Page 12 of Match Point

Crap. She probably thinks I’m a stalker.

“Here and there. Whenever I get a chance to watch tennis for fun. Which, if I’m being honest, isn’t too often.”

“I was only talking about your fitness,” she said with a half-smile. “But you think I’m beautiful?”

I winced internally. “Well, I mean…”

“I think you look handsome yourself,” she said before I could answer. “That attractive boy from the Academy has grown into an incredibly sexy man.”

I raised my glass, and she clinked hers to mine in a silent toast of appreciation.

“Okay,” I said to change the subject. “I know you’ve only been retired a short while, but what do you miss about it?”

“I miss having something to wake up for,” she immediately said. “When I was playing, every morning I had a singular focus in my life. To continue winning tennis championships. Every meal I ate, every mile I ran, every footwork drill I completed, was toward that goal. I enjoy sleeping in now, but I do miss that drive. My days feel a little… aimless.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Whatdon’tyou miss?”

She smiled. “Probably all the same things you hate about the sport right now.”

“Interviews!” I said, and she emphatically nodded in agreement. “Answering the same asinine questions at every press conference.”

“How do you feel about tomorrow’s match?” Miranda said, mimicking the tone of a reporter. “Are you afraid of so-and-so’s powerful serve? Is your head stuck up your ass?”

I laughed at that. “Getting bombarded by fans everywhere I go. Ilikethe fans, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I just want to walk to dinner in peace.”

“I don’t miss the strict diet, either,” Miranda said. “If I never have to hear a nutritionist tell me how I need twenty grams of protein to hit my macros for the day, I will die happy.”

“I actually like my nutritionist,” I mused. “She’s good at finding ways to keep my diet varied, so I don’t get bored.”

“Does she let you eat cake?” Miranda asked.

“She hasn’t uttered those words like Marie Antoinette, but yeah, I eat my fair share of dessert. I burn close to four thousand calories a day. A few hundred calories from sugar doesn’t affect me. And if that makes me a tenth of a percent worse at tennis, then that’s worth it to me.”

“Lucky,” she muttered.

“You know, you had complete control over your career,” I pointed out. “You could have asked your nutritionist for a cheat day once a week.”

“Yeah…” She pursed her lips. “But I wanted to be the best. I wanted to grab every advantage I could, even if it meant making small sacrifices.”

“The results speak for themselves,” I agreed. “Six major championships is an impressive career. You should be proud.”

“I am,” she said wistfully. “I really am.”

“But now that it’s over, what are you looking forward to the most?” I asked. “Aside from eating cake whenever you want.”

“It’s really just the cake thing,” she replied. I grinned widely, and she smiled right back at me before continuing. “No, but seriously. Playing tennis for fun. I’m looking forward to that. And watching the sport without feeling like I’m doing homework on potential competitors. I can’t remember the last time I trulyenjoyedwatching the game.”

“It’s been a while since I played for fun,” I agreed. “Sometimes, I’ll pass a public court and see regular people playing. They look so…”

“Happy?” she finished for me.

“Yeah. Happy. They’rechoosingto play as a hobby, not as a career. It’s their leisure. When I have free time, tennis is the last thing I want to do.”

“Maybe when you retire, you’ll get to enjoy it again,” she said. “Speaking of that, how long of a career do you want to have?”

“Well, athletes are playing later and later into their life these days. Serena retired at forty. Federer was forty-one. I could, potentially, have another decade of tennis in me.”

“I didn’t ask what youcoulddo,” she clarified. “I asked what youwantedto do. Can you really see yourself doing this ten years from now?”

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