Page 2 of Match Point

The girl next to me spun, and the bottle came to a stop in Marty’s general direction. The two of them knelt in the center of the circle to kiss. Yet as they locked lips, someone began calling out tennis scores. “Love! Fifteen! Thirty! Forty!Game point!Okay, that’s enough you two. Way to start us off.”

I bit my lip. I thought we would just be sharing a quick peck on the lips. Not five full seconds of making out. I glanced at the couch on the other side of the room, but decided I didn’t want to make a scene by leaving early.

The next guy went, and then the girl after him. My nervousness grew stronger. I had only kissed one boy before, and that was when I was fourteen. A brief peck on the cheek. It hardly counted.

Then it was Tristan’s turn. The Aussie hunk grinned around the circle, took hold of the bottle, and gave it a hard twist. The glass spun on the carpet for an incredibly long time, finally slowing down…

…and it stopped on me.

“Miranda!” someone cheered. “Get it, girl!”

For a few seconds, I was mortified. Somehow, in my naive buzzed state, I never expected toactuallyhave to kiss someone in this game. But now that someone was staring at me from across the circle, a dirty-blond Australian boy with a disarmingly-goofy grin.

I crawled out to the middle of the circle with him until the bottle was the only thing between us. His eyes were soft compared to the rest of him, which was chiseled with muscle beneath his long-sleeve cotton T-shirt. Even as he gave me a warm smile, I wondered:is this really happening? There’s no way he would want to kiss me.

We both kept leaning forward, faces drawing closer. And then Tristan lunged the final few inches to connect with my lips. Electricity seemed to course through his body and into mine as the students around us began to chant.

“Love! Fifteen! Thirty!”

Tristan reached up and cupped my cheek, holding me close to him while his lips churned against mine. I closed my eyes and savored the way he felt, wanting it to go on forever.

“Forty! Game point!”

He pulled away, and I tried to lean with him at first before allowing the kiss to end. We were both breathless after, and his dark eyes were wide and surprised. He covered it by leaning back on his palms and trying to play it cool, but his gaze never left my face as he searched for how I was reacting.

That was my first real kiss. And it was with the best junior tennis player in Australia. I felt myself blush.

“Gabriel!” someone said. “Your turn!”

The boy next to Tristan leaned forward to take the bottle, but I was still staring back at my kiss-mate from across the circle. He wore that disarming goofy grin that he always did, but there was a curiosity in his eyes, now. Like he was really seeing me for the first time, and wondering why it had taken him this long.

Stop it, I told myself.You’re imagining things.

“Miranda!” Hailey blurted.

I gave a start. “Huh?”

She pointed at the bottle in the circle. It was facing me again, but at a slightly different angle than before. The boy who had spun it had an angular face and curly brown hair. He was smaller than the guys on either side of him—in fact, he almost looked too small to be at the Academy at all.

“What’s the rule about repeats?” someone asked.

“It’s up to her.”

“Well? Miranda? You can kiss Gabriel, or make him spin again.”

I blinked. “I…”

The boy who had spun the bottle—Gabriel—winced at me. “You do not have to,” he said in a thick French accent, “if you do not wish it.”

“No!” I found myself saying. I didn’t want him to think I was reluctant to kiss him. “I’ll go again, if you want to.”

“Yes, of course,” he replied. That accent made me tingle inside.

The group around me cheered as I crawled forward, just like I had done seconds before. This time it felt natural; a repetition of muscle memory. The alcohol in my veins dispelled any embarrassment I had about the situation. This was as natural as doing a split-step before receiving someone’s serve. It was the norm.

This time, I leaned in to initiate the kiss with Gabriel. His lips were cool and wet. I moved against him, and he kissed me back, but there wasn’t the same spark that I had felt with Tristan just moments ago. The students around us chanted the count-down: “Love! Fifteen! Thirty!”

And then Gabriel’s tongue slid into my mouth. I was shocked for a brief instant, but then it woke something inside of me. My body came alive and I pushed my tongue up against his, letting the two dance together wetly. What was this feeling? Why did everything suddenly feel so warm?

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