Page 31 of Match Point

‘I’m sorry about what Chris Courtney said about you,’ I offer gently.

He shrugs. ‘Everyone’s thinking it. Why shouldn’t someone say it?’

‘That’s not what everyone thinks.’

He presses his lips together, exhaling through his nose. ‘You don’t know.’

‘I know what my friend Iris Gray thinks,’ I counter, folding my arms. ‘She thinks you have what it takes and she’s usually right about most things.’

Turning to look at me again, his brow furrows like he’s trying to process what I’ve said but it’s taking him a bit longer than usual.

‘She thinks that a comment like that from this Courtney guy might help fire you up a bit for Wimbledon,’ I continue.

‘Huh.’ He lifts his eyebrows. ‘And what do you think?’

‘Me?’

He nods. ‘You. Flora Hendrix. The stubborn neat-freak artist who always smells nice and wears a Snoopy T-shirt to bed. What do you think?’

I can’t suppress the bubble of laughter rising up my throat at his comment about my scent. My eyes falling to the floor, I shake my head as I giggle and then when I look back up at him, I find him smiling at me. A soft, earnest smile, as though he’s pleased with himself for making me laugh.

‘I don’t know much about it, Kieran, but I think you’re working hard and if Iris thinks you have what it takes then I do, too. And,’ I add, arching a brow, ‘I think Chris Courtney is a bit of a wanker for saying something like that to a journalist.’

He nods slowly. ‘He is a wanker.’

‘I also think you really should get to bed. You have to be up in, like, three hours.’

‘Yep. You’re right, you’re right.’

Pushing himself up off the sofa, he stumbles a little as he gets to his feet and I dart forwards to grab his arm to help him balance. Glancing up as he leans on me, I find my face inches from his, his searing blue eyes flickering down to my lips.

‘You know, Flora,’ he says slowly, peering down at me, ‘you’re a very interesting person.’

‘Yeah? Thanks,’ I say, guiding him towards the bedroom with his arm resting around my shoulders.

‘I’m sorry for yelling at you about the journalist. I know now she’s your mate.’

‘That’s okay, forget about it.’

‘I mean it, I’m sorry. I find it hard to trust people.’

‘Honestly, Kieran, it’s fine,’ I assure him as we reach his doorway.

He unhooks his arm from around my shoulders and turns to face me. ‘I don’t want you to hate me, Flora Hendrix.’

I blink at him. ‘I don’t… I don’t hate you.’

‘Good. I don’t hate you.’

‘Okay. Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up,’ I say, breaking into an amused smile as he spins round and stumbles towards the bed. ‘Are you going to be okay?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ he says, sitting down on the edge of it and then falling backwards on top of the duvet, closing his eyes with his hands clasped over his chest. ‘Thank you.’

I stay a moment in the doorway, my eyes locked on his Adam’s apple as he swallows, unable to resist the temptation of shamelessly admiring his neck.

‘Flora,’ he says suddenly without opening his eyes, but making me jump out of my skin, heat flushing through my face. ‘Are you still there?’

‘Uh… yeah. I’m just about to go. Did you want something?’

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