Page 79 of Courting Trouble
‘That’s more like it,’ Whitney said, packing up. She walked off smugly.
‘Thanks!’ Delilah called after her.
‘Fuck off,’ Whitney said, walking away from the court.
Delilah tutted. ‘What an arsehole,’ she said. ‘I’ll miss her.’
Cassie cleared her throat. ‘Well, that’s it. Training complete,’ she said, trying to sound casual, feeling anything but.
Delilah stilled. ‘Oh. Yes. I suppose that’sit, isn’t it?’
‘Good luck tomorrow,’ Cassie said as Delilah slung her bag over her shoulder. She tried to keep it casual, but a knot formed in her chest. If this was it—if this was the last glimpse she got of Delilah—it would end here, on the edge of a practice court, the wordsgood luckstanding in for goodbye.
But Delilah gave her a look as though she’d lost her mind. ‘You’re not coming?’
Cassie blinked. ‘Coming? I’m not invited.’
‘Of course you are.’ Delilah frowned, as if Cassie had just said something ridiculous. ‘I emailed my agent yesterday, got you on the guest list. I thought… I’m sorry, I justassumedyou’d come. I should have asked.’
Cassie stared, caught off guard. The idea of attending a proper tennis event was a lot.
But Delilah was still looking at her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she assumed Cassie would be there, that shewantedher there.
Cassie felt the nerves rising. But beneath it was something else, something warmer. Gratitude. Relief that Delilah didn’t seem to be walking away from her just yet.
‘All right,’ she said quietly, almost to herself. ‘I’ll be there.’
Seventy-Seven
The Beckett Invitational party was just as polished as the courts outside. White tablecloths, rows of glasses catching the light, trays of canapés drifting past on the hands of waiters who never seemed to stop moving. And the people? Delilah could smell the wealth. Everyone moved with that loose, confident ease of those who never had to worry about an unexpected bill.
Delilah sort of hated them immediately.
She kept close to the edge of the room, taking it all in. Cassie walked beside her, stride easy, shoulders loose, dark jacket unzipped over a plain black T-shirt, jeans worn soft at the knees, boots scuffed from use. She looked hot as fuck, mostly because of how effortlessly she carried herself in this overly preened room. Delilah had dressed to the nines in a deep emerald slip dress that clung in all the right places. Her heels pinched, her hair was lacquered into submission, every detail painstakingly arranged. Yet next to Cassie, she felt like she was trying too hard. Cassie, she supposed, knew this world well enough not to give a damn what anyone thought.
But then some guy bumped into them and muttered, ‘Scuse I,’ as he walked away, Cassie’s face darkened.
‘Who was that?’ Delilah asked.
‘That’s Jarvis Peekle,’ Cassie almost spat.
‘I ask again, whoisthat?’
Cassie sighed. ‘Just some player I remember from my last tourno. Went out first match. Fucking rubbish. Ranked fifteenth in the country now, if you can believe it.’
Delilah nodded. ‘So you hate him because he had way less talent than you, but he got to stick around until he got any good, while bad luck robbed you of the opportunity to be in his position despite your natural talent.’
Cassie laughed, a short, surprised sound. ‘That’s about the size of it, yeah.’
Delilah gave Cassie a long look. ‘I shouldn’t have forced you to come here, should I?’
‘You didn’t force me, Delilah,’ Cassie told her.
‘I did. I boxed you into this. I’m sorry. I won’t mind if you want to leave.’
Cassie shook her head. ‘I’ll be OK.’ She paused. ‘I’m glad you asked me to come.’
Delilah felt a little funny in the tummy at that. She wondered if today was the day to brace herself and do it. Have ‘the conversation’. But there was so much going on today. She didn’t have the bandwidth to potentially add a heartbreak.
