Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
NAOMI
Paris, France – November
Paris Masters
Wyatt:
Come to Paris
I’d been waiting for that text to come for a while. Ever since they’d left Asia, Wyatt had been heavily hinting that we should get on a train under the Channel. While they were still in Asia—and Sam and I started texting again—I’d been looking at trains to Paris.
I’d been hoping that time away from Sam would be the key to getting over the remnants of the crush I’d been harbouring, but it hadn’t.
Not really. I’d been slowly watching Alisha reach her wit’s end with me.
I reminded her that I dealt with her year-long situationship without complaint when we were in our twenties, so she’d been giving me more grace.
But I was starting to annoy myself. I should’ve just cleared the air before we started our US Open singles campaign because then I’d know why he pulled back, and I’d know where we stand. Being back home would’ve been a less annoying time for both my sister and me.
So, I needed to be an adult about this and finally talk to him.
Paris seemed like a good place to do it.
At least I’d be able to potentially drown my sorrows in good bread.
I didn’t think it would come to that. But I also thought maybe Sam wanted to kiss me, and I’d been very wrong about that. So who knows what could happen.
“Has Wyatt asked you to come to Paris?” I asked Alisha, who was lying on the sofa, looking at her phone, and hadn’t moved for about an hour. If it wasn’t for her eyes skimming across the screen, telling me she was reading, I would’ve thought she was frozen.
Her eyes flicked to where I sat on our second sofa.
“Would’ve been pretty fucking awkward if he hadn’t, wouldn’t it?” she teased, and my eyes rolled so hard it hurt.
“Fine. So he did. You wanna go?”
“If I say no, are you gonna go anyway?”
Not a day went by that I wasn’t jealous of the fact that my siblings inherited our dad’s ability to raise an eyebrow. Alisha had one perfectly arched as she stared me down, daring me to lie to her.
I slouched into my seat. “Yes. I need to talk to Sam.”
That animated Alisha. She dropped her phone and was upright quicker than I could blink.
Logan, who’d been lying in the corner of the room on his bed, jumped up at the sudden movement before realising that whatever was happening had nothing to do with him, so he did a little turn on the spot then lay back down.
“Fucking finally. I can’t take much more of your half-moping. At least when I was moping, I was getting laid on a semi-regular basis. You’ve just been sad about it. Yeah, we can go to Paris.”
We’ll be there for his first match
It said a lot about how often Alisha and I lived out of suitcases that when we realised we would have to go straight to the Masters from the station because Wyatt and the key to the place we were staying were there, we didn’t bat an eyelid about carrying our luggage around because we’d packed light.
By the time we got there, the lights were already down, and Sam was warming up on court.
We slotted in next to Wyatt before they started playing, and it was only as Sam started to prep for his serve that I realised this was the first time I’d watched a match this close to the court. Wyatt acknowledged our arrival with a small smile, and then he locked into coach mode.
Time zones meant I’d not watched him play since leaving New York, and I noticed instantly that Wyatt had worked on making Sam less robotic and how much freer he seemed to be playing already.
I told Wyatt as such at the first changeover.
“Today is a good day. He doesn’t always play with this freedom. He might be showing off for you,” Wyatt answered quietly to try to stop the mics from picking him up. His mouth barely moved, so I believed he was successful.
“He isn’t. That isn’t sustainable.”
“I dunno. You remember that match you played when someone said you were past it when you turned thirty, and you proceeded to not spend longer than an hour on court in Canada?”
I snorted. “Anger is a good motivator.”
“So is wanting to flex on your…” He paused as he tried to find the most neutral way to phrase it. “Mixed doubles partner.”
I snorted. “Nice save.”
“He isn’t doing that, anyway. He doesn’t know you’re here. He’s just having a good day.”
Time was called by the umpire, and we both fell silent
Sam:
I didn’t make it up did I, you were sat next to Wyatt?
I sat on a bench with a hot chocolate outside the venue, feeling ridiculously nervous. Alisha and Wyatt had taken my luggage and headed to our accommodation, which was only a ten-minute walk away.
Your eyes were not deceiving you
I’d barely pressed send before his next message came through.
Sam:
Where are you?
Outside
I mean that literally. I’m outside the venue.
Sam:
I just finished media. You have plans for the rest of the day?
I hid my widening smile against the lip of my hot chocolate cup.
Nope. I’m free
“Good. Let’s go get food.” Sam’s voice came from my left, and I lifted my head to see him standing next to me.
The dying sunlight gave his face a golden glow and picked out the blond highlights a summer in North America had somehow managed to give him, even though he wore a hat on court.
His bags were haphazardly pulled over his shoulders, fabric caught up in the handles.
“You wanna dump those bags first?” I asked.
“No. I’m fine,” he answered quickly. “There’s a place not far from here that I think you’ll like.”
A pink blush kissed the top of his cheeks, and I felt my smile get even wider.
“Lead the way, Sam.”