Eight #3
His stare softened into a regretful smile. “It’s not a flaw, Mat,” he said. “It’s a trauma response.”
Simple words, yet they stole all the air, like he’d pulled a rug from beneath my feet. Or turned a broken cog back into place.
“And you’re welcome,” he added. “I’m going to rest up tonight though. Since I’m playing tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I said, my mind still spinning on his words. “Of course. I just wanted to check in.”
“And apologise for something that was my fault? Well, thank you.”
“Uh, you’re welcome?”
Miles laughed. “You’re such a dork.”
He straightened up like he was about to close the door, only to abruptly step out – close enough that I had to look up into those dark eyes, rimmed in such soft lashes. I caught my breath. Silent and unsmiling, he stared down at me.
One second.
Two.
Nerves tore at my chest. Then ever so slowly, he lifted a hand and trailed two fingers down the back of my neck, releasing the tension on a shiver like he’d unzipped my skin.
And having done so, he lowered his lips to mine.
A soft kiss, not deep but lingering, like our lips had been magnetised.
He had to peel himself free to draw back, both of us left breathless as though the air had thinned.
“What was that for?” I asked.
Miles had remained close, and for a heartbeat he didn’t answer. Then with a long step, he retreated to the safety of his doorway. “For?” He shrugged with a scornful crinkle of his nose. “It wasn’t for anything. You said you were a kisser, right?”
“Right.”
His second shrug was almost petulant. “See you later, Mat.”
“Oh, uh, yeah. See you later. And good luck for tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” Miles closed the door and I stared at its peeling paint, still able to taste that kiss and feel his words, both carving out space inside me that hadn’t been there before.
THE NEXT DAY, I settled on the couch once again to watch both Katie and Miles play, hoping for a repeat of Monday’s dual wins – a hope that slowly drained when Katie failed to find her usual form. In just over an hour, she’d lost. Badly.
“Well, that was fucking depressing,” she said when she called ten minutes later.
“Sure was,” I agreed, because lying to Katie never made her feel better. “Though I’m sure Kasina had a good time.”
She laughed over the busy sound of the player gym. “That’s me, showing girls a good time. You always know how to cheer me up. Although, I have to admit, I haven’t had that little fun on court for a long time.”
I’d had the Queen’s coverage playing in the background and a headshot of Miles appeared on screen as they went over his season’s stats – even a still photo of him enough distraction that I forgot to answer.
“So,” Katie said after a pause, “is Miles Callahan still living across the hall?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Surprisingly.”
I wasn’t sure I had permission to tell her that things with Miles had escalated, so I let the moment to do so slide by.
“That’ll be interesting,” she said. “Must be weird running into him on the stairs.”
“Yeah,” I said again as the TV cut to Miles waiting to walk onto the court.
He was adjusting his white sweatband and staring at nothing, headphones firmly in place.
I was getting used to his various expressions, but this one was new, something pensive in the line of his brows as he gnawed lightly on the inside of his lip.
The look of a man whose thoughts were far away.
“Mat?”
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“I said I’ll see you tomorrow,” Katie repeated. “I’ll let you know which train I’ll be on. Not that you need to be in. I’ll just grab the second key from downstairs.”
“Yeah, great. Winning today would have been better, but it’ll be good to see you.”
She huffed a gentle laugh. “And you. You can fill me in on what’s been going on over a slice of that chocolate cake.”
We hung up, and I unmuted the TV in time to catch the cheer as Miles stepped onto the court.
He acknowledged the crowd as he always did and headed for his chair, but while there was nothing obviously amiss, ill-ease twisted in my stomach all the same.
I could hardly explain it even to myself.
He looked perfectly confident throughout the preparations and the warm-up and was moving well, but sometimes when the camera lingered there was something in his expression that was all too like the fear I’d seen when he’d asked me to keep his secret.
I told myself it was nothing, that Kozel was no match for even a distracted Miles Callahan, yet from the first point there was clearly something wrong. He struggled to hold, could barely get a return into play, and his unforced errors were rapidly racking up.
I couldn’t watch.
“Looks like his head just isn’t in the game today,” one of the commentators said as I cleaned the apartment instead. “A far cry from the Callahan we saw in the first round. He’s going to have to dig deep to turn this set around.”
Miles didn’t turn it around. He lost the first set, and went down a break early in the second. A week ago, I would have sat gleefully glued to the TV, enjoying every moment of his failure. Today, glances at the score were all I could manage.
The moment it was over, I turned off the TV, unable to bear the sight of Kozel talking about his win.
So much for having to apologise for enhancing Miles’s game with my dick.
I wasn’t up myself enough to think his performance today was my fault, but as the reason he didn’t have a team looking after him, I felt at least somewhat to blame.
Having picked up my phone, I paused, thumbs hovering.
I’d never had to send Miles commiserations and wasn’t sure what to say.
Katie liked messages that would make her laugh, but the idea of typing ‘ah well, you’re still a world number four dick warmer’ made my entire skin want to shrivel up and crawl away.
In the end, I typed, hey, that was rough. Here if you need company during your cool-down, and went back to cleaning the already clean kitchen.
No reply came. Not then and not later, when afternoon crawled into evening.
I thought about messaging again to check he was all right, but each time I picked up my phone, I flung it away.
Miles was a planner. If he wasn’t messaging me, it was because he didn’t want to and that was fine.
No doubt, he’d gotten straight on the phone to his coaching team and was even now packing to move into a fancy hotel, and that was fine too.
Absolutely fine.