Page 72 of Clean Point

‘What was that?’ Jon asked, a wild panic taking over me as my face burned red hot.

‘Just something I saw on my phone. It’s nothing.’ Nico’s reply was suspiciously fast, but Jon must’ve had bigger fish to fry, and his attention soon turned back to his own phone, his fingers typing away furiously.

I managed to look at Nico and found his gaze already on me. I noted the shock, his gaze wild as he searched my face for an answer to a question he had not yet asked. Nervously, he licked his lips, glancing to the front of the car where Jon was locked in a conversation with the driver about the traffic. He leaned over, closing the gap between us. I leaned in, brows furrowed together. He met me in the middle, his lips at my ear.

‘Are you …’ he started speaking, before he pulled back a little, letting out a breath as he blinked, trying to collect himself. He pulled in again, his voice low, even with the closeness.

When he finally spoke, a cruel smile curled onto my lips, a reminder of what I’d left behind in my hotel room, my stylist having forgotten to bring one crucial essential when it came to a dress like this.

‘Are you not wearing underwear?’

And then, with nothing more than a knowing smile, a crook of a raised eyebrow, we pulled up outside the venue, a crowd of photographers waiting beside a short red carpet. The door next to me was opened from the outside, just as Jon shouted further instructions to us about conducting interviews, but I was still looking at him, and he sure as hell was still looking at me.

I leaned close again, taking in the smell of his aftershave, allowing myself to bask in the scent for a moment before I took my own chance to whisper in his ear.

‘I guess you can find out later.’ And then I slipped out of the car, my legs shaking slightly under my weight as I was greeted by the flash of a camera, and the roar of a nearby crowd of fans. After a tiny adjustment, I walked confidently away, a wide satisfied grin on my face, knowing that his eyes were still burning into me as I left him.

There wasn’t much opportunity for anything more once we were inside, with Jon shepherding us around various sponsors and reporters, all but holding our hands through the conversations.

But we did as we were told. I turned on the charm, smiling and laughing at their jokes, while Nico stood beside me, almost entirely silent unless spoken to. The small talk was almost unbearable, ranging from the placid ‘yes, it’s so exciting to play at a grand slam again’ to the more strange ‘no, I haven’t tried that strange foreign vitamin you’re suggesting would enhance my performance’. Either way, eventually Jon would find a friendly excuse to exit and move us on to the next group. Apparently, he had a list.

That was when, while we shuffled through the busy room, making our way past friendly and unfriendly faces alike, Nico would lean into my ear and whisper little grumpy observations.

‘I didn’t think he would ever stop talking.’

‘I’m sure that pack of old women was checking me out.’

‘When do you think he will remember that he uses that vitamin for erectile dysfunction?’

Every time he’d have me laughing, distracting me from the room full of people waiting to take their slice, recharging me for another social interaction. I could feel the ghost of his hand on the small of my back, both of us needing the touch but not daring to risk it in such a public place.

‘Have you noticed I was right?’ he whispered in my ear as we moved away yet again, the noise of my forced laughter still ringing in the air as we turned away.

‘About what?’ I asked, trailing behind our coach, brows furrowed.

He smiled, his eyes connecting with mine for a moment. ‘That you’re the most beautiful person in this room.’

My brain short-circuited at the reminder of his words from before, body aching to feel his against mine again. I didn’t have any time to respond before I was colliding into someone else’s back. Nico’s arm pulled me back, holding me steady and allowing me to find my footing.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I stammered, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment, my grip on the champagne glass miraculous. I looked up, my eyes finding the familiar face of Imogen Foster. On instinct, I gulped.

Foster was a legend. Holding the highest number of Grand Slam wins of any player, period. I’d grown up watching her matches, been inspired by her delicate movements on the French and Spanish clay courts, the battleground where her talent excelled the most. I’d met her once before, in passing with my father, but seeing her now, ten years retired, she was still intimidating.

Her dark eyes were assessing, as if to recognize me too, before a flicker of kindness appeared as she chuckled, her Australian accent clear. ‘No worries at all. These gatherings can get a bit chaotic.’

Jon beckoned us yet again to another group of unfamiliar faces. I yearned to fight him off, stay a little longer but I was so shocked to see her, reduced to a fan girl that I just apologized nervously again, before turning away. Nico stayed behind me, his presence a reassuring anchor, as he also greeted Foster, before following me.

We headed toward the cluster of older men engaged with Jon who, ever the master of introductions, began the process. ‘Gentlemen, may I present Scottie and Nico, two remarkable talents in the world of tennis. Scottie is making an astonishing comeback, and Nico, well, I’m sure you’re more than familiar with him.’

The crowd looked us up and down like we were dinner. Jon went around the group, somehow knowing every single person’s name. They fell into easy conversion, Jon repeating the same jokes he’d already told ten times.

‘Scottie, is it true what they say about you?’ One of the men, who had been introduced as Alister, said with a crooked smile.

I took a long, necessary sip from my champagne. ‘I’m not sure. They say a lot of things about me.’

Nico grumbled again, his shoulder rubbing against mine. ‘Yeah, Alister, what is it they say?’

‘Just, you know, your travels around Europe. I heard you had quite a lot of fun.’ My stomach twisted uncomfortably, reading into the look that’s spread across his thin face … I could see the tabloid headlines all over again, but that didn’t matter. I had nothing to be ashamed of – not that, anyway. If this man thought he could bring it up without even a simple hello, he had another thing coming.

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