Page 55 of Match Point

“She’s upset.” With him and with Miller. Like when she was younger, she couldn’t control her emotions. It was the same pattern she exhibited while maturing and after her father died. One man had built her up and two had torn her down. He and Miller. He was culpable and he hated himself for hurting her, but she had her goals and he had his own. They could fool themselves all they wished, but it didn’t change the facts.

“Well, she needs to get out of her funk or she’s going to lose everything. Did you two fight?”

“Why would you say that?” How much to disclose? Their sex life was personal and none of Tucker’s business except when it affected her performance. Nor could he share any information about Miller.

He inclined his head toward the court. “You’d have to be blind not to see there’s something between you two.”

“I’m leaving on Friday. She can’t be dependent on me for success. She has to do it herself.”

Tucker whipped his head around and a flash of panic crossed his features before he controlled his expression. “This Friday? I thought it was next Friday.”

“Yes, this Friday reserve service starts.” Not exactly a lie but not quite the truth. His leaving was disrupting a lot of people’s lives. He’d always run solo and it was odd to have this kind of responsibility.

Tucker nodded. “My brother was a Marine. He died in Iraq.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. My dad was a Marine and was killed in combat.” He’d been devastated by his death, still was, and even more devastated by his mother’s leaving. In a few short days, he’d see her again. Until then, he needed to get through to Sorcha. It was his fault she’d been thrown off her game, no matter how much he wished otherwise. “My position was only supposed to be temporary until I got her into a better physical place.”

“She might be in a better physical place, but she’s too much in her head.” Tucker raked a hand through his hair and leaned heavily on his cane. Exhaustion and frustration spread across his face. He squared his shoulders. “Sorcha, Marco, let’s call it a day. Meet me at the house in thirty minutes and we’ll review the tapes.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her.” Leo strode onto the court. Sorcha rested her fist on her hip and rolled the racket in her other hand. The short white skirt showed off her toned legs. He averted his gaze from the light pink sports bra and from her belly rising and falling with each breath. They were two adults who just happened to have sex. It didn’t change anything. Liar. It changed everything. “Can we talk?”

“Talk or lecture?” She lifted her chin, eyes shaded by the visor.

“Talk.” He resisted the urge to shift on his feet under her intense scrutiny. It didn’t take a genius to see she was on edge.

She stared at him for a long moment. “I guess.”

He nodded, trying to formulate what he wanted to say. There were several tables under an awning and a small outdoor bar. He indicated she take a seat, slipped behind the bar, and pulled out two beers out of the refrigerator.

Legs crossed, she removed the visor and shook out her ponytail. A cool breeze blew down from the mountain and brought the sweet fragrance of the fir trees, ruffling the strands of her hair. She pulled her arms behind her back to stretch her shoulders. The action pushed her breasts out.

Popping the top, he handed a beer to her. He had to set things right, even though he had no clue how. Usually he was quick on his feet. Except Not with Sorcha. She muddied his thoughts until he questioned his own reasoning. If only things could be different, but could haves didn’t count.

Eyebrow cocked, she accepted the bottle. “Beer? You’re letting me have a beer?”

“Sure, why not.” He shrugged. “You deserve it.”

“Not after today’s practice.” Shoulders drooping, she tilted the bottle. Her throat worked as she drank. He’d kissed that smooth skin and explored it with great detail during their last heated encounter.

Stop thinking about kissing her.

“You’re off your game, but that’s understandable.” He plopped down in the chair across from her and palmed the beer, mind spinning. The tension grew ever tighter between them the more he hesitated.

“Understandable? How is that understandable? I’ve got a week until the most important tournament of my life. I shouldn’t be struggling.” She leaned her elbows on the table, the curtain of her hair falling across her chest. Doubt rested in her eyes, a look he hadn’t seen since the first week on the ranch.

“Why are doubting yourself? You’re a great tennis player and you know it. You just need to get out of your head.” He’d been so fixated on the physical, he never considered the psychological. Her explanation about Miller said a lot. Add the drama that existed between them and she had a lot on her plate.

“That’s easy for you to say.” She tapped one nail against the bottle, the soft pinging sound echoing her agitation.

“Yes, it is easy for me to say, because I mean every word of it. We all have faith in you. You just need to have faith in yourself.” With all the shit she’d cast his way, deep down, he’d always had confidence in her abilities. “Before Kelly died, how did you process outside pressures?”

“I went cage dancing.” A mischievous smile creased her cheeks and she tipped the beer, her mouth caressing the lip. She’d worn that same look giving him a blowjob.

“I thought that was a new phenomenon.” He focused on his own drink, trying to ignore the heated memories. “I’m not sure if we can get you a cage or where we’d put it.”

She shook her head and exhaled, eyes downcast. “The truth is, it’s always been this way with me, even when Dad was alive. The closer to the competition, the more anxious I get. Once I’m on the court in real time, it fades away.”

Then he wasn’t throwing her off her game. At least a part of his guilt was lifted. “Okay, then we’ll work around that.”

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