Chapter 23
NEEL ULTEX X COOP CRAFT brEWERY
GREG JUST LEFT after checking on my unexpected muscle cramps.
Henry wasn’t here, though Greg hoped he would be.
He said he’d text Henry later with the stretches I need to do before the match.
He also mentioned he wouldn’t be able to personally assist me since he’s got a lineup of athletes to get doped up before the day begins.
More assisted stretching.
Greg refused to let me do the exercises on my own, insisting that the only way to warm up the muscles properly is with assistance.
Just to be safe. He didn’t seem too concerned about the cramps, chalking them up to lack of sleep, stress, and overall exhaustion from the tournament.
He suggested I stay on top of my meals and supplements, which I have.
If Greg isn’t worried, I’m not either.
Drew and Dad stopped by my suite to congratulate me right after Robbie and Gemma arrived. Drew handed me the debit card Neel Ultex sent as a gift, and within minutes, Gemma and I were on our way to shop for my dress. She nearly wept with joy when I told her the budget for our panic dress search.
Since we were short on time, Vlad drove us straight to an Enzio de Luca boutique on Collins Street, just a few blocks from the hotel.
Gemma’s orders. Meanwhile, Dad and Robbie headed to the hotel bar to hang out while we shopped.
Drew had another client to see but promised to meet us later at the cocktail party.
Gemma picked a golden silk halter dress with an open back that fits me perfectly and falls just below the knee.
The shoes she found to match are just as beautiful.
The silk feels buttery soft. I’ve never worn anything like it before.
But this dress puts me at ease. It’s simple yet elegant.
Nothing too flashy, nothing too dull. Just like Gemma envisioned it.
We’re back at the hotel with an hour to spare before the cocktail party.
Gemma’s doing my makeup: a subtle smokey eye, rosy cheeks, and a natural soft, peachy rose lip.
She styled my hair in an effortless low bun to show off the back.
I wanted to wear it down, but she said it would ruin the look.
And this is her domain, so I let her take the reins.
My nerves are getting the best of me.
What am I hoping will happen tonight? That Henry will ignore me?
That he’ll fight for me? A part of me wishes Henry would skip the party altogether.
I regret the things I said in my last texts.
As furious as I was, it was immature, and I know it, but I couldn’t help myself.
I wanted to keep taunting him like some middle-school kid with a crush.
Pathetic.
I didn’t reply to his last text. I left him hanging on purpose. If the roles were reversed, I’d set something on fire.
Seeing Theo, as fun as I know it can be, doesn’t excite me the way it used to.
I like him, though. He’s a good guy beneath that bad boy front he’s always got going on.
We used to talk and laugh a lot, too, in between all the kissing.
But ultimately, we were just friends who found each other attractive.
Thankfully, neither of us caught feelings. It would’ve ended badly. That much I know. The two of us together? Total recipe for disaster. We were just two people filling the silence between tournaments with distractions we mistook for intimacy.
So much has happened since Theo and I last talked before yesterday’s texts.
Sure, we’ve bumped into each other at tournaments, but after a quick hello and a smile, that’s as far as it goes.
We both try to stay focused on the game.
I like it that way because Theo is trouble. Fun trouble, but trouble nonetheless.
I wonder if I made a mistake rattling the viper’s nest. There’s no turning back now. Theo will be there, and I’ll handle him. Like I always do.
Once we walk through the event’s red carpet and get photographed by the press, Gemma and I step inside the venue.
It’s an impressive old factory-turned-museum.
The original metallic fixtures and exposed walls are washed in amber light, giving the space a warm, cinematic glow.
Soft jazz plays in the background, setting the perfect mood.
I can’t help but think about how I met Liam exactly one year ago.
Shaking those thoughts away, I walk in with Gemma at my side, spotting more than a few familiar faces, many of whom approach to wish me a happy birthday. Robbie and my dad arrived a few minutes earlier, and I catch them mingling near the bar at the far end of the venue.
No sign of Theo. No sign of Henry.
Yet.
Could be a no-show for both of them. I didn’t reply to Theo’s last message after all. But knowing him, that’ll only make him more determined to come.
Guess we’ll have to wait and see.
Gemma looks stunning. She’s wearing the perfect little black dress, accessorized with just the right amount of gold jewelry.
Her dark hair is longer now, bouncing against her collarbone as we walk further in.
Her blood-red lips make her look like one of those undercover female superheroes at a cocktail party who’s there to spy on the villain but ends up stealing the whole scene.
“The antichrist,” Gemma whispers, rolling her eyes and flicking her chin in that direction.
I glance over across the room to see Zoya Kruschenko, the crowd parting like the Red Sea as she walks in dressed to intimidate, her stilettos striking the floor like gavel hits.
She wears a black gown so sleek it could’ve been poured onto her body, the slit slicing up one leg with surgical precision.
Her platinum-blonde hair is slicked into a high-gloss ponytail.
It whips with every step, like a warning.
Her lips are red, and her icy blue eyes scan the room like she’s already decided who’s beneath her.
A hint of something expensive and venomous trails behind her, probably sprayed from a bottle that costs more than my first professional racket.
Every detail screams effortless power. And she knows we’re watching.
“Can you believe that?” Gemma says, but I wasn’t listening.
“Sorry, what?”
“Her room’s on the same floor as mine,” Gemma repeats. “Just a few doors down. I bumped into her earlier today. Blech.”
Zoya shoots a taunting smirk my way before being whisked away by Abigail Sloane, her quietly menacing publicist slash professional shit-stirrer.
And so the evening begins.
“I’m going to need a drink before I collapse from exhaustion,” Gemma says, probably trying to change the subject after sensing my vibe. I’m practically growling.
“What’s the drinking age in Australia again?”
“Eighteen,” I reply with a frown, my eyes still locked on Zoya as she moves through the crowd, greeting other guests.
I’ve bumped into her a few times, too, at the venue and once at the hotel entrance.
We don’t even pretend to be civil. No smiles.
No eye contact. We hate each other’s guts.
And that’s how I like it. Makes it easier to be ruthless when we’re matched on the court.
“Let’s see if I can trick the servers into pouring me a drink,” Gemma says, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward a cocktail table. “I’ll be eighteen in a few months anyway.”
A server quickly approaches us with a tray as Robbie and Dad appear through the crowd, each holding a frosty glass of Coop Craft Brewery beer.
“I’ll have the dark ale,” Gemma says, sneaking a glance at Robbie from the corner of her eye. I decline a drink for obvious reasons.
“We have an alcohol-free ginger ale, miss,” the server offers.
“That would be perfect, thank you,” I say, taking the glass. The ginger might help settle the nerves stirring in my stomach.
“You’ve got this,” Gemma says, bumping her shoulder lightly against mine. “And if not, I’m here to save your butt.”
I told her everything that happened with Henry earlier.
She thinks he just needs time, that his silence doesn’t mean he doesn’t trust me.
Maybe he’s not ready to talk about it yet.
But it’s been months since he came back, and I’m growing restless.
The feeling of being left out is wearing me down.
I’m worried about him and I want to help, but I have to face the possibility that Henry might not want that. My help.
Robbie reaches us first and greets us. He’s like a blond Clark Kent in that tie-less navy suit and crisp white button-up with the top two buttons undone. Those black-framed glasses are his trademark. He looks handsome, and judging by Gemma’s expression, she agrees.
“How’s the birthday girl?” Dad cuts through my thoughts with a grin, throwing an arm around my shoulders and pulling me in for a quick side hug before pressing a kiss to my head.
Gemma winces, and I laugh. She doesn’t want my hair getting ruined.
“You girls look beautiful tonight,” Dad adds.
Robbie sips his beer, eyes glazed as I catch him checking out Gemma. His gaze lingers on her cleavage a few beats too long before flicking away, mere seconds before I could say something to snap him out of it.
Jesus.
“I agree,” Robbie drawls. He seems a bit drunk, but maybe he’s just exhausted and jet-lagged from the trip. Perhaps an unfortunate mixture of all of the above.
Dad excuses himself to greet an acquaintance after telling Robbie to take it easy in a stern voice. Tempted to ask Robbie about Henry, I quickly dismiss the thought and decide it’s best not to involve him.
“You cleaned up nicely,” Gemma says to Robbie, narrowing her eyes at him. “You know, considering …”
He’s clearly tipsy and planning to keep it going.