Page 15 of Match Point

Laughter rumbled in her chest at his answer, but a hiccup ruined the effect. She licked dry lips, still more sober than she wanted to be.

“Have you met him?” She hoped the question came out more confident than she’d felt asking it. There was no way he could know her motivation for asking. “He’s kind of a recluse.”

“Yes, I’ve met him. He’s had so much Botox, his face doesn’t move. It’s scary, really.” The waiter appeared, shirtless with a bowtie.

“Sounds scary.” The waiter handed Sorcha a shot and pointed to a man in the back of the bar. “From the guy in the pink shirt.”

“Just wave and smile but don’t talk to him. Clingy and boring as hell,” Trent said.

The DJ had taken a break and the music that was piped through the club wasn’t as intense but equally hypnotic. “Let me guess; you slept with him?”

“Not slept. Women sleep with men. Men blow men. Big difference; and let’s just say, he blows, and not in a good way.” Trent looped his arm through hers, his smile infectious. “Why doesn’t a hottie like you have a boy toy? Weren’t you dating that Spanish soccer player last month?”

She shook her head and took the shot, the liquor biting its way down her throat. “Yes, I dated him. No, I’m no longer dating him. We went out and bumped into his wife. I don’t do married men.”

“I can see why. It gets messy.” He raked a hand through his hair, averting his gaze.

The little history he’d shared with her had been revealing. She hugged his arm tighter to her side. “Hey, I’m not here to judge.”

“Speaking of judging…” his voice hardened, the playfulness of seconds before disappearing.

Sorcha followed his line of vision to a blond-haired man, big, muscular, and out of place in the bar. “Who’s that?”

“Someone who should have come out a long time ago, but I don’t want to talk about Jake. Tonight is about you and me. Shall we climb back into our cage and make these bitches jealous of me?”

“Let’s do it.”

He helped her back into the metal cage and started to jump up when the blond guy approached. He looked familiar but Sorcha had no clue where she’d seen him.

“Can we talk?” the man asked.

“I have nothing to say.” Trent glared at the man, hurt lacing his words. There was something deeper here, but the last shot had kicked in and a pleasant warmth washed away her reasoning.

The big man lowered his voice. “Please, Trent. Five minutes.”

“Go,” Sorcha urged, her feet moving as a familiar beat sounded from the speakers.

The waiter put down his tray and entered the cage with her, his hand coming around her waist. She giggled, gyrating her hips with the man while another guy took what felt like the hundredth picture that night. But she didn’t mind. She’d done volunteer work for the HIV and LGBTQ community and these men were a big part of her fan base. Sorcha was selfish by her own admission, but she owed her success off the court to the people around her. When the chips were down, her fans had been there to rally her spirits.

“Thanks for the pic, babe. I have to get back to work.” The waiter left the cage and shut the door, leaving her alone.

Alone. She was tired of being alone. The music throbbed a steady rhythm, the sound blowing out any thought until all she could do was move to the beat. Men circled the cage, taking pictures while tossing out encouragement. There was no pressure to be perfect here or worry about what they thought of her. She closed her eyes and danced, not caring if she looked a fool. Nobody cared.

“Sorcha, what the hell?” came a familiar voice over the din of the music.

She fluttered her lids open and blinked, unsure if she was seeing things. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and her breasts swelled under her skimpy tank top.

“What’re you doing h…e…re?” she asked, frowning when she slurred her words. Odd, she wasn’t that drunk. Or was she? Men had been buying her drinks all night, so perhaps she was. “Don’t be trying to ruin my buzz.”

Leo stared up at her, grim mouth set. He was wearing jeans and a white shirt, the collar unbuttoned at the neck, the edge of his tattoo visible. “Get down from there.”

With a mischievous grin, she shook her head and held the cage door shut. “Make me.”

“Sorcha, come down. You’re drunk and you need to leave before this goes viral.”

“Why would us arguing go viral? Nobody cares.” She waved a dismissive arm at the room at large.

“You’re dancing in a cage.” He gripped the bar and held it steady.

---