Chapter 8
Inés
Guilty as Sin?—Rachel Bochner
“Little Chloe Murphy,” Dylan teased from across the firepit. “Care to share?”
I couldn’t pull my gaze away from Chloe. My hand tightened into a fist, panic squeezing like a cobra wrapped around my body.
“It was nothing,” she said quietly.
Nothing. It had been nothing to her. Of course it had, but I hated that it had been something for me.
Soft kisses and even softer lips. She’d tasted like peaches, and when she’d tugged at my bottom lip with her teeth, it felt
like she’d read a secret manual on how I liked to be kissed.
It hadn’t gone further, hidden away in a stranger’s apartment, in a spare bedroom we’d stumbled upon, sitting on the floor
behind the bed, both of us seeking some relief from the chaos outside.
She’d straddled my lap, her thighs on either side, one of my hands resting on her hip, the other trailing lightly down her
back.
“I never do this,” she confessed, almost wincing at her own words.
“Kiss girls or kiss strangers?” I asked.
“Both.” Her answer was a little nervous, as if she were embarrassed.
I searched her eyes, asking, “Do you like it?”
Her hand reached out to me, fingers softly brushing my hair behind my ear. Then she leaned forward, lips pressed against mine.
“Yes,” she whispered, as if it was a secret only for us.
“You never told me,” Henrik said in a teasing voice. I took another drink, trying to drown the feeling inside of me, the sick
twist of my stomach.
“It didn’t matter,” Chloe said. “Just a one-time thing.”
A one-time thing I’d been trying to outrun for almost a year now, trying to forget her, except she kept showing up, kept beating
me. She’d systematically taken everything from me. My pride, my trophy. A month later she was my mixed doubles partner’s girlfriend.
And now she was here, taking my friends too.
“We all have those stories,” Scottie said. Dylan turned to her, eyes narrowed playfully.
“Then drink up.”
Scottie flicked her hair back behind her ear. “Sadly, I’ve never found a pal for this gal.”
Nico’s arm stretched over to her chair leg, pulling her closer, the metal scraping against the stone patio. “And you never
will.”
I forced a laugh, trying to fit in with the group, trying to fight the urge to leave, go upstairs and sit alone.
Couldn’t she have not taken a drink? Did she really have to bring up that night?
How could she sit there, laughing with my friends, with Henrik, like she belonged here? Like I wasn’t drowning in the wreckage
she’d left behind. I wasn’t even sure I hated her. That would be simple. What I felt was sharper, harder to name—resentment,
maybe. Longing, definitely.
I threw back the rest of my drink, trying to find an excuse to go inside, but as I stood, I noticed Chloe’s gaze on me.
Whenever I went head-to-head with her, that gaze was killer, sharp and calculating. Like I was trapped in a cage with a snake trying to decide how and when to strike. But tonight, there was something else.
I refused to let her soften me, to get under my skin. So far, she’d been winning our battle, on court and off. But I refused
to let it continue.
“I’m going for another drink.” I pushed up from my chair, desperate to leave and escape her burning gaze.
“I’ll come with.” Scottie smiled politely, getting up. I tried to offer to get her a drink, a little desperate for some time
alone. Some time to stop myself from spinning out.
Ever since Chloe had stepped through the front door, I’d felt increasingly unhinged. And now, with the memory of her soft
skin, I felt myself nearing my breaking point. But Scottie shrugged off my offer and followed me back through the sliding
doors to the kitchen.
“Want another glass?” she asked, getting the wine bottle from the fridge.
I peered over, inspecting the label. Marqués de Riscal, one of my favorites.
“Yes, please.”
A good wine always reminded me of home, especially one local to my own country. It took me right back to Spanish vineyards
and dusky nights with my family. I missed them.
We served ourselves, sitting down at the island to cheers before taking a sip. I tried to enjoy the sharp flavor, tried to
let it wash away the stress and anxiety. But one day in and it felt like my heart rate had never dropped below 80 bpm.
I pulled out my phone to check my social media notifications, noticing the influx from the tag earlier. Guilt washed over
me, the acidity of the liquid in my glass turning my stomach.
“Are you okay?” Scottie asked, catching me off guard as I swallowed down a second mouthful, nodding insistently as I did.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I tried to shake her off. “I need some time away from the group.”
She smiled softly before peering over at my phone. “Looks like it got good traction. Hopefully Selene can shake something up for you.”
I nodded, locking the device before I could be reminded any further of how I was using my friends. Looking at her, I said,
“There is an option. I just don’t like it.”
“It’s hard, walking that line of finding the right partnership and not selling yourself to the devil.”
Laughing in agreement, I said, “One time, I got an offer for condoms.”
Her jaw fell open. “Condoms?”
“Selene really enjoyed offering that one to me. We had a good laugh over it. Can you imagine asking a lesbian to market condoms?”
“It’s like they didn’t do any research at all.” One look at my socials, and the little pride flag would give it away. A little
deeper and you’d find my freely given statements about my sexuality. It was no secret.
“You know you can talk to me about anything,” she said.
“I know.” I felt like I was repeating myself. There’s nothing wrong. It’s all okay. That I wasn’t teetering on the edge of an abyss.
“You’ve been there for me when I needed you,” Scottie said. “It’s okay to let me repay the favor.”
“Thanks,” I said. We’d been friends before her ban, but during her time away, she’d cut off all her friends, and it was only
when we were training together at the same camp that she slowly let me back in. I’d been grateful to revive the friendship,
missing her company while she’d been away.
“I think she has a nice side, you know?”
My brows crinkled together. “Who?”
“Chloe,” Scottie replied.
The scrunch of my nose and the press of my lips were instincts I couldn’t fight. “Ah.”
Scottie shot me a flat look. “We can all act like assholes on the court,” she said in defense.
I took another drink from my glass. “Speak for yourself.”
“Now, now, you are no exception,” she pointed out. “Especially on a clay court. I always dread having to play you there.”
I shrugged, feeling a slight smug smile grow across my lips. “It’s my best surface.”
“But just because she won in Paris, it doesn’t mean you get to hate her.”
“I don’t hate her.” She arched her eyebrow, but I rolled my head back, wishing I could somehow escape this conversation. How
was I supposed to feel about her? She wasn’t exactly the most likeable person I’d encountered, and then the history, and the
mess.
“Hate isn’t the right word,” I added. “Strongly dislike and avoid at all costs is really the vibe.”
“Well, she’s staying here. Maybe that’s a little bit of a reason to get to know her a little better.”
My features crumpled. “I know her well enough.”
“How? Because she’s won against you a few times?”
“It’s not just that.”
Scottie’s head tilted with suspicion. “Are you saying it’s not at least part of it?”
“Of course it is, you’ve seen how she plays. It’s . . . hard not to take that personally.” I took a deep breath, trying to
forget the severity of her strikes, the speed in her returns. If I wasn’t on the court with her, I might have found myself
a fan. “But trust me on this. I know enough to not want to be her friend. It’s not something I’m interested in.”
Scottie looked at me long and hard before she said, “It was interesting . . . earlier.”
“When?” I asked, wondering why she was being so cryptic.
“When she drank.”
I forced my shoulders to shrug. Forced myself to remain casual as I took another sip. To meet her assessing gaze. “I’m not
surprised. People experiment all the time.”
“I got the sense it was a thing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied.
Judging from the look across her face, I was fooling nobody.
“I just had a feeling,” she said.
“Well, feel something else,” I suggested, staring her down. She didn’t need to know the truth. Nobody needed to know the truth.
“Fine,” she relented. “But if you need somebody to talk to, even vent—”
“You’re there. I get it,” I said, finishing her sentence for her. I pulled back at how harsh I sounded, correcting my tone
as I said, “Thank you, I appreciate it.”
Scottie’s sunshine warmth was unrelenting—her friendship too, apparently.
“Now, come on.” She stood up. “There’s a dance I could teach you for social media.”
“Really?” I grimaced at the idea, shaking my near-empty glass. “I don’t think I have the coordination for this.”
She waved me off, setting her phone up on the counter, a pop song bursting into life through the speaker.
“Come on, I’ll teach you.” I wanted to fight back, but given the other option was reappearing on the patio, Scottie won.
And that’s how we spent the last few hours of that night, the rest of the group slowly following us inside, dancing around
the kitchen island, learning stupid dances, drinking the beach house dry. And even when Chloe and Henrik joined us, I tried
not to care and focused on my friends instead.
Because no matter what, they were there for me, they supported me, and with the upcoming tournaments, I was going to need
them more than ever.