Chapter 15
fifteen
Five days later, after Harper, Sahar, and Noah have filed out of our apartment post movie, Delilah and I begin cleaning, returning it to its former glory.
We right the L-shaped couch so it’s centered along the wall, below the amalgam of odd art Delilah has accumulated over the years.
At first, it felt like an eyesore in the space—though who was I to complain, seeing as it was her apartment first—but it’s grown on me.
Tossing a blanket into the basket beside the TV stand, Delilah asks, “Do you want to watch terrible reality TV?”
It’s an invitation that I so badly want to accept.
It’s been months since we’ve been alone in our apartment together, lazing on the couch after offseason days, watching braindead television.
It’s what we’ve been doing every night since I arrived in Orlando, but today was my rest day, and I’m too antsy to sit around anymore.
Five days since the win, and I’m ready to be back on court, pushing for another title.
“Rain check. I’m going to go for a swim.” Hopefully Aleks won’t fault me for it. It’s better than the gym.
Delilah pins me with an incredulous look. “Nic, it’s dark out. Your bedtime routine starts soon.”
“I have energy building that I need to dispel.” I walk to my bedroom, searching my drawers for a bikini, sweatshirt, and shorts. “Be back soon,” I call over my shoulder.
Unfortunately, my best friend is annoying in the best of times and refuses to leave well enough alone in the worst. She follows me. “You know, some might advise you that sex is a great way to dispel energy. Have you thought about that? Perhaps with anyone in particular?”
“Shut up, Del.”
She stands in my doorway, eyeing the empty walls.
She’d have lots to cover them with, but I’m not here enough to care what it feels like.
My duvet is a dark green, with two matching pillows, and my mid-century modern wooden nightstands are devoid of knickknacks or personality.
The only décor is a small bookshelf, which houses self-help books I’ve yet to read, the wilting flowers my mother sent me—still with no follow-up call in sight—and my trophies, my junior slam ones front and center.
“I’m obviously joking,” she continues while I change, “but for argument’s sake, let’s say I’m not. Where do we stand on a romp with your sexy performance coach?”
Rolling my eyes, I shimmy into my shorts and toss the sweatshirt that sat on top of my dresser—after hours of packing and repacking ended with me not knowing what to do with it—over my head.
The sharp scent of what I’m calling clove envelops me, followed closely by citrus, and being wrapped in it is almost as soothing as the hug Aleks and I shared.
Delilah watches me, her grin expanding until it takes over her face. “Oh, that’s new! Whose is that?” She nods to where the sleeves fall past my hands, the hem of the quarter-zip covering the bottoms of my shorts.
I’m between a rock and a hard place now.
If I take it off, I’ll have to explain why I kept Aleks’ sweatshirt; worse, I’ll then have to explain why I’ve used it since he pulled it over me.
But if I leave it on, I risk being seen in it.
Clearing my throat, I shoot for nonchalance with the latter.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.
This is my sweatshirt. I’ve had it for years. ”
“Oh right. Totally. Yes. Okay, sounds good!” Right as I believe I’m going to be safe from her pesky questions, she turns back around. “Oh, last thing. Do you have plans to hook up with your hot performance coach? We’ve got a pot going, and I’d love to win.”
“You’re a terrible gambler,” I mutter.
“Lie. And you’re deflecting.”
“I was trying not to dignify it with a response. Of course I’m not going to sleep with him.
” At her narrowed eyes, I set my hands on my hips.
“Why would I? We’re going to be working together until at least the beginning of June.
Doesn’t seem like a good idea to start our professional relationship with a bang. ”
Delilah snickers, tossing her braid over her shoulder. “Even if you both clearly want to?”
“That’s absurd.” Too quick. I said that much too fast, and she’s picked up on it.
“So there has been zero sexual tension since you began working together?”
“Do you really care this much about a bet?”
“No. I care this much about you. I want my best friend to tell me what’s going on in her life.”
Her words have the intended impact. With a sigh, I say, “Nothing has happened. At least nothing of substance.” Delilah leans against the doorway, locking in for details.
“There have been a couple of times where I thought we’d kiss.
But this week has been back to normal, like nothing happened.
And that’s for the best because nothing should happen. ”
“But if it did?”
I shrug helplessly. “I don’t know, Del. There’s a reason I refuse to spend extra time with the people I sleep with.”
“And what is that reason?”
Shaking my head, I grab my wallet, keys, and phone. There’s not enough time in the world to detail the laundry list of issues I appear to have, as evidenced by the multitude of people who’ve found me strange and off-putting my entire life. “I’m going to go.”
Delilah sighs. “I just want you to have fun, Nic. From what I’ve noticed, you haven’t been hooking up with anyone lately, and that was, like, your one outlet. You’re so…determined all the time, and it leaves little room for you to enjoy yourself. I think he’d be good for you.”
Clearly I’m not operating as under the radar as I’d hoped.
I bite back a retort, trying so hard not to lash out at the one person in my life who’s never deserved it. Softly, I answer, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“Aren’t you planning on sleeping soon?” She’s been shifting her sleep schedule to prepare for Madrid in a week and a half, though I’m pretty sure Matteo being six hours ahead has also factored into it.
She shrugs. “Don’t have to.”
I smile gratefully. Or at least I hope I do. “I’ll be fine, but thank you. Sleep so you can talk to Matteo in the morning.”
Her cheeks pink, and with a wave, I’m out the door.
It doesn’t take long to get to the state-of-the-art Olympic-size swimming pool on the Morozov Tennis Academy campus.
There are very few people training in Orlando right now since the men are playing in Europe and the women will follow soon.
Adding on the fact that it’s Thursday evening, the pool is gloriously empty.
Chlorine worms its way into my nose, but the light refracting around the large room distracts from the near singe of it. I pull my sweatshirt and shorts off, tossing my stuff onto a nearby bench before easing into the pool. It’s the perfect temperature, a comfort to my sore muscles.
Aleks has made it his mission to ensure that, though I’m taking my rest days (which, reluctantly, I have been), I’m also cursing him on training days.
On-court footwork with Karolína to integrate our training, agility work on the field, lifting and recovery in the gym.
I’m rarely this sore, and it’s more welcome than I’d ever admit to him.
I wasn’t lying when I told Delilah that things are back to normal. Aleks has backed off with his flirting once more. Marginally. The few times things grew tense between us, he smiled and told me, “You know what you need to say to change things,” and continued what we were doing.
I’ve yet to figure out what he wants. On the surface, I understand that he wants to prevent me from burning out the way he did.
But there has to be more to it than that, right?
And does he flirt with everyone, or does it mean something?
There’s an unwanted (at least on my end) attraction between us, and I have no idea what to do with it.
Probably for the best if, like I told Delilah, it goes nowhere.
My arms slice through the water, putting me into a meditative state. When I grab the diving block after a particularly tiring lap, pulling air into my lungs, a male voice says, “You’re supposed to be resting.”
I gasp loudly. My hand slips, and I fall beneath the surface for a moment, resurfacing with a cough as I attempt to get rid of the water lodged in my lungs.
As though I conjured him, Aleks stands beside the diving block with his arms crossed.
His eyebrows are drawn, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face, and I’m not sure I like it, whatever it may mean.
The limited lighting lends an azure tint to his eyes and makes the locks of hair falling all over themselves appear darker.
“This is getting concerning. Are you following me? Stalking me?”
“No,” he answers, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Natasha got into a fight with our parents over her wanting to take a break, which ended with her in tears. I was at the gym and took her home but left my stuff behind. I saw you when I came back to pick it up. Figured I’d check on you.”
An image of Oleg and Iryna Morozov ganging up on the shyest of their four children to the point of tears pops into my head. I imagine Aleks stepping in front of her, taking the heat like he always does, and it makes my chest ache.
“Is she okay?”
He nods. “Yes. She’s at my apartment so she doesn’t have to speak to them tonight.”
“Good. Well, here I am. Didn’t get enough energy out during my walk today. I’ll go home soon.”
“You’re not supposed to be doing cardio today.”
“It’s not cardio. I’m doing a few laps so I can sleep tonight.”
His eyes light, but he says nothing.
“Go away, Aleks. It’s not like I’m lifting.”
“It’s still impacting your training. You’re paying me to do a job. Let me do that job.”