Chapter 25
Chloe
Silk Chiffon—MUNA (feat. Phoebe Bridgers)
I sat on the end of my bed staring at my phone screen, an unsent text staring back up at me. Panic coiled tightly around my
chest as I dissected every syllable of the message I had written.
Chloe: Hey! Heard about today, I’m sorry. Want emotional-support room service ice-cream sundaes at mine?
Emotional-support ice-cream sundaes? Was I twelve? But Inés struck me more as an ice-cream kind of girl than pizza.
It had not gone well for Inés. She’d lost against Priya Devi. I caught the end of it, and the way Inés glided across the court
was beautiful. Graceful, with a quiet, sharp intensity that made her so captivating to watch. She was relentless, chasing
down every ball like her life depended on it. But today, it wasn’t enough. I’d loved watching her play anyway.
I had to send this text. It was just a text. Stupid little message.
“Fuck it,” I muttered, and with a burst of bravery, I hit send. The little message bubble appeared in our chat, the first
one ever, and panic set in. I hurled my phone to the other side of the bed.
Why was my heart pounding like this? It was just Inés Costa, with her cutting smirks and even sharper backhands.
The phone buzzed, and I lunged for it so fast I nearly fell off the bed. My hands fumbled with the phone, and when her name
popped up, my pulse skyrocketed.
Inés: Sure. What’s your room number?
I grinned at the phone like a complete idiot. She’d said yes. As quickly as my fingers would allow, I replied.
Was this what it was like to have a friend? A real friend, who wanted to hang out?
A grin spread across my face before I could stop it. She said yes. Heart racing, I looked around, realizing my room was a disaster. Clothes were scattered everywhere from earlier, when I’d
been deciding what to wear to my match.
I buzzed around the room, shoving everything into my suitcase, wiping crumbs off the table and fluffing the pillows. As I
cleared the vanity, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. A nightmare stared back at me. I pulled out my messy ponytail and tried to smooth the wild waves into something decent.
Pausing, I realized how silly I was being. This wasn’t a big deal. It was ice cream.
A quick knock at the door snapped me out of my thoughts. Anxiety flared, but I took a deep breath and opened the door.
Inés stood in the hallway, dressed in silk pajamas with feathered cuffs, fluffy slippers on her feet, and two gold eye patches
beneath her tired eyes. She held a half-empty glass of red wine in one hand, the bottle tucked under her arm, my friendship
bracelet dangling from her fingers.
“Here,” she said, bracelet stretched out. “I don’t think this thing is very lucky.”
I laughed, eyeing her outfit. “You know this isn’t a sleepover, right?”
She pushed past me, glancing around the room with a shrug. “This is what failure looks like.”
Closing the door, I said, “You made it to the quarter-finals. That’s impressive.”
“I lost,” she said flatly. “How impressive is a runner-up?”
“Fine. But for tonight only, you can mope.”
“Excellent,” she said with a mock smile. “Glad I have your approval. Now, where’s the ice cream?”
“I haven’t ordered it yet.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Have I been lured here under false pretenses?”
I shook my head. “I was cleaning up.”
She paused, looked around the room. “This . . . is clean?”
“I’m starting to regret inviting you,” I said.
“I can go back. There’s a bubble bath with my name on it,” she teased.
Do not think of her in a bubble bath.
“No, stay,” I said, grabbing the room service menu and offering it to her, climbing onto the bed to get comfortable.
She slid onto the other side, setting the wine bottle and glass on the bedside table. The bed was massive, but with her lying
next to me, it might as well have been a single.
Picking up the phone, I looked back at her. “Do you know what you’d like?”
She hummed, taking her time to peruse the dessert section. “I’ll have the chocolate lava cake, please.” I nodded, readying
myself to order. “And the apple pie, with the whipped cream on the side. If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll share my wine.”
I winced, the red liquid holding no sway over me. I still had a beginner’s palate when it came to wine.
“I would never try to get between you and your wine,” I said. “And I can’t, I’m playing tomorrow.”
Inés swirled her wine glass lazily, her gaze wandering over the room. “Maybe I would’ve played better if I had your self-control.”
“You played well. You should be proud,” I said, pressing the button to call room service.
Inés snorted softly, shaking her head, before scrolling through the TV as I ordered the dessert. Her attention lingering too
long on one channel when the familiar blue court appeared, a replay of her match.
“You know,” I said, keeping a watchful eye on her as I placed the landline back on the bedside table. “Today’s loss doesn’t
make you any less of a threat. Everyone out there saw exactly what you’re capable of.”
She tilted her head, amusement cutting through the grim expression that had formed across her sharp features. “Are you always
this optimistic, or is this just for me?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I think you bring it out of me.”
That earned a laugh, soft but real. She leaned back against the headboard, taking another sip of her wine as she peeled off
her eye patches, placing them to the side. “Careful, Chloe. You might start sounding like a fan.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but instead, I found myself wanting to agree. I had always been a fan. While I obviously hadn’t
caught every match, I tried to watch the important ones, like the French Open final. I’d walked away from that day wanting to play like
her, my movements to look as intentional and controlled. She was graceful on clay, like she belonged there.
And for some reason, I was unsure that I was ready to admit it, to be that vulnerable with Inés.
“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” I was used to doing this by myself, killing the long evenings during a tournament alone. But
now I had somebody to talk to, spend time with.
Inés opened her mouth, before hesitating, turning her attention back to the TV. She lasted a second before a wince appeared
across her face, Scottie winning another set. I wanted to reach out and grab the remote from her, change it to anything else.
“Can I ask you an awkward question?” she asked, her dark gaze turned towards me. I nodded. “A few days ago, at breakfast,
you and Henrik were together.”
“Yeah?”
“Were you catching up?” she asked. “Or were you together together?”
I searched her face, analyzing her expression, the worry creased in her forehead.
“It was only breakfast,” I answered. “Henrik was—”
“Honestly, I don’t need to know,” Inés interrupted quickly, as if she couldn’t stand to hear more. “I shouldn’t have asked,
it’s none of my business.”
I knew things were weird, given the history. Given the kiss. But this wasn’t what she thought, and I wanted to set it right.
“No,” I said. “I mean to say, the relationship wasn’t ever serious.”
She fell silent, a confused line appearing between her brows. “But you were together for a while?”
She looked even more confused for a second before I explained, “It was more of a situational thing.”
“Like exclusive friends with benefits?”
I almost grimaced at admitting the truth to her, the embarrassment threatening to swallow me entirely. “If the benefits also
included having somebody around that my parents could trust, that wasn’t direct competition, to give me some freedom from
their worrying more about me.”
“They worry that much?” she questioned. “That you need a babysitter?”
I hesitated, my parents’ warning lingering in the back of my mind.
“Don’t trust these girls,” Mom would say. “They will sell you out faster and easier than you realize.” But at some point, I didn’t want to live in secrecy. Didn’t want to live with my past buried away.
“I know. It’s so embarrassing. But after I was diagnosed, they got even more protective. But Mom was always bad after her
time playing.”
Every sharp feature of Inés’s face softened, falling into a frown lined with concern.
Those dark eyes turned into melted chocolate, the bedroom feeling smaller and hotter than ever.
I fought the urge to push away, to run and refuse to say anything more.
But instead, I took a deep breath, and let the feeling settle, let it anchor me towards her.
To trust somebody, I had to take a risk. I’d done it with Henrik when I’d told him the truth and when we agreed to the arrangement.
And I could do it again with Inés, who’d let me into her world a little more at brunch, who’d hidden away from a storm in
the guesthouse with me, and who’d run into the ocean with me.
A long silence ate up what was left of the oxygen in the room, her eyes on mine. And then her hand stretched out towards me.
She started with the very tips of her fingers, nudging softly against mine, a soft electric current buzzing under my skin
at the touch. And then they interlaced, her hand squeezing tightly around mine.
“And, with Henrik?” she said, her voice so soft. “They were better?”
I swallowed away the emotion that had surfaced, nodding my head. “They’ve known him since I was a kid, so he was somebody
they could trust. But I told Calvin I needed more space from them. They worry so much, it doesn’t help me anymore. After everything
with Wimbledon, Calvin wanted me to take a few days off from tennis. And what coach Calvin says, goes.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You took part in a charity tennis doubles competition.”
I almost winked at her, desperate to move the conversation away. “A girl’s gotta have a little fun.”
Her hand squeezed mine again, and I wanted to hate the effect it had on my frantic heartbeat, soothing it to a calming thump.
“You’ll tell me, right?” she said. “If it all becomes too much?”