Chapter 16
sixteen
Sahar’s Bad Berlin Bagels
Sahar
Delilah, do you have something you want to tell us?
Maya
Pleaseeeee I’m desperate for gossip
Sahar
Delllllll
Nic
Sahar you snake.
Sahar
Hehe
Harper
No worries if you don’t want to talk about it yet! Tell us when you’re ready!
Sahar
Just tell us — was it as big as his energy makes it seem?
Austin removed themself from the chat.
Sahar
Seriously how does he keep getting in here? And how do we keep missing it?
Things are weird.
To be fair to Matteo, I’m sure it’s mostly my fault.
Monday was our singles day, so I trained with Nic—who has yet to ask me about the situation despite the group chat going off with questions (almost certainly brought on because she told on me).
I saw him during strength and conditioning that afternoon, but I was able to prevent a conversation by surrounding myself with the girls—who made it very clear they want details soon.
But it’s also not like he’s made much of an effort.
During practice Tuesday, Matteo wasn’t particularly happy, and every time he made a mistake, he glared at his racket.
Every time I made a mistake, he barely looked at me.
The pride and fondness that always seem to slip across his features when we play together, even when I mess up on the court, were gone, and pretending it didn’t hurt was a fool’s errand.
Wednesday was more of the same. Singles training with Sahar, where I deflected question after question, then insulated conditioning.
Today, after my three-mile walk and physio, the time I’ve been taking to find the words to tell the girls is at an end.
They accost me while they’re trying on clothes at a boutique, and from the vaguely inquisitive look on Nic’s face, the subtle excitement on Harper’s, and the fake anger on Sahar’s, I know it’s time to come clean.
Sahar’s honey-brown eyes flash with mischief as they meet mine in the dressing room mirror, a cowl-neck red dress draped across her body, tanned shoulders and legs on display.
Her thick black hair is tied back into a ponytail, perfectly manicured eyebrows raised.
“Nic tells us you had a friend over Sunday night.”
“So much for keeping me out of it,” Nic mutters, glaring down at a pair of jeans she’s trying on. Her navy top makes her gray eyes appear darker, and she pulls her chestnut-brown hair away from her face, inspecting her outfit.
“What was I supposed to say? ‘I was outside your apartment all night’?” Sahar replies.
Harper giggles, tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear, still in the floral tennis dress she threw on after physio.
Piles of clothes she wants us all to try on are slung over her tan arms. The dressing room is barely big enough for the four of us, and I’m glad I’m seated on the small stoop in the corner, watching them instead of trying clothes on.
“So?” Harper prompts me.
“What if I told you he was only over to discuss strategy?”
It’s quiet for a beat, the three of them exchanging looks. Harper is the first to recover. “Oh! That’s cool. How is that going?”
Sahar crosses her arms and interjects before I can figure out if I want to continue my deceit, “You are so lying. You were wearing his shirt and no pants and your hair was very telling.”
“Sahar!” Nic grinds out, and I shoot her a disbelieving look.
“You told them everything?”
“I was asking them whether they thought I should bring it up. I wanted advice in case you needed it.” She cuts a glare I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of to Sahar, but Sahar’s claws are just as sharp, and she waves Nic off.
“Del, if I don’t get details soon, I’m going to assume it was the craziest, kinkiest night of your life.”
I snort. “Okay, fine. Matteo came upstairs.”
Sahar claps once. “Austin and Noah owe me. They were so wrong on the timing.” Harper bumps her with her hip, and Sahar waves a hand. “Sorry, sorry. Was he generous? Did he make you come?”
My eyes widen, glancing under the other stalls.
Laughing, Sahar remarks, “Oh, please. It’s not like he could be in here.”
Realizing she’s right, I nod somberly. “Twice.”
“Uh-oh,” she says, frowning. “That is not the positivity I was expecting from you, Del.”
“Not that you’re expected to be positive all the time,” Harper reassures me, looping her arm through mine and pulling me to stand. “What did that tone mean? Are you regretting it?”
Spinning a bracelet Hazel made me years ago, I shake my head.
“There’s a lot for me to lose right now.
My new Strato deal is proof I’m moving in the right direction, but in order to get that bonus, I have to make it deep into the draw.
And if I want to keep the contract after, I need to keep winning.
I’m not sure it makes sense for us to be anything, at least not right now.
Not while we’re prepping for Aussie. What if something goes wrong?
He’s doing fine, he’ll be fine. But I don’t know how that’ll impact my season.
” And the last thing I want is to let someone else alter my year.
“Did he say he wanted to be more?” Nic asks.
Shoving away the fact that he’s made no attempts to talk to me, I reply, “No, but I know I have feelings for him. Hooking up without knowing where we are is a bad idea.” I mean, god, he’s only the fourth man I’ve ever been with. Hooking up with anyone isn’t my MO.
Sahar pulls the dress off and drops another in a different color over herself. “What does that mean for mixed? How have things been?”
“Not great.” I pause and think about how terrible Tuesday’s practice went. The dread I feel about how our practice tomorrow will go. “Really bad, actually. It’s like when we first started playing together and knew nothing about each other, except…” I trail off.
“Except now he’s been inside you and you’ve seen every part of his body.” Sahar chuckles at her own joke.
“Right.”
After we agree Sahar should choose the red dress, the jeans look good on Nic, and Harper doles out the choices she’s made for each of us, including a pretty dress and a pair of white linen pants she hands to me, Sahar asks, “So, you like him? It’s not just that he’s ridiculously hot?
Or that he’s ridiculously mean?” She moans.
“I bet he was so mean in such a good way.”
“Sahar!” She laughs, pulling me into her body and folding herself across my shoulders, head tucked against my neck.
“And that’s the thing. He’s not mean.” We shift around so I can pull on the pants Harper handed me.
“He’s a sweetheart in many ways. Getting to know him the last few weeks has shown me there’s so much more to him than what we’ve all grown accustomed to seeing. ”
I sit again, analyzing the buildup of emotion in my chest. It’s similar to what I felt when I left him at his apartment.
“I don’t know. Maybe that’s crazy. But yeah.
I really like him. A part of me is glad we’ll get to keep doing this through January, but another part of me wants Austin to get better soon so I can stop playing with Matteo and see where things go. ”
Sahar glances behind her, meeting my eyes for real instead of through the mirror. “Do you think he feels the same way? I mean, when we played last week, I definitely thought so, but I haven’t been around long enough to read that mysterious granite wall.”
I think of the affectionate way he often gazes at me when I’m being silly on court.
The way his fingers always seem to linger when he’s touching me in innocuous ways, like when he’s setting my gym bag along my shoulder or pushing my hair behind my ear.
How he took care of me and my family when we had to drive to Tampa.
Of pressed legs on leather couches in too-small rooms, of smiles shared during drills and practice matches, of high fives exchanged between points and hand brushes as tennis balls are passed back and forth.
Does he feel the same way? “It’s possible.”
“He’d be an idiot not to,” Nic chimes in, checking if a dress Harper brought her is too short on her tall frame.
Her kind words make me smile, even more so because of how rare they are. “For now, we’ll just try to get through the Australian Open. Maybe once Austin is healed up and ready to play again, we can revisit whatever it is we’re feeling.”
They nod. “One problem, though,” Nic says. “How are you going to get back to normal on court with him?”
Blowing out a breath, I shrug. “Who knows. Keeping my teasing to a minimum and barely talking to him Tuesday was a bust, so I might act like nothing happened? Go back to how things were before?”
Nic’s eyebrows pinch, and even Sahar seems unconvinced. “Something tells me that’s not a good strategy.”
“Does that same something tell you what is a good strategy?” I ask, praying someone has advice, not that any of us can say we’re particularly ready to dole it out.
I’ve never been in a real relationship. Nic uses men for what they can give her, same as they do her.
Harper’s relationship ended a while ago, and she hasn’t seemed keen to jump back into anything.
And Sahar…well, she and Noah have things they don’t even know they need to work through.
I sigh when none of them provide me with an alternative. “Then pretending nothing happened it is. If that doesn’t work by Tuesday, I’ll try a new tactic until we get somewhere.”
“I mean, you could talk to him,” Harper offers. “It might be better than pretending he doesn’t know what you look like naked.”
“Alright, that’ll be my last resort.”
We share a laugh. On our way out of the boutique, the three of them with small paper bags containing the clothes they chose, Harper declares, “I think tonight’s movie night should be girls only. Agree?” Three nods. Austin and Noah will live if they don’t get to spend one movie night with us.
Though I feel like I just endured a slightly cruel and incredibly probing game of twenty questions, I’m glad I was able to talk to them. Hopefully I’ll find clarity on how to approach the situation with Matteo.
I was deluding myself. No clarity was found.
And pretending nothing happened did not, in fact, work out.
Friday’s practice went as horribly as Tuesday’s.
Matteo was more withdrawn than usual, hardly speaking to me, and while I don’t know Italian, I picked up on the frustration between him, Alessio, and Francesca the couple of times an argument broke out.
I didn’t want to ask what about.
Even Eli appeared concerned when he sat courtside, though his words of encouragement kept ringing out no matter how we faltered.
Drills and court work went on for eons, and game strategy was no better. As we left that evening, Matteo reached toward me, mouth opening. I thought he’d offer to walk me home, but he just shook his head and walked away.
It was for the best, and yet my heart sank like I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.
Saturday’s practice match against Anya went surprisingly well for me. Maybe a fluke, or maybe I really am as good as Matteo likes to tell me I am.
When Tuesday evening’s mixed game strategy finally rolls around and we’re beside each other on the couch, careful not to touch anywhere, Francesca shuts the door and crosses her arms.
“I don’t know what has gotten into the two of you, but you’re playing so poorly, Alessio and I have nothing to strategize with.
I don’t know if you’re resting on your laurels after you beat the Morozovs or if you’ve had a huge fight and can’t stand to look at each other, but this isn’t working. La pazienza è finita.”
The patience is finished. Francesca’s way of telling me to shape up.
Alessio nods beside her, and when she turns to him, he jumps in. “You two need to get your shit together. You were playing well before, but now, not so much. You’ll be lucky if you get to the first round at this rate. Are you prepared for the embarrassment that comes with losing during qualifying?”
It’s a rhetorical question, clearly, but it’s made more obvious when he and Francesca leave the room dramatically, shutting the door behind themselves. I stand, stretching my legs and pacing the few steps back and forth in the room.
Harper was right. Pretending hasn’t worked. My last resort is coming into play.
And as badly as I don’t want to lose out on money from the Aussie Open because we’re blurring lines, I don’t want to etch a new line in the sand so divisive that we can’t work through it.
Decision made, I sigh. Right as I say, “We should talk,” Matteo grumbles, “Let’s get food.”
I can’t help but smile at him faintly. He doesn’t mirror it, but his face softens, his eyebrows marginally less pinched.
I nod. “Lead the way.”