Chapter 36
Inés
Bloodstream—Zolita
Costa vs Artyomov
Second Round—Louis Armstrong Stadium
I’d claimed the first set, but in the second, Mariya Artyomov was a formidable opponent. Fast on her feet, fighting me for
every point. But in the final game, I’d managed to creep ahead, and now one point stood between me and victory.
The afternoon crowd was electric, rowdy as Americans tended to be but in the best way. Where Wimbledon whispered of prestige
and tradition, Queens roared with intensity, each shot greeted by a chorus of cheers or groans.
It wasn’t about ceremony; it was about raw talent and resilience, a proving ground for those who thrived under pressure and
a reminder that tennis could be as much about heart as precision.
And today, I fucking had it.
I served, high and fast, sending it flying crosscourt. Mariya returned, not missing a beat, and we fell into a rally, each
of us challenging the other with all the space the court offered. A squeak of our trainers against the hard surface followed
the pop of the ball against the racket, the crowd’s eyes tracking every movement.
She pushed me to the back of the court, the speed of play blistering. Mariya was the queen of spin, driving the ball up and over the net. She was trying to break my rhythm and force me into a defensive position.
But my weeks with Chloe felt like a crash course in defensive, anticipating this sort of aggressive playing. And so, when
she sent the ball diagonally into the left corner, I was ready.
I drove the ball down, along the sideline. It bounced in the box, but she was unprepared, too slow to reach, and it sailed
clean out of bounds. I took the set and the match.
The crowd around us roared in delight as we both walked towards the net, shaking hands, Mariya exchanging congratulations
for my “better luck next time,” and we moved on, grabbing our belongings and heading off the court.
The air was thick with August’s lingering heat, but the buzz of excitement from the crowd was palpable, a reminder of how
alive this tournament felt. I wove through the press of bodies, making my way back to the main stadium, where the locker rooms
and cool-down areas promised a reprieve.
“Inés!”
I turned at the sound of my name, spotting Selene breaking through the crowd. Her bright smile stretched across her face,
as warm as ever. I greeted her with a wave, resisting the urge to pull her into a hug in spite of how sweaty I was.
“I caught the end of your match!” she exclaimed, reaching out to touch my arms. “You were incredible.”
“Thank you,” I replied, unable to hide my smile. “It felt good out there.”
Her expression shifted slightly, her head tilting as she studied me. “I was hoping to drag you to the press room for a bit.”
I blinked, surprise evident. “They want to talk to me?”
“Of course they do!” she said, already turning towards the stadium entrance. I fell into step beside her as she added, “You’ve been killing it lately. People are noticing.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, I actually believed her. I hadn’t felt this confident in my game since before
the accident. Even if another Grand Slam win wasn’t on the cards yet, I was finally okay with that. Tennis was giving back
to me, loving me the way I’d always loved it. Every performance, every shot felt like something to take pride in again.
“I’ll cool down and shower first,” I said as we reached the main building. The rush of air conditioning was a welcome relief
against my overheated skin.
“I’ll walk with you,” Selene said, sticking close as we headed to the cool-down area. “It’ll give us a chance to catch up.
I’ve got some offers to discuss with you after the conference.”
I glanced at her, startled. “Offers?”
“Sponsorships,” she clarified, her grin widening. “Not big ones yet, but it’s a start. The momentum is building.”
I exhaled slowly, the buzz of confidence from my match growing even stronger, now tinged with a flood of relief. Everything
I’d been working towards, asking Scottie and Dylan for help with my socials, collaborating with Chloe, keeping up with my
physio’s rehab plans, was paying off.
“It’s not much money yet, but like I said, this could be the beginning,” Selene continued, her voice brimming with optimism.
“Oh, and there’s even a magazine cover for an Italian publication.”
I blinked at her, taken aback. “What? A cover? Why? I’m not doing that well.”
She laughed lightly, nudging my arm. “Well, it’s not only about you.” My mind began racing, picturing a group feature, maybe
a highlight on Grand Slam winners or up-and-comers. But her next words made my stomach drop. “They want you and Chloe to feature
together.”
“Why?” I couldn’t help the disappointment in my voice.
“Because you look good together,” she said, as if it was so obvious. But all I felt was anxiety. “There’s chemistry. People
love it.”
I shook my head. “No, that’s not happening. We’re not doing that.”
I turned and headed to the treadmill, needing to cool down from the match, and from the conversation. A magazine cover together?
That was too much. I didn’t want our private relationship to be used like that.
“Come on, Inés,” she said, keeping pace. “The fans are eating it up. And I’ve known you long enough to tell when something’s
going on. So, is she officially your girlfriend or are you still keeping it casual?”
“We’ve worked together a long time. I know everything you’ve done for me, but I need you to respect my privacy here.”
My agent looked shocked for a moment; this clearly wasn’t the reaction she’d thought the offer would get.
Chloe and I had become more comfortable now that Calvin knew; we’d brought our PR teams on board, allowing them to control
the narrative online, and deleting any fan comments that appeared on our socials. Zackary had awkwardly warned me to stay
off socials for a while. I understood that people could be a little unhinged, but I’d still been left a little curious by
his instruction. One I regretted not following after reading some headlines and comments about Chloe that seemed entirely
untrue.
I knew a joint magazine cover would be like trying to put a fire out with petrol.
“I’ll turn them down if you feel that strongly about it.” Selene relented, sounding less than pleased. “Chloe is still the
main attraction, sure, but if you keep playing well, people will notice. And there’s nothing wrong with letting her shine
rub off on you a little.”
The rage bit at me again. Couldn’t this be left alone? Why did I need more if I was doing better? If it was enough before,
when I was single, then why was it different now?
Selene smiled, as she looked almost like the friend I knew, before joking, “But you are dating, right?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think we should play into the story. It makes me feel really uncomfortable.”
She tsked, rolling her eyes. “You were happy enough to do the TikToks at the beach house.”
“Happy isn’t exactly the word I would use there,” I muttered. “But you told me I had to generate buzz and now I have, but you’re
still asking for more.”
“I’m looking out for you,” Selene said. When I didn’t respond, her voice softened. “I’m sorry, I am. I thought, since it’s
a public relationship . . .”
I stopped the treadmill and stepped off, facing her directly. “It’s not a public relationship,” I said, biting off each word.
“It’s private.”
“You’ve been hitting partners together publicly,” she said.
“Exactly, not girlfriends!” I hissed. I suddenly became all too aware of my raised voice, my eyes scanning around the room
for anyone who was close enough to hear.
Selene’s eyes gleamed, and a sly smile spread across her face. “So, it’s true.” Her hands rested on the treadmill frame, her
painted nails tapping against the metal.
I stared her down, the tension between us thickening. Selene and I had worked together for a long time. Our meetings would
turn into an hour in the wine bar downstairs from her office. And then into late-night karaoke sessions that left Pinot Grigio–tinted
memories of us murdering Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep.”
It had been friendship at first sight. But it wasn’t as if she didn’t remain professional. She had never steered me wrong
with business, always making a fair, impartial assessment of each deal.
We had never had this issue, and I didn’t know how to tell her to stop in a way that she would understand.
“I’m going for a shower,” I said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to talk about this again, okay?”
Her smile faded, replaced by a cool, businesslike mask. “Fine,” she said, her tone icy. “But remember, some of these deals might lose interest if you aren’t open about your relationship.”
I froze, her words striking a nerve. “What does that mean?”
“I mean, like I said, Chloe’s the main attraction.”
My jaw clenched. “So that’s it, then?” I asked, my voice steady. “I’m not enough unless Chloe’s involved?”
Selene crossed her arms, her polished exterior barely cracking. “That’s not what I said. But the reality is, this industry
loves a love story. And right now, you and Chloe are straight out of a romance book.”
“People are turning something real into a show, and I won’t let anyone do that. I thought you’d understand that.”
Selene exhaled sharply. “I’m trying to help you, Inés. This was about rebuilding your career, your image. I want people to like you again. Because when they like you, they root for you. And when they do, they buy the T-shirts and the trainers and all
the other shit. And it keeps you on the court. It keeps my friend playing. Don’t you want to use this momentum?”
“I want it to be only because I’m playing well,” I said, my voice firm. “Not because of who I’m dating.”
Her tone softened slightly, her hand grasping my arm. “You can’t pretend that any athlete survives on skill alone. You need fans, attention, buzz. That’s the game, whether you like it or not.”
Deep down, I knew she had a point. Tennis wasn’t only what happened on the court. It hadn’t been for a long time. But the
idea of Chloe and me, us, being reduced to a marketing ploy made me feel uneasy.
“I hear you,” I said, my tone measured. “But this is where I draw the line. My private life is off-limits.”
Selene nodded, though her expression remained guarded. I was sure I saw an inkling of worry there, an anxiety I couldn’t put
my finger on.
“I’m going to shower,” I said, my shoulders slackening with slight relief. “Do you still want me to come to the media room
after?”
“Yes, please,” Selene said. “I’ll make sure they know about the boundaries on the questions, but . . . you and Chloe need to think about how you’re going to navigate this. The attention isn’t going away, Inés, no matter how much you try to ignore it.”
“I’ll deal with it,” I said, grabbing my towel and slinging it over my shoulder. “I always do.”
Without waiting for a response, I walked away, heading for the showers. The cool tiles and the hiss of running water were
a welcome escape, but Selene’s words echoed in my mind.
She wasn’t wrong. I knew that. And the thought left me feeling unsteady, the ground beneath my feet shifting yet again.
As I stood under the spray, letting the water wash away the sweat and tension, my phone buzzed on the bench nearby. I turned
off the tap and grabbed it, half expecting a message from Selene.
Instead, it was Chloe.
Chloe: You were AMAZING! Congrats on your win!
Chloe: Want to do some hitting later? Maybe get some room service after? Calvin said there’s room in the hotel minibus with us for
you and your team.
For a moment, I let myself forget about magazine covers and sponsors, focusing instead on the only part of all this that felt
real.
Her.
Inés: You should be careful.
Inés: I am on a winning streak after all.
Chloe: I blame the friendship bracelet.
Chloe: I might start withholding mine.
Inés: I could withhold sex.
Chloe: You would have to resist me first.
I stared at the messages, the tension in my chest loosening a little. It was easy to forget about everything else when it
was only us. No cameras, no headlines, no sponsorship pitches, just me and her. And for tonight, at least, that would be enough.