Chapter 23
THE SOUND OF RAIN AGAINST HER WINDOWS DREW PENNY from her sleep.
The room was still dark, a product of the overcast skies outside.
She let her eyes drift closed, and that was when she noticed it: a weight, heavy and warm against her stomach, an arm curving protectively around her body, two fingers tucked slightly into the waistband of her pajama shorts.
She could hear his soft, even breathing on the pillow next to hers.
She recognized the deep, slow rhythm. Alex was next to her and he was sound asleep.
She carefully rolled over. His arm remained around her, instinctively pulling her closer. He was practically radiating heat and she snuggled into it, pressing her lips to his shoulder. Penny closed her eyes again and let sleep slowly overtake her.
She woke later, sleepier than when she’d roused the first time, the rain still pelting her windowpanes. Alex was awake now, still holding her close, his eyes focused on her.
“Hey,” he whispered, nudging his nose against hers.
“Hi,” she breathed, their lips brushing together softly. “This is nice.”
He nodded in agreement. “Mm, more than nice. If I could wake up like this for the rest of my life, I’d die a happy man.”
She tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder. “I think that can be arranged. I sleep better when you’re here,” she said, her fingers absently drawing patterns against the skin of his bicep.
She reveled in a few more moments of peaceful bliss before she remembered why she was here and what she had ahead of her—the toughest test of her career—and she wouldn’t get any closer to it just lying here with him. “I have to get up.”
He groaned. “No you don’t. You have to stay right here.”
“I have to get up,” she said again. “Dom booked a practice court for ten. I have to take a shower.” A wicked grin spread across his face at the idea. “By myself. I need to get my head in the right space for my match tonight.”
“It’s raining. They’re going to cancel your match,” he argued against her neck, his hands already finding purchase against her hips, pressing her down into the mattress.
Alex had dispatched his first-round opponent in straight sets the night before, his knee not giving him any trouble at all, and his second-round match wasn’t until the next day.
He’d earned a morning of rest, but Penny definitely had work to do that day.
“It’s drizzling, and regardless, I have to prepare like I’m going to play,” she said, despite wanting to agree with him in the worst way.
“Fine,” he said, releasing her and burying his head beneath a pillow when she turned on a light.
“Drama queen,” she muttered as she dug through her suitcase, pulling out the practice clothes Nike had sent for the tournament.
Stepping under the hot spray of water, she let it soak her hair, and her mind drifted to the tournament draw.
Her opponent was Patricia Smyth, a veteran with a decent all-around game.
They’d played once before in Miami: 6–3, 6–1, in an easy victory.
There was nothing to be concerned about.
What else did she know about Patricia? She was English, like Alex, which wasn’t exactly information that would help her during the match.
She had to stop relating everything to him. She wouldn’t become one of those girls whose life only revolved around a guy, no matter how good he made her feel, both in his bed and out of it.
The water grew cool and she countered by pushing the hot handle a little farther down.
Every muscle in her body sang with relief as tension she hadn’t realized was there slipped out through her pores.
Letting her chin fall to her chest, she exhaled heavily.
Her mind drifted, imagining Alex’s broad chest pressing up against her back, his hands exploring her skin, his lips trailing down her neck, over her shoulder…
Then she was jolted from her daydream by a flash of light through the shower’s glass door.
Wiping at the shower door to clear the fog away, she squinted through the glass.
Alex’s phone was plugged into the wall, charging, its screen lit up with an incoming message.
She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her body and tucking it closed between her breasts.
Leaning over, careful not to drip on the phone, she saw a message flashing over his locked screen—a picture message from Caroline Morneau with a caption: Just one more.
I couldn’t help myself. The picture was tiny, but Penny could make out the gist. It was Alex on the night of the gala.
He had Penny pressed up against a wall, his mouth at her neck, his hand covered to the wrist by the skirt of her dress, disappearing between her thighs.
Her head was thrown back, eyes closed, fingers digging into his shoulders.
Penny swallowed back a wave of panic. They’d snuck away from the party briefly, not quite willing to wait until they got back to the hotel.
Obviously, someone had followed them, snapped a picture, then sent it to Caroline.
Or had Caroline taken the picture herself?
But the real question was, why the hell was Caroline messaging it to Alex?
Penny pulled the phone from its charger and swept out of the bathroom, tossing it onto the lump of covers she assumed Alex was buried under.
“Your phone was buzzing.”
His head popped out from under the blankets and he picked up his phone, glancing at the screen before looking back up at her. “Did you see?”
“If you mean, did I see the screen and wonder why Caroline Morneau is sending you photos of us with your hand up my dress? Then yeah, I saw. What does she mean, she couldn’t help herself?”
“Penny, listen,” he said, sitting up, rubbing his hands over his face.
“I’m listening.”
Alex let out a quick breath. “She’s my agent.”
“Your agent?”
“That night when we were on the court, when she interrupted us, I was meeting her to sign the papers.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, looking back at him. “What does her being your agent have anything to do with a picture like that?”
“She probably wants to stir up some buzz off the court during the tournament.”
A long breath escaped through her lips as it all clicked in her head. “Like she did before the tournament with the Athlete Weekly pictures.”
“Penny…” He trailed off, but he didn’t deny it or call her crazy or even have a moment of realization, like the idea had never occurred to him before.
“Did you know?” she asked, needing him to confirm it.
“Penny, love—”
“Did. You. Know?”
“Yes.”
The word was so simple that it took a moment for the implications to hit her.
She sat on the bed and felt the mattress shift as he crawled toward her, sitting beside her at the edge of the bed in only his boxer briefs, his thigh pressing against hers.
He slid an arm around her waist, but she shook him off.
“Don’t touch me.”
He flinched and then moved away, giving her some space.
“Penny, I swear, I don’t know why she took this one and I’d never let her use it.”
“Is that supposed to make it okay? And why did you let her use the others?”
He hesitated and then said in a soft voice, “I thought you hated me. I was angry and hurt and confused. I told her I didn’t care what she did. I should have told her to get rid of them and I’m so fucking sorry.”
“You didn’t care? You didn’t care that these incredibly private moments would be out there for anyone to see? God, I trusted you and you just… yeah, that’s the point, isn’t it? This is my fault. I trusted you and that’s on me.”
“No it’s not. I’m sorry. I’ll fire her. I’ll do it right now.”
“I don’t care that she leaked the pictures, Alex. I care that you didn’t seem to care one way or the other. Were you ever going to tell me?” He looked away and that was all the answer she needed. “Of course not.”
She had to go. She had a practice court reserved in a little less than a half hour, and Dom would be there any minute. Chucking off the towel, she dressed quickly, not even sparing Alex a glance.
Then her own phone, charging on the dresser, started vibrating, and message after message began popping up on the screen. Behind her, she heard Alex’s phone doing the same, a steady stream of blings echoing in the large hotel suite.
“Fuck,” Alex muttered, his eyes on his phone. Then he looked up at Penny, his shoulders slumped in defeat, and she knew.
It was too late. Caroline had leaked the photo.
She should have felt panic rising in her chest or her head aching from the onslaught of bombshells in the last few minutes, but instead a calm washed over her, a stillness that she’d only ever felt before on the tennis court.
“I have training soon. I should get going.”
Moving back across the room, she grabbed a band and pulled her hair up into a quick ponytail. Through the reflection in the mirror, she saw the eyes of the man she’d trusted with her body and nearly with her heart, focused on her, agonized bewilderment written clear on his face.
“Penny,” Alex began as soon as she turned around, but she shook her head. Whatever he had to say, however he thought he could make this better, she didn’t want to hear it.
“I knew something like this would happen. It was all too damn good to be true.” She couldn’t look at him. If she looked him in the eye, it would weaken her resolve, and she had to be strong.
“Penny, please,” he tried again, but she ignored him.
She opened the hotel room door and then looked back at the man still sitting on her bed, head in his heads. “You shouldn’t be here when I get back.”
Neither Dom nor Jack asked her about what happened when she met them in the lobby, but by their tense silence, it was clear they knew about the picture.
No one uttered a word as they walked down through the lobby and out of the hotel and hopped into the car waiting to take them to Roland-Garros.
By the time they arrived, the rain had stopped and the sky was clearing to a bright blue.
Dom told her to warm up, so she did. Then they worked on a few footwork drills, followed by their usual pre-match routine, sticking to the basics, making sure her shots were strong going into her match that night.
The workout got her heart rate up, and a fine sheen of sweat coated her skin by the time they were finished, but it didn’t do anything for her mental state.
The odd calm that had settled over her at the hotel had disappeared as soon as they got on the court, replaced by a cloudy mess of confusion, and by the way Dom was looking at her, he definitely noticed.
Penny didn’t need him to tell her she’d practiced like crap.
Her hands shook, vibrating with frustration as she packed up her gear and left the practice court.
She wasn’t sure who she was most angry at, but she quickly settled upon herself for letting herself give in.
She was prepared for this tournament, thanks mostly to Alex.
Playing with him every day had brought her game to a whole new level: Her reaction time was shorter, her feet were quicker, and no other player had ever tested her will, on and off the court, so thoroughly—but then it had all gone to hell so quickly.
When had this become her life? Men and sex and drama instead of what she’d always wanted, to be the best tennis player in the world.
Was it so wrong to want someone to share that with?
A dull ache settled in around her heart, her chest tightening.
“Stop it. You have to snap out of it,” she muttered to herself as she turned a corner nearing the street exit and nearly collided headlong with another young woman headed in the opposite direction. A long blond braid flashed past her face as the other girl tossed her head in annoyance.
Penny narrowed her eyes as she regained her footing. “Zina.”
“Watch where you are going. Oh. It is you,” her rival said with a small smile. She didn’t sound all that surprised. “I did not expect to see you. I thought maybe you would withdraw.”
“Why would I do that?” Penny cocked her head to the side, not letting Zina’s slightly larger frame intimidate her. There were a few people loitering around and she recognized most of them as reporters. This had setup written all over it.
“You have no chance to win.”
“You have a short memory.”
She wasn’t going to give Zina or the reporters what they wanted; she wouldn’t be goaded into a fight. Not even while every fiber of her being was screaming at her to haul off and smack the smug, superior smirk off the Russian girl’s face.
“My memory is good. You played your best tennis. I played my worst. I have won two tournaments since that defeat, and you have spent time since then not training, but fucking Alex Russell.”
Her stomach lurched at the mention of his name, but she kept her reaction off her face. “We’ll see, won’t we?”
Penny walked away, feeling every set of eyes fixed upon her. In a few minutes the internet would probably explode with pictures and reports of her little tête-à-tête with Lutrova, but at least for the first time since she’d arrived in France, they’d be talking about tennis.