Page 69 of Match Point

‘Maybe picture him on ice skates,’ I suggest. ‘When I picture you on ice skates, it’s pretty amusing, like Bambi on ice, limbs skidding about everywhere. So you can do the same with the other guy and he won’t seem so scary anymore.’

‘I am this close to sacking Neil and putting you in charge,’ Kieran says, lining up for his next shot. ‘Your pep talks are much shorter and much more effective.’

‘Who says I’d accept the job?’ I say, folding my arms as he hits the fifteen. ‘I’m afraid I’m much too busy and important to squeeze in time to coach you.’

‘Shame,’ Kieran sighs, taking aim with his third and final dart. ‘We would have made a great team.’

He throws and hits sixteen. With a smug smile, he saunters towards the board to retrieve his darts. I roll my eyes, reaching for the glass of wine he bought me. It’s an Albariño, which Kieran recommended I try. It’s obviously delicious. You know, it’s really annoying that he keeps being right about things. At some point, I’d like to be the one who knows something about anything, so he can be impressed.

As I take a sip of my drink, my eyes flutter up to see a cluster of girls huddled nearby, giggling and whispering, with their phones pointed in our direction.

‘We’ve been rumbled,’ I inform Kieran quietly, as he returns to our little table in the corner by the board to have a sip of his pint.

He follows my eyeline and then turns back to me with a shrug.

‘They’re not the only ones. The two lads on the table to your left have been taking videos and pictures since we got here,’ he says casually.

I glance over my left shoulder to find two more phones pointed at me. I scowl at them, swivelling back to Kieran and looking up at him, concerned.

‘Should we go?’ I ask reluctantly, unable to hide my disappointment.

I’ve been having so much fun this evening. On our walk to the pub, it started to cloud over and while the beer garden was packed with people, the inside wasn’t so busy. Since Kieran knew it was expected to rain tonight, he suggested we grab a table indoors. We’d spent all afternoon outside, so I was happy to chill in here and it’s been so nice and relaxed. He’s letting his guard down with me and the more I get to see behind it, the more I want to spend time with him.

When he’s at ease in a situation, he’s chatty and funny and charming. When I first met him, I’d assumed that it was his looks and fame that made him so popular amongst all those celebrity women he’d been linked to, but now I can understand why just one night in the company of this guy here in front of me – the one asking me questions about my life, bantering over silly things, making me laugh with his quick-witted comebacks, flashing me dimpled grins that make me melt into the floor – would be enough for me to forget all my senses and throw myself at him. And with my slim experience of trying to go about my evening in the knowledge that I’m being watched and stealthily filmed, I can also totally understand why he’d be guarded, reserved and untrusting with strangers.

I shouldn’t be surprised that people have picked up on Kieran being here. Firstly, if you’re around Wimbledon during the championships, you’re going to be on the lookout for famous tennis players hanging around the vicinity trying to go unnoticed. Secondly, Kieran stands out just a tiny bit, what with his tall, broad frame and dazzling good looks. Thirdly, it turns out that our spontaneous rendezvous on Murray Mound wasn’t as private as I’d thought – Kieran had, of course, been recognised by a couple of people sitting above us and they’d taken photos and uploaded them to social media.

That third point wasn’t too good for Neil because he’d already told the press that Kieran missed the conference due to physio – but here was proof he’d actually been lazing around the grounds eating strawberries. When I tried to look at the comments as the photo gained traction online, Kieran insisted I put my phone away. I caught a glimpse. I was getting off fairly lightly so far. Most people just seemed to be wondering who the hell I am.

Anyway, I was glad for the incoming dark clouds that meant we could hide in here away from the busy beer garden, but the pub is now slowly filling inside.

‘I don’t want to leave,’ Kieran says, his eyebrows pulled together and his mouth turning down as he ignores our audience. ‘Do you?’

‘No. It’s just… distracting. You don’t care that people are taking photos and videos of you without your consent?’

‘I do care, but there’s not much I can do about it. Best to ignore it.’

‘I hope they don’t post these pictures on social media,’ I mutter, bringing my glass to my lips. ‘They might catch me at a bad angle.’

He tilts his head at me. ‘Not possible. You don’t have any bad angles.’

I blush furiously into my wine. He said that as though it was fact, not opinion, and now he’s continuing to speak as though he hasn’t just said something so lovely that it’s made my head spin and my whole body feel like it’s on fire.

‘Maybe if I was more approachable then people wouldn’t feel the need to film me stealthily,’ he’s wondering out loud, placing the darts on the table next to his glass. ‘That’s what my PR team has tried telling me anyway.’

I wince and he gives me a strange look.

‘What?’ he says, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. ‘What was that face for?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Flossie, I know when you’re lying,’ he informs me, quirking a brow.

‘No, you don’t.’

‘I do,’ he insists, stepping closer to me and waggling his finger in my face. ‘Your cheeks go this adorable shade of pink.’

Placing my glass down, I bite my lip and press my palms against my burning hot cheeks. ‘Are they all red? How embarrassing.’

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