Chapter 16 #2
When she got out, her phone was buzzing in the front pocket of her racket bag.
A quick glance at it showed a few missed calls and accompanying voicemails from Caroline that she had no intention of listening to, and a missed call from Jack, but no message.
The grounds were still overflowing with people, and she followed a security guard back toward the private entry and exit the players used.
There were a few autograph hounds hanging around, but she dodged them as best she could.
Mostly she was afraid that they wouldn’t ask her for her autograph or for a selfie after that travesty of a match.
Thankfully there was a car waiting for her as well.
“Miss Gaffney,” the same man who’d chauffeured her to the grounds in the morning said, taking her bag from her. “Tough fight out there today, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Thanks,” she said, sliding into the car and letting her head fall back against the cool leather of the seat. At least someone had noticed that she’d been trying as hard as she could.
The drive back to Alex’s house, made a little longer than usual thanks to the midday London traffic, gave Indy enough time to clear her head.
She still wasn’t over it, not really, but as the minutes ticked by and the post-match adrenaline faded from her veins, regret surged through her. It had been a long time since she’d lost a match and an even longer time since she’d lost like that. She’d taken it out on both Penny and Jack.
Ahmed, the driver, kindly informed her that the Harrisons were home already and that he’d dropped them off before coming back for her.
She let herself into the house, dreading seeing Penny or Jack again.
The kitchen was empty, but when she looked in the library, she saw a familiar head—dark, thick hair cropped close; tan neck, as always; broad shoulders peeking up over the back of the dark brown leather couch—facing the far wall.
The TV was on mute but airing the current match at Centre Court.
“Hey.” She approached Jack as he lifted a glass of amber-colored liquid to his lips, taking a long sip.
“Hey.” He set the heavy tumbler down on the table in front of him and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, as she came around the couch and sat on the arm. She let her eyes drift to the TV but didn’t really see the match.
“I’m sorry about earlier. I was being a brat.”
He shrugged. “You lost. You should see…” He trailed off.
“When Penny loses?” she finished for him. “It’s okay, Jack. You can say her name. I lost the match and it sucks, but I’ve got to move past it, right? I’ve got Crystal Palace to focus on now.”
“You do,” he agreed.
“The house is quiet,” she said, standing up, not hearing the pounding of feet or chatter that the crowded townhouse normally echoed with during the day.
“Everyone’s out. Penny and Alex went to lunch. They won’t be back for a while.”
“You didn’t want to join them?”
“I don’t third wheel on my little sister’s dates.”
“So then, we have the house to ourselves?” she said, moving in front of him.
“Yeah.” He looked up at her, his green eyes already dilated, the green bleeding into black.
“Good,” she said. “I owe you an apology.”
“You already apologized.”
“Not well enough,” she insisted.
She lifted a hand and ran it over the top of his head and then moved forward, nudging his shoulder back against the couch with her hip.
Bracing herself against his chest, she moved in, settling a thigh on either side of his, straddling his body.
She just wanted to feel something good after a morning of bad.
Hovering over him, she let her lips brush against his, tasting the bourbon he’d just sipped.
Jack strained his neck, trying to prolong the contact, but she pulled away, a corner of her mouth lifting in a small smirk.
This was what she needed, to lose herself in him, to forget everything that had happened out on the court.
She gave in to that feeling, her mouth in a frenzied battle with his as she rolled her hips, desperate for some contact, to feel him against her, to drive him out of his mind and make his control finally break, to close her eyes and not see the scoreboard flashing zeroes next to her name or hear that reporter’s snotty question or have to worry about whether Penny was ever going to forgive her.
“Indiana.” Jack’s voice broke through the delirium of his body and hers and the spiral in her mind.
“What?” she gasped out, opening her eyes, finding him looking at her, the heat gone from his gaze, only worry and a furrowed brow.
Shit.
“You’re upset. We shouldn’t, not like this…”
“So, am I not allowed to be pissed off and want you?” She punctuated her question with another thrust of her hips into his. Jack let out a frustrated groan, but he didn’t react, didn’t reach for her or follow the rhythm of her body with his. “Or do you just not want me?”
“Not when you just want me to fuck away how badly you played. It shouldn’t be like this, not the first time…”
Embarrassment flooded through her, her cheeks flushing, and she shook her head.
“Sorry, I… sorry…”
Indy climbed off him, pressing a hand to her head.
“Indiana, wait,” he called.
But she shook her head, fleeing the room and leaving her last shred of dignity behind.