Chapter 22
Rori
The sound of a car driving by makes me aware again of our surroundings. Our “hug bubble” gets popped.
“Let’s head over to your place,” I suggest and take a step back.
The extra space allows Landon to see my surprise for him.
“Rori, is that my team on your t-shirt?” Landon says in a hushed tone, his eyes wide.
I smile and nod. “Surprise! And that’s not all.”
I turn around and show him the number and name on the back of the shirt. “55, Battle.”
Landon releases a pleased hum and then grabs my hand. “Woman, I need to get you where I can touch you.”
I giggle, and we start walking the short distance to his rental house.
This diversion’s probably not the wisest way to spend my time as the quarterfinals approach. There was no way that I wasn’t going to see Landon, however. After telling her I wanted to meet up with a “friend” who was staying nearby, Julie didn’t put up too much of a protest.
“We have tomorrow off to prep, so I can give you two hours,” Julie had said. “Just make sure you don’t sacrifice sleep and actually come home on time.”
When we reach Landon’s rental house, he swiftly opens the side door by the kitchen and we walk in. He throws the keys onto the counter and turns to face me. We look at each other for a beat, and then I’m not sure who moves first, but our mouths meet in a blistering kiss.
He wraps his arms around me and pulls me in tight as we kiss each other hungrily.
I’ve never wanted a man this badly, I think as our mouths move against each other.
Like he heard me, I feel him growing hard, but he doesn’t shift from our kiss. It’s as if we’re trying to make up for three weeks of not kissing all at once.
Finally, after a few more minutes, he pulls his head away, breaking the kiss, but not letting me move an inch in his arms. We’re both panting.
“Let me see your shirt again,” Landon says huskily. I step back and do a slow turn, flipping my head to keep my eyes on his as I make my way around.
“This is so hot. Wearing my name and number, huh, Rori?”
“I thought you might like that,” I say as I step back towards him and inch my hand up the bottom of his shirt. I slowly move my palm up his chest and move my lips back to his.
“We only have two hours,” I remind him. “I promised Julie.”
With that, Landon moves his hands under my ass and pulls me up to straddle his body. I wrap my legs around him, slightly awkward in my miniskirt, and he starts to move us across the house.
Suddenly we’re in his room, and he has me on my back, lying on his bed.
“We better get started, baby,” Landon says with determination. “You first.”
He kneels to the ground, pushing my skirt up to my hips.
“My beautiful girl,” he says as he looks at me. And then with a look of intent, he moves my panties to the side and begins to work magic with his fingers.
“So glad you liked my surprise,” I gasp out.
We don’t leave Landon’s bed for two hours, which fly by. After we sneak in two rounds with only a short break in between, I look over at the clock, which now says 20:45. I quickly translate that to 8:45 PM.
“Ugh, I hate this, but I have to go,” I say, rolling over to face him and putting my hand on his chest, rubbing it in small circles.
Landon smiles languidly, a layer of sweat still visible on his face from our activities. “I get it, I do.”
I’m totally jello right now and I still can’t motivate myself to move, so I double-check about the quarterfinals. “You have your tickets for the match?”
Landon nods. “Yes, instead of paying stupid scalper prices, I got them from a sponsor who’d purchased a box. I just need to shake some hands and take pictures when I get there. Well worth it to see you.”
“I’d help with tickets, but it would probably invite questions.” I cannot imagine the potential media craziness if Landon showed up in my player box.
“I know, babe. No biggie.” Landon kisses my nose.
Within a couple of minutes, we rally to keep me out of trouble with Julie. I finish getting dressed, and he does the same, so he can escort me back to my house.
Another quick kiss when we hit my backyard marks the last time we’ll see each other until after my match.
When I get inside, I take a shower, trying to hold onto the very satisfying blur of memories from the last two hours. It’s a healthy departure from just obsessing about the next match.
Only possible because of Landon.
What a blessing that he understands the stakes and demands of being in my position. Another man might have laid down a guilt trip about my schedule or felt slighted that I cannot give him more time.
The next thirty-six hours will be all about prepping my mind, body, and game to win the quarterfinals. Sneaking out tomorrow, the night before my match, is a non-starter.
Landon didn’t miss a beat in dealing with this dynamic. His parting words as he walked back out to the road?
“You got this. Win this for you.”
True to Landon’s last words to me, I do win. Incredibly, I’m going to the Wimbledon semifinals.
Within a minute of entering the locker room, I get a couple of texts from him.
NEW YEARS: Crushed it.
NEW YEARS: If only they had a jersey with YOUR name on the back, that’s what I should be wearing today.
I put a heart reaction on his comment and jump into the shower.
Julie comes into the locker room shortly afterwards, face beaming. “Everything you’ve worked for, you’re making it happen. I’m so proud of you.”
I smile back and grab my stuff, throwing my mostly-dry hair into a messy bun.
As I follow Julie through the locker room exit, Dad finds us outside and gives me a big hug. “You done good, Rori.”
I let myself take a minute to enjoy the safety net of my dad and then break away. “I should head to the press conference.”
He kisses the top of my head and nods. “Julie and I will come in and watch.”
We head into the media room together, and they hang off to the side. Despite the questions coming my way, I don’t miss when Dad whispers something in Julie’s ear—yeah, my spidey senses continue tingling.
After my press obligations, we go straight back to the rental house. Maggie and Peter lost their match yesterday, but they’ve stuck around to support Malcolm and me. That’s right, Malcolm has made it to the men’s semifinals, winning his match a day earlier than me.
Two Americans still in the mix late in the tournament means the US press has been particularly invested. The UK press is bad enough, but navigating both of them is a chore.
They’ve focused in on the storyline that we’re both staying at the same place. “How’s living in the same house as Malcolm? Do you share strategies and talk tennis? How long have you known each other?” And on and on.
I tolerate the questions because they’re easy to handle. I’d rather have the press focused on Malcolm—nothing to report there—than pick up anything about Landon and me. However, the paparazzi is now surrounding our neighborhood, making it almost as difficult as a hotel to navigate around.
When I finally get home after the match, I’m ready to decompress. Maggie squeals as she sees me and gives me a big hug. “This is so exciting,” she says with drawn out syllables.
After a large group of us chats for a while, Maggie breaks away from her conversation with one of the guys. “Rori, there’s something I need to show you in my room,” she says.
I must look confused because she whispers, “You will want to see this.”
I follow her into her room, where I see almost as many of Peter’s clothes as hers lying around.
“That talk must have gone well,” I tease her.
“Not too bad,” she responds, grinning.
“Is that what you wanted to chat about?” I ask, taking a seat on her messy bed.
Maggie wrings her hands and then explains. “No, though yes, I owe you the full story. No, I wanted to show you something about Landon.”
My antennae immediately go up.
She whips out her phone and goes to a video recording of an interview that Landon must’ve done courtside.
“Landon,” the reporter says, holding a mic that indicates she works for one of the big networks. “It’s good to see you here, enjoying another sport. Are you a tennis fan?”
Landon’s in full PR mode and gives an 800-watt smile. “You can say that. I’ve recently come to appreciate the sport more.”
The reporter nods and continues. “Well, it’s a treat for the crowd to see you here. Do you get recognized in London a lot?”
“Not so much,” Landon responds. “But no complaints about that. I spent the day yesterday exploring so many of the landmarks. We’re always wanting to grow appreciation of football here—“
“American football, you mean…” the reporter interrupts to clarify, since soccer is called football over here.
Landon gives a small, apologetic laugh. “Yes, American football, sorry. We’re always excited to grow awareness of it here in the UK, but it’s also nice to be able to be a normal tourist.”
“Absolutely, understandable. So let’s turn back to tennis. Do you have any favorite players?” the reporter asks.
Landon pauses for the briefest moment, obviously preparing his answer. He then shares, “I’m rooting for the Americans, and of course, I want Rori to win today.”
The reporter seems satisfied with the answer.
“Yes, Rori and Malcolm. Exciting times for USA tennis.” I can tell from the background noise that the tennis on the court is resuming, confirmed as the reporter wraps up the interview.
“Well, we’ll let you go back to your seat to enjoy the match. Thank you for speaking with us today.”
With that, Maggie pulls her phone from my view, video over.
“That was nicely handled by him,” I observe, still sitting on her bed. “Was there something else?”
She looks up at me, reluctance on her face. She’s so happy-go-lucky and conflict adverse that it’s obvious when she needs to be the bearer of bad news. I stiffen in anticipation of what she might say next.
“It might’ve been well managed, but Rori, there’s another thing. I think your secret might be at risk of coming out.”
She hands me her phone again, and a social media post from a well-circulated gossip blog is now open.
@SOCIALSCOOPS
LANDON BATTLE AND RORI REILLY—A LOVE MATCH?
Landon Battle made an appearance at a Rori Reilly match for the third tournament this year. First the Australian Open, then Miami, and now Wimbledon. Is there a love match brewing, too?
Landon seems to be on a first name basis with the twenty-year-old rising tennis star. He told a reporter that “of course [he] wants Rori to win today.” And on The Bros Know podcast earlier this month, he told the hosts that Rori is “fun and genuine.”
That’s not all. The two athletes filmed what is reported to be a racy photo shoot for the brand Triumph last month.
“They were completely professional on set,” an anonymous source told us. “But their chemistry was fire.”
We have reached out to reps for both, and neither have commented.
Will we see Landon at the women’s semis match next? What do you think?
As if that wasn’t bad enough, I check out the number of comments and reactions. “Oh my god,” I yell.
“Yeah, girl, this might be a story,” Maggie said, making a stink face.
I get out my own phone and send a screenshot to Landon.
RORI: Have you seen this?
A couple minutes pass by, and then I see three dots for thirty seconds, so I know he’s probably catching up.
NEW YEARS: I hadn’t yet. It’s going to be okay. We won’t say anything, and it’ll blow over.
Easy for him to say. He doesn’t have to play the match of his life in a day. My mind is churning about how disruptive this could be.
“I see those wheels turning,” Maggie says, sighing.
“I’m sorry, my dramatics probably didn’t help.
Don’t overthink it. The press doesn’t know anything real, and they aren’t going to be bombarding you with personal questions on the court.
They are super preoccupied with the dynamic between Malcolm and you, too.
Stay focused, and it won’t be a big thing. ”
“Okay, okay,” I say, trying to calm myself down. “Landon said the same thing in his text.”
“See. Smart man. Ignore my earlier theatrics and listen to him.”
RORI: I’ll be over in about 30 minutes.
With a day off tomorrow, Julie has given me another short window to visit my “friend.” Given this latest news, I tell Landon I’ll walk over by myself. Best not to risk someone catching him meeting me for a short ten-house walk.
Landon flies back to Florida in the morning, though, so I’m not missing tonight for any reason.