Chapter 18
eighteen
The next day is a travel and rest day, our flight from Munich to Madrid quick.
I make the mistake of allowing Aleks to sit next to me, which means the entire three hours are spent ignoring the smirks he shoots me, watching tidy fields and red-roofed villages shrink beneath fluffy clouds.
The Alps rise in the distant blush of dawn, and when Aleks whispers, “Your legs still shaky?” I elbow him hard enough that he grunts and shuts up until our descent.
We watch sunlight-warmed hills and scattered olive groves pass beneath us, his cheek nearly touching mine as he leans to get a better view.
That evening, after dinner with him, Pen, and Karolína—where we were interrupted on three separate occasions by his friends on the men’s tour who happened to be eating at the same restaurant—he follows me to my room.
Initially, I think nothing of it. He has a strange, noble idea that he needs to deposit me in my room so I remain safe. Except when I open the door, he doesn’t say goodbye.
“What?” I ask him.
“Oh, were you not giving me bedroom eyes at dinner?” His teeth flash, and I have to force my eyes away so I’m not reminded of them biting my inner thigh during our third round last night. He’s very generous when he wants to be.
“You must have confused it with my your friends are interrupting my dinner face.”
“They are awfully similar expressions.” Aleks doesn’t move.
“I’m not sure we should have a repeat performance.”
“No?” He inclines his head. “Was it not to your liking?” The tilt of his lips tells me he knows it was one of the best experiences of my life.
“Aleks, we work together. I don’t sleep with people I work with.”
“By virtue of what happened yesterday, that’s no longer true.” I cross my arms, which makes him chuckle. “I’m just saying, things have already shifted, no? Why rid ourselves of the perks?”
“And that’s all you want? Just hooking up and no expectations for anything else?”
Aleks’ gaze glides into my room. “Of course. What expectations would I have?”
I mull it over, ignoring the twist of my stomach at his words.
Before yesterday, it had been a while since I’d slept with anyone, my push into the top ten fueled by working so hard, I never found the time or interest. And if the way my body felt like it was gliding all day is any indication, it relieved some sliver of my usual stress.
Gripping the key card so it digs into my palm, I push the door wider. “If we do this, we keep it on the DL,” I say over my shoulder as we walk in. “It’s stress relief to replace the extra gym work I’d do if you weren’t watching me like a hawk.”
“Happy to be of service.”
The suite is the size of a luxury studio apartment, opening into a spacious living area with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Madrid’s skyline.
The light from a lamp I left on is soft as it glints off the coffee table, which sits in front of two linen sofas, facing a low entertainment console.
On the right, the outer wall curves into an alcove, where my bed is tucked behind a partial wall, only visible when I take another couple of steps into the living area.
Taking off my heels and setting them beside my other shoes lined by the door, I pull my hair from the tight knot it was in at dinner and walk past the bed to the white-and-green bathroom, the tile cool against my feet.
“No cuddling after,” I tell him, unzipping the dress and letting the silk slide over my body until it lands in a puddle. “Yesterday was a mistake.”
“You’ll have to forgive me if I fall asleep here and my arms happen to land on you.”
When I turn, picking up the dress to put it into the closet, he’s standing over the nightstand. It takes me a moment to realize he’s looking at my list.
His eyes rove the paper, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“That’s private,” I say, taking the few steps toward him and flipping it over. I should tell him that he might be right, though. That, for the first time in my life, I know things about myself that have nothing to do with tennis.
That I like strawberry lemonade, but not pink lemonade—something Pen always seems to have on hand, despite many of the countries I play in definitely not allowing the dyes in it.
That I prefer nuts in pastries, courtesy of getting breakfast at a café with Karolína, who won’t eat a baked good without them.
That when I allow myself to pay attention to the reality TV Delilah likes, I do, though I’m loath to admit it, enjoy the drama.
That his training the last three weeks has allowed me to enjoy practices and matches more than I have in months.
But after last night, he’s sure to have a big enough head, and by the smirk on his lips, I guarantee if I voiced any of that, it would only swell.
“I’m more shocked than anything that you’ve been listening to me.” He turns, our faces inches apart. “It’s such a rare thing.”
His eyes drop, then flick back to my face before they widen and drop down again, taking in my lacy underwear and naked chest. The sound of his swallow is loud enough for my head to swell.
I begin unbuttoning his light blue shirt from the top, loving the way his breath stutters as my fingers ghost over his chain. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I can tell it takes mental fortitude, but he drags his eyes to mine. “Can I touch you?”
My chest constricts, my lips turning up. “While I appreciate you always running it by me, my getting naked is a pretty good indication that I’d like you to.”
“I’m a fan of enthusiastic consent.” He lifts me easily, tossing me onto the bed.
I giggle, excited in my anticipation, and it’s a noise so foreign that we both pause for a moment.
An affectionate smile spreads across his lips before he crawls over my body, pressing kisses to every bit of exposed skin.
“You were so hot in that dress tonight,” he says against my stomach. “Next time, let me take it off you.”
There it is again. Next time and the anxiety that accompanies the idea of continuing this. Rather than falling prey to the fears, I respond, “With how many times we’ve managed in the last twenty-four hours, you could hardly say I’m out of shape.”
His eyes find mine while his lips explore the skin right above the hem of my underwear. “You know I never said that.”
There’s no time to think of a response, because he pulls the cotton aside and dives in, smiling when he sees my hands fisting the comforter. His tongue does alarmingly good work, and quick. It doesn’t take long before I’m writhing and begging him to fill me with more than the tip of his finger.
Aleks listens, and by the end, half the pillows have been knocked off the bed and I’ve sent a prayer up that the walls are thicker than they appear for the sake of our neighbors.
I’m so tired after, I don’t even mind when he ends up under the layers of my bed with me, an arm around me as my heavy lids close.
I wake, bleary-eyed, sometime in the middle of the night, if the dark outside the large windows is anything to go by.
Pushing aside the odd hurt pressing into my sternum when I realize Aleks has left, I stand and pull the thinner of my two curtains shut.
I’ll wake for my morning walk as the sun spills into the room.
“Shh, shh. I can’t understand what you’re saying, Tash. Breathe for me.” Aleks’ voice is quiet, scraping like gravel from sleep. I peer out the doorway cut into the wall and notice him pacing the hotel living area. The pressure on my sternum turns to relief, warm and soothing.
Leaning against the wall, I watch his shoulders hitch higher as he listens, the muscles in his back illuminated by city lights. The strange urge to hold him, protect him, overtakes me.
“I know. I think they’re upset with Anya over her loss in Germany.” A pause. “I know. He shouldn’t have said that to you. That’s unacceptable.” Another pause. “Tash, if you want to quit, I support you.” He sighs. “Of course I have regrets.”
Aleks turns, still pacing. “I know it’s hard. I wish there was something I could—” He cuts off when he notices me, a canyon carving between his brows. Does he not want me to hear this?
I recognize that he’s been struggling to find the right way to tell his siblings, Natasha particularly, and I want him to recognize that I see him. That I know how hard this has been on him and that I’m here. I offer him a smile, nodding encouragingly.
Whether that translates, I don’t know. But the tension in his face eases, and he reaches out, beckoning me. I pad to him without much thought, stepping into the circle of his arm. It drapes around me loosely, his fingers light in the divot of my waist.
It seems to be the encouragement he needs to say, “Actually, there is something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.
” A voice on the verge of hysterics filters out of his phone, though I can’t make out her words.
“I was drowning, Tash. Tennis was all I’d ever been, but I didn’t love it anymore.
It wasn’t fun. It became more a chore than anything else, and Mom and Dad’s pressure was killing me.
I had to get out. But I’m so sorry. My leaving did this to you and Dima and Anya.
If I’d have stayed, maybe they wouldn’t be taking it out on you.
Maybe they’d look more favorably on you taking a break.
They’re trying to sink their claws in deeper to keep hold of you because if you leave too, they only have two more to keep the legacy going. ”
Aleks sighs, his weight shifting toward me. I place a hand over his where it rests on my hip, grazing a finger over his knuckles, up and down.
“I’m sorry I left you to deal with it. That I didn’t tough it out to keep their attention off you.
If you’re open to it, I’d like to talk to the three of you this week since we’re all in one place.
Without Mom and Dad around. And if you still feel this way after you hear everything I have to say, I’ll be there when you tell them you want out.
I’ll stay by your side and be strong so you don’t have to. ”
He huffs a laugh. “Okay, Anya doesn’t have to be involved. I can talk to her separately.”
I hide my smile. Natasha might not be so bad after all.
“Are you sure you’re alright? I can come to your room.
We can watch cartoons like when you were little.
Your choice of snack.” Her answer sounds far less hysterical.
Aleks stepped out of his comfort zone to make her feel better, and it tightens a fist in my chest. Pride sticks in my throat.
“Another time, then. Good night. Hey, and no matter what happens, no matter what they say to you, you’ll always have me, okay? ”
When the call ends, he slips his phone into the sweatpants he either stashed here or went to his room to grab after I passed out.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask softly.
He shakes his head.
“Do you want to get back into bed?” I offer.
He nods, and I grab his hand, marveling at how much physical touch I’ve enjoyed the last couple of days as I lead him back into my bedroom. We slip under the covers, his thumb and forefinger stroking the soft fabric of the blanket I travel with.
“Sorry I woke you.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I’m glad I saw you when I did. I keep telling myself I’ll sit down and talk to them, but then I chicken out.
I’m scared of what I’ll see in their faces if I look too long.
Do they blame me for what they’re dealing with?
I don’t know.” His eyes drop from the ceiling, snagging on mine.
They’re so dark, I can barely discern where the blue ends and the white begins.
“Maybe telling her over the phone was cowardly.”
“Nothing about what you did was cowardly. Not then and not now.”
The right corner of his mouth tips up. “When I saw you, I heard your voice telling me to stop lying. And I recognize it’s going to be hard, but I want Natasha to be happy.
If showing her what I went through provides her the courage to do the same, I want to be by her side, helping her get through to them. ”
My hand drifts toward his, slipping our fingers together again. “I’m really proud of you.”
“I bet you just like that I’m listening to you, even as a voice in my head.”
I squeeze his hand. “No.” Though it is nice to know he thinks about me enough that I’m in his head. He sure as hell has a lot to say in mine.
He squeezes back. “Thank you.”
We drift off with our hands nestled together.