Page 11 of Match Point

The sight of her on TV transfixed me. She had always been an attractive woman, but age had only deepened her beauty. Her raven hair hung down her back in waves, in stark contrast to the tactical ponytail she usually wore while playing tennis. Sharp eyes seemed to process everything the interviewer intended to ask before he actually voiced the question. That heart shaped face and dimpled chin that was striking as a teenager was now devastatingly beautiful.

And just like that, all my feelings came rushing back to me.

The interviewer asked her something about her personal life, and Miranda replied, “Maybe I’ll fall in love, now that tennis is no longer my husband.”

She glanced at the camera, and I swear to God it felt like she was staring directly at me. Just like she had looked at me that night in the Academy dorm, while the bottle spun between us and landed on her. Something twisted in my chest, just behind my breastbone, and it had nothing to do with the masseuse stretching out my pectoral muscles.

In that moment, I knew I had to shoot my shot. Even if it meant staying up a little later than I originally intended.

“Sure,” Miranda said to me in the ballroom. “For once, I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

We found an unoccupied table and sat down with our drinks. “So, how’s retirement?” I asked.

She let out a long sigh. “It’s great. I meanreallygreat. You don’t realize how much pressure is on you until it’s suddenly gone.”

“I definitely realize how much pressure is being put on me,” I replied. “I feel every pound. Everyounce.”

She leaned forward and raised an eyebrow. “Trust me: it’s a lot more than you think. I feel like a new woman. Like I’m starting a new life.”

“And what are you going to do with this new life?”

“Hell if I know!” she replied, which made us both laugh. “Right now, I’ve been enjoying sleeping in until seven every morning.”

“Seven? That’s your idea of sleeping in?”

“It is when I’m used to waking up at four!” she argued. “Those extra three hours…” She pressed all the fingers of one hand to her lips and made a kiss, like a chef.

“I usually don’t start my day until six,” I said.

“You don’t start working out untilsix?The sun is practically up by then!”

“Working out?” I chuckled. “No, six is when my alarm goes off. I relax and enjoy breakfast and coffee for an hour, then begin my training around seven. Maybe you should have tried my routine.”

She leaned forward with a mischievous grin on her lips. “Maybe that’s why I was ranked number one in the world for three hundred straight weeks, and you’ve only held the spot for barely a year.”

I clutched my chest like I had been stabbed. “Ouch. That one stung.”

She winced. “Sorry. Bad joke. You’re at the top of your game right now. I don’t see anyone unseating you for a long time.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” I replied, “but that arrogant French prick has a good chance of taking the number one spot this tournament.” Realizing what I had said, I glanced around to make sure nobody had overheard.

“Gabriel Moreau?” she asked.

I nodded. “He’s right behind me in points. If he advances one round deeper than me, he’ll end the tournament ranked number one, and I’ll get bumped down to two.”

“But if you both make it to the finals?” she asked.

“Then I’ll maintain my spot, no matter the result.”

Miranda shrugged and gestured at me with her drink. “I think you match up well against him. And you’re in the best shape of your life, no matter what time you wake up. Seriously, Dominic, you look amazing.”

The compliment was like cold water to my thirsty ego. “I was thinking the same about you, Miranda. You look like you could go three sets against prime Serena tomorrow.”

“You’re exaggerating, but thank you.”

“I’m completely serious. You look more beautiful right now, sitting here with me, than you have in the fourteen years I’ve watched you play. You’re stunning.”

She took a slow sip of her drink. “You’ve been watching me for fourteen years?”

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