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“A few months?” He said, his voice louder and higher. Tyler shifted in the seat in front of them. Emm elbowed him and put her finger to her lips.
“This isn’t like football or baseball. The tennis season runs for eleven months a year. He’s always going to be on the road, that’s just a fact of life you’re going to have to accept.” She said, then noticed the worried look in his eyes.
“Hey, if the world were a perfect place, you two could live openly, like me and Tina. It’s not, though, so make the best of it. Who knows, maybe he’ll come to his senses and make history.” Emm said.
“What do you mean, make history?”
“Come out of the closet. He’d be the first male tennis player to be open about it. What, you don’t think that would be all over the news? He’d be on the cover of Time magazine, the New York Times. They care more about who he fucks than how many titles he’s won.” She snorted and shook her head. “It’s stupid, but that’s the world we live in.”
Chip thanked her, then returned to his seat. He closed his eyes, praying for sleep, but it wouldn’t come. One thought played in his head, repeating itself on a continuous loop of despair.
“What if I ruin his career?”
Chapter Thirteen
Tyler- Monte Carlo
“This is the most amazing place I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Tyler’s smile grew as Chip gazed wide-eyed at the scenery. Chip had never been to Europe, and they were ensconced in one of the most beautiful hotels in the world. Monaco was a fantastic dream built on the Mediterranean, and exclusively entertained the top one percent. While Tyler spent most of his time on the red clay tennis courts, Chip spent his days enjoying the shoreline and shops. Thankfully he wasn’t a gambler, or the elegant casinos would have lured him in.
Monaco was a tiny principality next to the French Riviera. It was home to the richest people in the world, because of its status as a tax haven. The wealthy avoided paying taxes in their own countries by taking up residence here. Tyler grew up in luxury, and was immune to its false promises. For him it was dull and superficial. Seeing Chip’s reaction to it lifted his spirits in a way that renewed his tarnished love for this ancient principality.
“I’ve never seen water so blue.” Chip whispered.
They stood on the balcony of their hotel room, a salt-scented breeze blowing in from the Mediterranean. Tyler was behind Chip, holding him while enjoying his reactions to the beauty before them. The marina below their window held the largest and most luxurious yachts in the world. Beautiful people strolled under the afternoon sun, tan skin and designer clothes as far as the eye could see. Tyler placed his lips on Chip’s neck, the taste of his skin stirring his desire.
“It is nowhere near as beautiful as you.” Tyler said, then he blew gently in Chip’s ear, who pushed back against him, grinding his ass against Tyler’s growing cock.
“You have a way with words. Keep talking like that and you’ll get anything you want from me.” Chip turned in his arms, reaching up to kiss him, then heard a knock on the door. They both groaned.
“One of us needs to get that.” Tyler said.
“You think they’ll go away if we ignore them?” Chip whispered, kissing Tyler’s chin. Whoever was at the door was impatient, and knocked again, louder.
“I guess not.” Tyler said. Frustrated, he gently pushed Chip back, checked himself in the mirror and noticed his shirt was unbuttoned to the waist. He shook his head with a rueful smile, buttoned up, and opened the door. It was Emm, bouncing up and down with a huge smile.
“That Serbian guy, Miroslav, pulled out with an injury. You’re in the quarterfinals.” Emm said. Injuries were common, and while celebrating a walk-over win was in bad taste, Emm couldn’t keep her pleasure a secret. Tyler chuckled, and led her into the room.
“So I’m playing Tim? Shit. I’ve only beaten him once, and that was years ago.” Timothy Bourne was a giant killer. Though he rarely ranked higher than forty in the world, he was capable of knocking out anyone, regardless of ranking. His problem was consistency. He had a hard time maintaining that level of play every single match. He was one of a handful of players on tour who had a winning record against him.
“Yep, and that’s why you and I are hitting the practice courts.” Emm said, then snuck a peek at Chip. He turned and faced the window, but his slumped shoulders were a dead giveaway to his emotional state. She looked at Tyler, and mouthed the word “sorry.”
“Are you sure practicing will help? Especially now that I’m playing more aggressively? I’ll be honest, I’m having a hard time not slipping back into my old tactics of grinding them down. I feel like that…”
“Grinding is how you win on clay. If you want to win on grass, you have to get used to taking charge of the point and finishing it quickly.” Emm interrupted him. She understood his frustration. His natural style was tailor made for winning on slower clay courts. It was hard to deliberately change a winning strategy to achieve long-term goals while losing matches you’d ordinarily win. She stood and placed her arm on his back, rubbing his shoulders.
“I don’t want you to lose. I want you to learn how to win using a new technique. It’s hard, but doable. I’m going to head to the practice courts. I’ll see you in a few.” She let herself out.
Tyler walked up behind Chip and encircled his waist, pulling him against his chest.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go.” He said.
“I know. I guess I’m just sick of being in the room all the time.” Chip sighed.
“Go shopping, or work on your tan. I’m sorry I can’t be with you, but this is my job. I have to work. Trust me, I’d much rather be with you.” Tyler whispered in his ear.
“I’ll figure out something. Do you know when you’ll be back?” Chip asked.
