Chapter 11
INSOMNIA
TONY IS DRIVING Robbie, Henry, and me back to Manhattan, and all I want is to sleep in my bed. My bedroom back in Montclair doesn’t feel like home anymore. Mom doesn’t even keep cookies in the pantry, and she knows how much I love my chocolate chips. But God forbid I walk in the house with them.
Once, I woke up one morning to find that she had tossed my paper bag filled with freshly baked cookies from Insomnia. I’m still recovering from the shock.
After that regrettable episode, I stopped taking cookies to Montclair. But gin? The bar and pantry are always fully stocked with bottles in all shapes, sizes, colors, and brands.
Those are a few reasons why I refuse to go back to live with my parents. My apartment in New York is my home now and it’s fully stocked with cookies, thank you very much.
On the other hand, my dad is a saint. He always looks out for everyone’s well-being, goes above and beyond to make everyone happy, and fixes everyone’s problems. He’s also a cookie smuggler on the side. But I can’t rely on him to get my daily dose of the only pleasure I allow myself to indulge in.
One would think I inherited my intricate personality from my mom, who is a complex character on her own, but I didn’t. I was crafted in my father’s image. He’s noble but can be stubborn as an ox. And so can I. That’s where we collide, just like we did this weekend.
I’ve been training at the Montclair Ridge Country Club for the past five days.
The first day was hell. My mom’s friends and other women I failed to recognize gathered around the court to watch me train.
Some of them waited until the end to talk to me.
But all they did was grill me with questions about my tennis career while others approached me to make a snarky comment or two about the racket thrashing incident combined with the occasional “but good for you.”
Others focused on Henry, telling him how happy they were to see him back in Jersey, offering their condolences, and asking him how his mother was faring.
My stomach turned when I caught one of them flirting with Henry. I had to look away. The woman was more than double his age and kept touching his arm. It was painful to watch.
Another woman, Mitzi, asked Henry if he was single because her daughter had returned from a year abroad in Spain and would love to make “new friends.”
He replied with a smile that he was, in fact, single.
The exchange between them annoyed me, but it bugs me even more that I can’t remember who Mitzi’s daughter is or what she looks like. Maybe he does, and that’s why he entertained the idea.
Henry needs to be focused on my training, not making new “friends.”
Thankfully, these women get easily bored, and once we became old news, people stopped harassing us. But going back to Montclair hasn’t been all bad. Henry reconnected with some of his old friends he hadn’t seen in a while, and his warm, open smile looked genuine when he greeted them.
My father seemed thrilled about the idea of me training in the country club.
He was worried sick when he found out about the paparazzi swarming Jasper’s courts in Tribeca.
He said it was best if I trained at a private facility.
No place has the security that the NTC has, so he wants things to cool down and for me to focus on training without having to deal with external distractions.
I refuse to believe the media cares that much about where I train. It’s a silly excuse he’s telling himself to justify his desire for me to be closer to him. Meanwhile, I don’t think my mom cares that much about where I lay my head at night.
Dad agrees that Robbie and I should live in the city because it’s practical, but if it were up to him, I’d still be living at home.
“It’ll only be for three months,” he insisted during his obvious and planned intervention as soon as we arrived in Montclair last Friday evening. It’s the only thing he could talk about all weekend: training venues and how they all sucked.
I’m glad I convinced him to allow me to return to Manhattan during the week. The Montclair Ridge Country Club is virtually the same distance from my apartment as the NTC, so it’s not a big deal. Robbie and I will still go home on the weekends, as usual. Henry, too. And Mom loves Henry.
Training with him has been a pleasant surprise.
The change in pace and routine is doing me well.
I hadn’t realized how necessary it was to switch coaches until I was forced to do it.
Elliot was a great coach, no doubt about that.
He molded me into the tennis player I am today, and I will be forever grateful for that. But our time together was over.
The truth is I could’ve stayed with Elliot for the rest of my tennis career because he is all I ever knew.
But training with Henry has opened my eyes to a world of possibilities.
He won’t be my coach forever, so I shouldn’t get too attached.
He’s doing my dad a favor, but we’ll make the best of it while it lasts.
“Gracias, Tony,”1 Robbie says, opening the door to step out of the car. “Me saludas a Martha.”2
“De tu parte,”3 Tony replies with a grin, then looks at Henry and me. “I’ll see you tomorrow at seven.”
We nod in agreement and thank him with big smiles. Tony is the best.
The three of us step inside the elevator, and Robbie pulls out his phone. He’s texting with a weird pout on his face. He glances at me from the corner of his eye and redirects his attention back to his screen to keep texting.
The doors slide open on our floor, and I’m about to walk out when Robbie says, “No te vayas a enojar. Pero es que me estuvo insistiendo todo el día.”4
“Ay no, ?qué hiciste, Roberto?”5
I look over my shoulder. Robbie shrugs. Henry looks annoyed. I know he hates it when we speak Spanish in front of him. I’d hate it, too.
“Come see for yourself,” Robbie replies in a whisper, walking ahead of me with a laugh. “Hey, man!”
I turn toward my door, and Liam is leaning against the wall with his hands inside his pockets. He’s looking incredibly handsome, as he always does. The faintest hint of his cologne brushes past my nose as I close in. His lips twitch into a side smile when he lifts his gaze to look at me.
How could I be mad at Robbie when it’s been killing me to ignore Liam these past few days?
He tried calling me again on Saturday, but I didn’t take it.
I was having fun with Gemma, hanging out at her place, and I didn’t want to ruin our girls’ night with my drama.
I was planning on talking to Liam tomorrow, but he’s a few steps ahead of me. And I don’t mind it one bit.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach when he stands up straight and closes the distance between us.
“Hey,” he says, his gaze locked with mine as if it were just him and me in this corridor.
“Hey.”
Liam reaches out for my hand, pulls me closer to him, and wraps his hands around my waist. “You weren’t picking up your phone or answering my texts,” he says. “I was beginning to get worried.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, glancing at Robbie and Henry. Robbie’s unlocking the apartment door, and Henry’s waiting behind him, giving his back to us.
For a second, I can’t remember what we fought about or what has bothered me these past few days. Liam’s presence has me spinning.
Robbie saunters into the apartment, and Henry peeks over his shoulder at me with his thick brows pulled together. His blue eyes are glued at my interaction with Liam as he slowly follows Robbie inside.
I look away, feeling the heaviness of his gaze on me.
And when I can no longer resist, I glance back at him.
He’s holding the door open and looking straight at me, not bothering to look away after our eyes catch each other.
He takes a few steps back and finally shuts the door with a gentle click, giving Liam and me some privacy.
Liam presses a kiss on my jawline, making my attention shift back to our interaction. He leans in and whispers in my ear, “Will you invite me in?” His breath tickles my neck and pebbles my skin.
Desire floods my bloodstream, and a slow, heavy breath escapes my mouth. Liam takes note of my reaction.
“Is that a yes?”
“Mhm.”
“I promise I’ll behave.” His lips are now grazing mine, teasing me.
“What if I don’t want you to behave?” I tease back, catching his bottom lip between my teeth. A low, delicious groan rumbles in Liam’s throat.
“Then I’ll take back that promise.” He pins me against the wall and kisses me.
His hand cups my face while the other pulls my body flush against his.
His tongue parts my lips, and he angles my head back to deepen the kiss with soft, lazy strokes, making my otherwise strong knees feel like they might buckle under me.
He kisses me for a long moment as I feel his hands moving further down the curve of my waist. When I remember I have nosy neighbors, I break off the passionate kiss. I don’t want them catching me making out in the hall.
“Come.” I grab his hand and guide him inside the apartment.
I can’t even think straight. All I know is that I want to take Liam to my bedroom, like I wanted to do last week, before we got interrupted and he had to leave.
Robbie and Henry are hanging out in the kitchen when we walk in, and I instinctively brush my fingers over my swollen lips, feeling like I’m wearing a sign that says: I just made out with Liam outside.
Henry’s pulling a milk carton out of the fridge. He doesn’t bother looking at us. We’re non-existent.
“Beer?” Robbie offers. “Henry and I are going to watch the second half of the game. You’re welcome to join us.”
“No thanks,” I chirp, pulling Liam toward my bedroom at the far end of the hall past the kitchen. “No televised sports tonight.”
“Thanks, mate!” Liam shouts back. We’ve lost visual contact with them. “Just following orders!”