Chapter 6
Chloe
Cruel Summer—G Flip
I had spent nearly thirty perfect minutes alone, staring at the ceiling, before the peace was disturbed by a knock.
The door pushed open to reveal Henrik and that forever-friendly smile across his face.
“Are you okay?” He stepped farther into the room, closing the door behind him, and placed his own suitcase down.
I nodded. “Are they done with the ‘we hate Chloe’ convention? Or have they moved on to thinking of all the ways they could
take me out?”
“They’ve already fashioned a hex out of cocktail straws and spite.”
I pushed up from the bed, looking at him straight on. “Was that supposed to be a joke?”
“A bad one, yes.”
I collapsed back onto the plush pillows, and I felt him lie down at the end of the bed.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you who was here. But look, when we started this”—his hands waved wildly in the air—“arrangement, you
said you wanted to get out, make friends, have your parents not worry about where you were or who you were with.”
“So?”
“Do you think you’ve actually done any of those things?” he asked.
I took a moment to go over the nine months of our arrangement. We’d practically grown up together, Henrik and I. Our families
had been close, spending a couple of weeks every summer together. But it wasn’t until a rain delay during an important match
that we’d spent much time one on one. Things hadn’t been going well for me during the tournament, and I was pacing up and
down the player’s area trying to stay sharp while the match hung in limbo.
He’d come up to me and made this terrible flirty joke.
“Can I be your tennis ball?” he’d said with a wiggle of his eyebrows. It was ridiculous, but it lightened my mood, and later
that night we’d met up again, me sneaking down to the hotel bar.
It started off casual, a way to blow off steam. Our schedules often overlapped, bringing us to the same cities, so meeting
up after a tough match felt convenient for both of us.
No expectations, no strings.
A few weeks in, he asked why he never saw me talking to anyone, why I always turned down invitations to parties and events.
I was up front with him: my parents were protective. And I never really had friends, so why start now when they all doubled
as professional rivals?
And he’d offered a simple solution: making our casual arrangement exclusive. We both knew this wasn’t about romance. Henrik
was just as competitive as I was, just as focused, and neither of us had the time or the inclination for a real relationship.
But for my parents’ sake, for my family’s peace of mind, he’d play the role of the boyfriend. It gave them someone to trust,
someone they didn’t have to worry about.
And it worked. They relaxed, letting me have a bit more space, even stopping with their daily check-ins.
“We go out,” I argued.
“Barely,” he pointed out. “And you’ve always avoided hanging out with my friends.”
I pressed my face into the pillow and grumbled unhappily.
He continued, “You needed a push.”
A push off a cliff would’ve been kinder.
“Everyone down there hates me.” I lifted my face from the pillow. “Couldn’t you have shoved me in the direction of people
I stand a chance with?”
“They don’t know you,” he pressed. “The real you. The version of you that isn’t breaking rackets in the middle of matches.”
But he didn’t know the truth. Not with Inés. He didn’t know what I’d done. I’d never told anyone. Judging from everything
she’d said—or more accurately, what she hadn’t said—I wasn’t sure she’d told anyone either.
“I don’t think they care about another version of me.”
“I think you’re wrong,” he pushed. I narrowed my eyes, sensing there was something else to this.
“You’re not . . .” I trailed off, wondering why all of a sudden he was pushing me to expand my social horizons. “Is there
another reason you’ve tricked me into being here?”
“Nope.” He said the word too quickly. Suspiciously quickly.
“Henrik . . .”
“Well, look . . .” He pushed up onto his elbows, letting out a heavy breath. “I’ve met someone.”
I raised an eyebrow, my stomach dropping. “Someone?”
He nodded once, the tone of his voice dropping low. “Someone.”
“Oh,” I said, my gaze pulling from his. “Right.”
This was good for him. It had never been serious, but with our arrangement, I was finally beginning to get the benefit, move
the boundaries with my parents into something resembling normality. He’d gotten on so well with my family. With him, I’d managed
to gain a little more freedom, a step out from under their wing.
Now that would all be over. Was it right I was more disappointed about losing that advantage than about him getting serious
with somebody else?
“And I thought . . .” he said, “with your parents, you’ll need some new friends.”
“And you thought the ‘we hate Chloe’ gang down there could do the trick?” I almost laughed, but the sick feeling growing in
the pit of my stomach suffocated it.
His gaze softened, one of his blonde curls falling across his face, sticking to his forehead. “Nothing is straightforward.
A year ago, you wouldn’t have caught Dylan in the same room as Scottie.” He shrugged slightly. “And now they are besties.”
“That doesn’t mean they will forgive me.”
And how could they? Sometimes, looking back at the footage, I couldn’t forgive the girl out on the court throwing a tantrum
like a child. She felt like a different person.
“Maybe if you give them a chance, they will,” he pointed out.
I sighed, the reality of the situation kicking in. He’d brought me here, not mentioning that he was sharing the villa with
people who actively hated me. And now my only ally was moving on. I felt like the floor had disappeared from under me. While
I understood why he was doing it, that didn’t mean I liked it.
“So, who is she?” I asked, purposely changing the subject with a smirk tugging at my lips. “What happened to only looking
for casual?”
“She’s my physio,” he started, his gaze leaving mine. But he shouldn’t have felt uncomfortable. It had been more than a few
weeks since things were physical between us. I was starting to get a vibe. “It’s weird. I think being exclusive with you took
casual sex off the table with anyone else, and it . . . it made room for me to actually get to know people deeper.”
I laughed awkwardly. “You’re welcome?”
Henrik shook his head, a grin growing. “It’s weird, I know.”
It was, but so was our relationship.
“It’s cute,” I corrected. “So now we have to break up?”
“I guess so.”
“Should we make it dramatic?” I smiled, trying to chase away the disappointment.
“I bet I can play a fantastic scorned lover,” he joked back, holding his hand to his chest. “But I figure low key would be
better.”
I nodded in agreement. The last thing I needed was more drama.
“Well, you were an excellent boyfriend of convenience. I’m sure you’ll do well at the real thing.”
“Thank you, pretend girlfriend.” Henrik grinned at me, and I found myself struck by the loss of him for a moment. But I’d
always known this would happen. We’d always promised, above everything else, we’d be truthful with each other.
But he’d also been a good friend, and if I’m honest, a security blanket. Enabling me to go and live a little, my vastly overprotective
parents reassured, without having to use my brother as a babysitter. Now that was gone, and it was up to me to figure out
how to carry on without him.
“Can we go downstairs now?” he asked. “You deserve to have more friends.”
I grumbled but nonetheless pushed myself up and straightened my crumpled clothes. “Fine, but if something suspicious happens
to me over this weekend, the cops are going to have a real line of suspects on their hands.”
“At least I know I’ll be safe.”
I laughed. “Ex-lover, another woman on the cards? You’d be at the top of their list.”
“I didn’t think about it that way.” Henrik’s face fell. “Better keep you safe then.” He got up, readying to venture back downstairs.
The best I could hope for was that everyone else had taken some time to calm down.
I scanned around the room one last time.
“That reminds me.” I rounded, waving a finger. “Where are you going to be sleeping?”
His brows pushed together. “Huh?”
“Now that you’re a taken man,” I pointed out. “Taken for real.”
Henrik’s gaze followed my finger, looking around the room, the realization breaking across his features. His hand went through
his blonde locks. “I didn’t think about that.”
“Guess you’ll be lying on the floor with Wilson.”
He looked at me. “You’re joking, right?”
“Yeah, now that I think about it,” I said with a laugh, opening the door to the bedroom. “I’d never make Wilson sleep on the
floor.”