Page 23 of Match Point

He turns the blender off. ‘Sorry, what was that?’

I narrow my eyes at him, clenching my teeth. The day has barely started and this guy is already giving me jaw-ache.

‘I said, it’s six thirty,’ I repeat as calmly as possible. ‘What are you doing?’

He busies himself with finding a glass and pouring his drink into it. ‘I’m making a fruit smoothie. Do you want one?’

‘What? No,’ I huff, pushing my hair back from my face. ‘I want to go back to sleep like a normal person!’

‘All right,’ he says, turning round and leaning back on the counter as he takes a gulp of his drink. ‘Go back to sleep.’

‘I won’t be able to now! You’ve woken me up with your blending!’

He tilts his head at me. ‘Not a morning person, then.’

‘No one is a morning person when they’ve been woken up by an angry machine!’ I hiss, gesturing to the blender while he glugs his drink. ‘Next time, shut the door. It’s called being considerate! It’s called manners.’

‘If you were in a hotel, you could sleep in as long as you like without being disturbed,’ he says casually, lowering his glass as his tongue runs along his top lip. ‘You could have a nice long lie-in, order breakfast in bed—’

‘I’m not leaving,’ I cut in, folding my arms. ‘I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. I told you, I have to stay here otherwise I risk losing the flat altogether. You’re the one who’s caused this mess. If you’re not happy, then you should leave.’

‘I’m not trying to do anything,’ he claims with a shrug, finishing the rest of his drink and placing the glass down in the sink. ‘I’m perfectly happy. You’re the one complaining.’

He goes to leave, his arm brushing against mine as I stand back to let him through the doorway.

‘Ew! Why is your arm moist?’ I grimace, wiping mine pointedly.

‘I’m sweaty from my run.’

‘You’ve been on a run already?’ I ask in disbelief. ‘What time were you up?’

‘Early,’ he calls back over his shoulder, heading towards the bathroom.

‘Wait, whoa, what are you doing? I need the—’

He slams the bathroom door behind him and I hear the click of the lock turning before the shower is turned on. Then he starts humming. Not singing, humming.

What a prick.

My bladder aching, I flip a finger at the bathroom door and then hurry back to the sofa, plonking myself down and pulling the duvet back over me so I can at least stay in the warmth until he’s done. How has this happened?! My head still feels in a complete spin about this entire situation.

Last night, I decided to google Kieran just to get a better idea of the person I will be living with for the next few weeks and it did not give me much comfort. I was too tired to do a deep dive into his life, but from his recent stint in Germany where he played in the Halle Open, an ATP grass-court tournament held in mid-June at the same time as Queen’s here in London, there’s a load of photographs of him emerging from a big bash just two days before the tournament began with a hot German model on his arm, bleary-eyed and yelling at the press as he ducked into a car.

He wouldn’t be my first choice of housemate, I have to say.

He’s taking his time in the bathroom and I know he’s doing it on purpose. The ache in my bladder is becoming unbearable. When His Royal Highness finally emerges from the bathroom, I sprint down the hallway and practically throw myself at the toilet, barging him out the way as he struts out topless, with his towel around his waist. He feigns surprise as I shut the door quickly behind me.

I can practically hear him smirking on the other side of it.

Just before I shower, I notice my reflection in the mirror. Oh dear. My hair is completely dishevelled – not in a sexy way – and I didn’t do the best job at removing my mascara last night, so there’s hints of a dark smudge under both eyes. And as much as I love my Snoopy T-shirt, I’m not sure it’s my best look. Groaning, I reach for my make-up remover and cotton pads to wipe away the remaining traces from yesterday’s coverage, and then strip down to get in the shower. It’s not until I’m out that I realise I didn’t bring any clothes with me into the bathroom, so I’m going to have to go out there in my towel to retrieve some. Whatever. He feels confident to wander around in his towel, I shouldn’t have any qualms in doing the same.

Clutching it tightly around my body, I open the door and slink out into the hallway, padding into the living room and bending over to grab some clothes from my case. I haven’t yet unpacked my Lake District bag and I’m still working out where to put all my stuff while Kieran’s here. I’m rummaging around my things when the doorbell goes.

I straighten, clutching a pair of neon pink knickers.

Before I can dart back to the safety of the bathroom, Kieran is at the front door and has swung it open. ‘Come in, guys,’ I hear him say.

Guys? GUYS?! What guys?!

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