Chapter 3
Chapter Three
NAOMI
Sam looked concerned right up until he looked starstruck.
It was hard to miss the moment of recognition in his eyes when they were focused solely on me.
As quickly as the recognition arrived, it left, and he shifted back to concern as he raised his hand, checking that I was okay. I tipped my head in acknowledgment, and he went to take his seat.
“Fuck! Are you okay?” Alisha asked with a flourish of her hands as though they could somehow stem the damage.
“It’s just coffee,” I said with a shrug. And while that was true, it didn’t change the fact that my all-white outfit now had a brown stain all over it. And I had been denied my coffee fix.
“You’re soaked.”
I gasped over-dramatically. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
I couldn’t see her eyes because, like mine, they were covered by sunglasses, but I could sense her rolling them at me as she flapped her hands again.
“Seriously, Mimi, you can’t be comfortable.”
“I happen to love the feeling of warm coffee drenching my clothes, don’t you?” I said sarcastically. I sensed another eye roll. “What exactly am I supposed to do about it? Do you happen to have a spare pair of clothes knocking about in your bum bag? Because I don’t.”
I finally picked the now-empty cup up off my lap and placed it gingerly on the floor where it had been safely resting not even two minutes before.
I felt the weight of Alisha’s eyes leave me and my ever-growing coffee stain to something next to me. I turned my head and noticed an usher standing on the stairs. I pulled my sunglasses down my nose and looked up at the woman’s face.
“This is for you,” she said quickly as she thrust some fabric in my direction.
I flicked my eyes from her to the fabric and then back to her. “What is it?” It didn’t look like a towel.
“It’s from Mr Reed,” she said with a shrug and another thrust. A light brown hand cut into my line of vision and took it from her. The woman wasted no time leaving the second her job was done.
I turned my attention back to my sister as she shook out what she’d taken from the usher.
“He sent you a T-shirt,” she said as she held it up in front of us.
“What am I supposed to do with that?”
Alisha snorted. “Do I need to explain to you how T-shirts work?”
I shook my head and tried to regain my senses. In the last few minutes, I’d gone from experiencing a sort of yearning to be back on the court to being covered in coffee and presented with a T-shirt from the man who caused it.
“No, I mean, why would he do that?”
Alisha pushed her sunglasses down and levelled a glare at me over the lenses. “Because it’s kind of his fault that you’re wearing your coffee, and I guess he felt bad that he ruined the Queen of Tennis’s outfit.”
I poked her thigh. I hated that nickname.
It was given to me after I won Wimbledon, and stuck around, much to my annoyance.
A lot of articles ran about how my reign was over when I got injured, and when I gave no indication I was returning to the sport any time soon, the media started wondering about who my successor would be.
No part of me missed the media aspect of being a player.
“That doesn’t mean he had to send me a T-shirt. What is the point of that?” I knew it was a silly question, but it was all I had. Alisha, to her credit, was rolling with it.
“I imagine the point is so you don’t have to sit around in damp clothes. Or at least, a damp top. Nothing can be done about the shorts, but this thing is big enough that it will hide the worst of the stain.”
I took the T-shirt. It was soft. The kind of soft that suggested it was well-worn. With the faint scent of lavender embedded in the cotton.
“How did he even get this to me?” I asked as I bunched the T-shirt up in my hands and looked back down at the court. Sam had his eyes closed, sitting underneath the umbrella shielding him from the sun. Apparently, his opponent had gone off court.
“He asked? Did the ball hit your head? You seem confused?”
“No, it just hit the coffee cup.” Although I was now realising I had no idea where the ball had ended up. “This is all very weird, right?”
“Weird is one way to put it. Wait until Wyatt hears about this.”
I groaned.
“The dickhead probably already knows.”
As if summoned, my watch vibrated. I twisted my wrist to look at the screen, and there he was.
Wyatt:
I thought your reflexes were better than that????
I shifted my arm to show Alisha. She tipped her head back on a laugh.
“He has a point,” she said when she recovered.
“I wasn’t paying attention! Did none of your instincts kick in? You were watching the point. Did you not see the ball flying in our direction?”
“I didn’t think it was going to reach us!”
“You can tell you aren’t used to watching balls fly—don’t say it!” I caught myself before Alisha could pounce on the obvious innuendo. “I’m going to change into this. Try not to get hit again. Remember, your hands are capable of catching things.”
“They are also capable of cupping, fondling, stroking—”
I left her to it just as the umpire called time.