. So I’m stuck in this alone.

When Kieran got back after his win, he was confused as to why I left the grounds without coming to see him after the match, so I had to tell him I had a really bad headache. Then he started fussing over me, being all sweet and attentive, which made everything worse. He’d just got through to the quarter-finals of Wimbledon for Christ’s sake, and here he was running me a bath and waiting on me hand and foot. I tried to persuade him to go out, celebrate his win with his team, but he dismissed the suggestion and insisted he was exhausted and wanted to chill with me. I went to bed early just so I could close my eyes and not have to look at his beautiful torturous face, and then pretended to still be sleeping when he left the next morning for training.

He bent down and kissed my temple before he left.

As soon as the front door shut, I pressed my face into the pillow and screamed in frustration. I knew then that there was no chance I would do what Neil wanted me to do and break it off before it’s really begun. Instead I just have to accept that I’m a selfish bitch who is potentially going to be blamed for the tanking of Kieran’s career.

But I can’t make such a painful decision when no one has any idea what the future holds. Neil could be wrong and this could last. Or maybe Neil’s wrong about the way Kieran feels about me. He could be playing his part very well and I could be another fling that he’ll dump as soon as Wimbledon ends. He’ll go on to win all the Grand Slams in the world and I’ll be the one left broken-hearted and embarrassed for thinking any of it could be real.

Either way, I don’t want to end our story before it has the chance to play out.

So, I have to sit here on Court Two watching Kieran play in the quarter-finals of Wimbledon, knowing that his team, sitting right next to me, all think that I’m gambling his future on my selfish desires. Meanwhile, I’ve been acting strange around Kieran because, thanks to Neil, I now can’t stop thinking about what the fuck we’ve got ourselves into.

‘Silence, please,’ the umpire tells the two-thousand-strong crowd, as Kieran prepares to serve at the start of the second set and some of his fans shout words of encouragement through the silence that settles over the court.

Thanks to reading Iris’s blog this morning, I know that Kieran is playing Felipe Díaz, a Spaniard ranked number seven in the world, and a hot favourite to win Wimbledon thanks to his stunning performance on grass so far this tournament. In his last match, he won in three straight sets.

Kieran is currently a set down, the score 3–6. When Díaz broke Kieran’s serve in the first set, I heard Neil mumble, ‘He’s being indecisive’ to the assistant coach, and I could see Kieran’s frustration with himself when he lost the first set, shaking his head with his hands on his hips as he walked to his chair.

I’m trying my hardest not to betray any emotion to anyone. My face straight and expressionless, helped in large part to my sunglasses, I’m here for Kieran, no one else. So when he looks to me just before he chooses the ball he’s going to serve with to kick off this second set, he can see I’m looking straight at him. I tilt my chin up just a little bit.

You’ve got this. Forget everything else, just win this next point.

He selects a ball, shoving the other in his pocket and stepping up to the baseline. The crowd waits with bated breath. His shoulders relaxing, he tosses the ball up in the air and hits it with so much power and precision that the thwack of his racket connecting makes me gasp.

‘Ace,’ the umpire announces to rapturous applause.

Wiping his forehead, Kieran allows himself just the hint of a grin as he strolls to the other side of the line. I smile to myself. I don’t know the game well enough to understand what Neil meant when he said Kieran was being indecisive in the first set, but I know Kieran well enough to know that he’s just made the decision to win.

*

3–6 6–3 6–3 6–3

I beam with pride as Kieran’s score is displayed on one of the screens in the grounds, while I hang around after the match. After a wobbly start, Kieran found his footing and seized on some unforced errors by Díaz to take the second set. From there, it was fairly smooth sailing as Kieran dominated the match, breaking serve early on in the next two sets.

As he walked off the court to an eruption of cheers from his Irish fan base, he looked up at me and nodded. Neil frowned at the gesture, but a giddy warmth flooded through me. This time, I wanted to hang around afterwards to congratulate him, rather than scarpering as I know Neil wanted me to do. He’s through to the semi-finals of Wimbledon! This is HUGE.

I’m not going anywhere.

I send Kieran a quick message to tell him I’ll wait before putting my phone away in my shoulder bag, lurking near the media pavilion as the grounds start to empty. The match on Court Two at the start of the day went on for a good few hours, which meant there was a backlog and Kieran’s started much later than planned. Play on the outside courts has pretty much wrapped up and now we’re into the second week, there’s less going on as more players are knocked out. A tinge of sadness creeps in as I consider how fast these two weeks fly and the end of it approaches.

Suddenly, Neil appears in front of me.

‘Kieran would like to see you.’

‘Now?’ I blink at him. ‘He’s already ready to go?’

‘No, he’s refusing to get ready until he’s spoken to you,’ he says in a strained voice. ‘I don’t know why, but I’d like us all to go home and rest, so if you wouldn’t mind.’

He holds out a lanyard for me to put on and gestures for me to follow him.

I hurry to keep up as he marches towards a door guarded by one of the Wimbledon security team. He tells him, ‘She’s with me,’ and I hold up the pass hanging round my neck, before darting in after him. We’ve entered an eerily silent carpeted corridor with pale pine doors leading off it that has the feeling of an exclusive health club. I try to smooth the creases of my dress out with my palm, suddenly feeling too informal in this white spaghetti-strap summer dress and tan gladiator sandals.

‘Is this the players’ area? It’s so quiet,’ I remark, my voice echoing off the walls.

‘It’s the end of the day,’ Neil replies wearily, turning a corner and going down a flight of stairs. ‘Most people have left by now.’

I run my hand down the shiny banister as I descend after him. ‘It’s so smart and clean.’

‘This is the All England Lawn Tennis Club.’

‘Congratulations on Kieran’s win, by the way,’ I say politely as we set off down another corridor. I don’t know why I’m trying to break the ice. We didn’t exactly leave things on a high note last time we spoke and he’s made his feelings on my presence quite clear.

‘Thank you,’ he says, at least sounding genuinely sincere. ‘We have a lot to work on.’

‘Sure, but you can enjoy the win for now, right?’

He stops at a door and turns to face me with a hard glare. ‘The semi-finals are a different ball game. The pressure is mounting, the competition is fierce, and the whole world is watching. Kieran is very much the underdog. He needs to focus on the tennis—’ he looks me up and down ‘—no distractions.’

Fed up with his derision, I hold his stare. ‘Neil, can I ask you a question?’

He narrows his eyes suspiciously at me. ‘Yes?’

‘Would you talk to me this way if I were a famous actress or supermodel?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘It’s a genuine question: would you? Because I don’t think you would. I doubt that you spoke to Henrietta Keane like this. Even if you disapproved of him having a relationship right now, I think if you thought I was someone important, you might be a little bit more mannered. Maybe even kind.’ I pause as he pulls his eyebrows together. ‘I get that you’re stressed and I also appreciate that you’re trying to protect Kieran, but I’m human. Maybe not an important one in your eyes, but still.’

His jaw tenses and I wait for him to reply. Eventually, he nods to the door we’re standing next to. ‘He’s in there,’ he says, before he turns and walks off down the corridor.

Watching him go, I exhale, adrenaline pumping through my veins from the confrontation. I don’t like being awkward, but I meant what I said. He treats me like a child who’s playing outside the rules. He’s welcome to treat Kieran that way, but he has no right to do so with me. I’m not the one who employs him to boss me around.

Shaking him and his sour attitude out of my head, I tentatively push open the door, aware that the plaque nailed into it is telling me that this is one of the men’s locker rooms. It’s a spacious room with walls lined with large wooden lockers, and benches dotted around the area. Kieran is sitting on one of them towards the back and he glances up when I step in. Apart from his shoes and socks, he’s still wearing all his tennis kit.

He breaks into a smile. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey,’ I say quietly, glancing around as I make my way across the room to him. ‘Am I allowed to be in here?’

‘No, but there’s no one around so it’s fine. I checked.’

‘Congratulations, Kieran,’ I gush, stopping in front of him as he stands to his feet. ‘You’re through to the semi-finals. You so deserve it.’

He places his hands on my hips and peers down at me. ‘What’s wrong?’

I give him a strange look, resting my palms of my hands on his chest. ‘What? Nothing! I’m so happy for you! You won!’

‘Thank you, now tell me what’s wrong,’ he insists, his brow creasing. ‘You haven’t been yourself the last couple of days. I’m worried I’ve done something. Talk to me, please.’

I sigh, looking down at the floor and smiling hopelessly, even though my head is a giant muddle. This makes me fall for him even harder. The way he cares so much. The way he notices things. The way he looks so helpless right now, as though he needs to know what’s affecting me because it’s affecting him.

‘I’m worried,’ I admit.

‘About?’ he prompts, his eyes searching my expression now that we’re getting somewhere.

‘About… this,’ I say, gesturing to the gap between us. ‘I don’t know what it is and I don’t know where it’s going. It’s happened so fast and I… I’m scared of getting hurt. Wimbledon has to end and then what happens from there? I don’t want to lose myself in the moment and then deal with shitty consequences.’

There. I’ve found a way to say how I feel without throwing Neil under the bus.

‘Flossie, I get that you’re organised, but are you so organised that you have to plot out an entire relationship when you’re only a week or so in?’ Kieran says, with a hint of amusement in his tone.

‘Don’t make fun of me,’ I huff. ‘We’re in unusual circumstances and I’m trying to protect both of us. I can’t read your mind; I don’t know what you’re thinking.’

He reaches out and, resting his finger beneath my chin, he gently tilts it up so I’m looking into his deep blue eyes.

‘I don’t know what this is, but I know this is something,’ he insists in a low, gravelly voice, the lightness in his tone banished. ‘I can’t see into the future and I don’t want to second-guess what you want, but if I have it my way, this is going to go way beyond the end of Wimbledon.’

My stomach flips, my heart beating so hard it’s going to explode from my chest at any second if he doesn’t stop looking at me like that.

‘Does that help clear things up for you?’ he asks, his hand on my hip sliding round to my lower back and bringing me closer to him. My bag drops from my shoulder to the floor with a thud that echoes round the room.

‘Yeah,’ I croak. ‘A little.’

‘Hmm, sounds like you need a bit more persuading,’ he growls, his gaze flaring, a coy smile playing across his lips.

The moment he bows his head to claim my mouth with his, a fierce desperation consumes my body. Fuck Neil. I’ve kept myself from Kieran for two days and it’s felt like an eternity. Raking my hands through his hair, I arch into him and nip at his lip, and a groan rumbles deep in his throat, a sound that almost makes me combust on the spot.

As our kiss grows more urgent, I drag my hands down his chest, finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it upwards, allowing him to yank it off properly himself before I pull his mouth to mine again, craving every inch of him. Cradling my head in his hands, he kisses me fiercely, pressing his body against mine and manoeuvring us until my back is up against something cold and solid, and I realise he’s pinned me against the lockers.

As he traces kisses down my neck, nudging the strap of my dress off my shoulder, he drops one hand to my hip and it finds its way under my skirt and into my thong. His fingers rub between my legs, knocking the breath right out of me, his lips returning to my mouth to capture my moan in his.

‘Can’t be too loud,’ he reminds me with a devilish smile, his eyes flaring. ‘We don’t want to get caught.’

His free hand finds mine and lifts it above my head, grasping my wrist and pinning it against the wood. I’m completely at his mercy. He increases the pressure on my clit, winding me up until I’m begging to have him in hoarse whispers, my nails digging into the nape of his neck, feeling him hard against me. I need you, I hear myself say in his ear, too close to the edge to hold back what I want to say.

‘Tell me you have a condom in your bag,’ he growls, his fingers slowing so I have some chance at answering him coherently.

‘Actually I do,’ I admit, a shy smile creeping across my lips. ‘It’s in the side pocket.’

He pulls back to look at me, impressed. ‘Did you put one in there this morning in the hope that this would happen?’

‘Sure.’

His lips twitching, he exhales through his nose. ‘I’m going to pretend to believe you.’

Leaving me breathing heavily leaning back against the locker while he bends down to grab it, I thank Iris over and over in my head for the time she made me put one in there when we were headed on a night out together.

‘You never know what might happen and, trust me, when you’re in that moment, you want to know you have protection handy,’ she’d said with a wink.

Thank you, Iris. You were right,I think, hearing the sound of the foil ripping. Thank you, thank you, thank you—

He’s in front of me now, pushing down his shorts, rolling the protection on and within a split second, his hands are under my thighs, lifting me up, my dress hitching up round my hips as my legs tighten around his waist. Fuck, this is hot. I’ve decided that this is my favourite place to be, up here in his arms, our bodies locked together, fitting perfectly.

My back pressed against the lockers, he balances me there with one hand, while he guides himself into me with his other, nudging my underwear aside and sliding in with a quick, deep thrust. I whimper and he starts moving quicker and quicker, his hips grinding into me, sending me into a spiral of dizzying pleasure. As he grunts into my neck, I tighten around him, brought back to the edge in record time. I gasp his name, my nails etching dents into the skin across his shoulders.

‘Come with me, baby,’ he says hoarsely.

The way he feels, how he’s taking all my weight, the thrill of where we are, his gravelly voice in my ear, him calling me that name like I’m his – it’s all too much. As soon as he makes that request, it’s game over and the uncontrollable pleasure is rippling through my body while he drives deeper into me, groaning into my neck, unravelling in unison.

Our breath comes together in a chorus of short, shaking rasps, as Kieran carefully lowers me onto my feet. I grip his forearms for balance, my body still a melting, quivering mess. I close my eyes and slump back against the lockers, running my hands through my hair as he pulls his shorts back on. His chest rising heavily, he closes the gap between us to kiss me gently while I continue to catch my breath. Since I’m in no hurry to emerge from my blissful daze, he thoughtfully adjusts my dress for me, pulling it back down and checking the straps are in place on my shoulders.

Having faded into a blur, the world starts to return into focus.

I clear my throat. ‘I should… um… go. I don’t want to get you in trouble and you probably want to… celebrate your win with the team.’

He offers me a playful smile, tucking my hair behind my ear. ‘I think we just celebrated pretty well.’

‘Hm.’ My cheeks flushing, I bite my lip.

He gazes into my eyes so intently that it makes my pulse race, just when I was starting to get it back under control. It’s not fair him looking at me like that when he’s still topless, his toned muscular chest and abs on show. My mind is drifting again.

‘I really should go,’ I say out loud, trying to persuade myself to take the first step away from him but finding it near to impossible. ‘And you really should… do whatever it is you do once you’ve got through to the semi-finals of Wimbledon.’

‘Okay.’ He grins, amused by my awkwardness, dipping his head to give me one final kiss before I finally manage to break free of his spell and make my way back to the door.

‘Flossie?’ he calls out as I reach it, and I spin round to face him. ‘I’ll see you at home.’

I nod, convincing myself to get out of there before the temptation to run back to him grows too much to fight. As I shut the door behind me, check down the empty corridor, and stroll as breezily as possible back towards the stairs, I feel proud of myself for finding the strength to leave him looking like that.

It’s not until I walk into the flat later that I process what he said as I left.

He called it home.