Page 13 of Match Point

“No,” I answered immediately. I was surprised by my own response. It was emphatic, and came from deep within myself. Yet once I had said it, I knew it to be the truth.

“I don’t want to play for another ten years,” I explained, both to myself as much to Miranda. “Five years,maybe. But even that is a stretch. I don’t know. I would like to win a career grand slam, but the men’s ladder is awfully competitive.”

“What are you missing? Roland Garros?”

I nodded. “Clay was my best surface. When I was younger, I thought I would easily win in Paris. But the competition…”

“Gabriel Moreau is a big roadblock at the French Open,” she agreed. “He’s like the reincarnation of Nadal. It’s crazy to think that’s the same kid who went to the Academy with us.”

I gave a start. “Moreau was at the Academy with us?”

“Are you joking right now?” She blinked at me. “You’re serious? You don’t remember him?”

“There were two dozen other boys my age at the Academy. I spent most of my time focusing on myself. Although I’m surprised I didn’t remember that cocky bastard.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” she said. “He wasn’t cocky back then. He was downrightquiet.”

“I can’t imagine that at all.”

“He was actually one of the guys who played spin the bottle with us at the party that night,” she explained. “He kissed me right before you did.”

I thought back to that night in the boy’s dorm. The Foo Fighters were playing on the stereo, and we were drinking whatever alcohol we could manage to find at the time. I could see Miranda across the circle from me, two spots of red on her cheeks as she leaned in to kiss me. And I distinctly remembered the smile she gave me after. But the rest of the night was a blur. I certainly didn’t remember Gabriel Moreau kissing her first.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember kissing me during spin the bottle,” Miranda warned.

I furrowed my brow. “You’ll have to be more specific. I kissed alotof girls back then. You can’t expect me to remember every single one.”

Her eyes widened and she downed the rest of her drink. “If I hurl this glass at the number one ranked player in the world, do you think they’d kick me out?”

“If they did kick you out, I’d go with you,” I immediately said. “You’re more fun than this place, anyway. Of course I remember that night, Miranda. How could I not?”

“You were so popular at the Academy,” she said. Two spots of red touched her cheeks now, and I had an intense sense of deja-vu. “I was just a girl you kissed during a stupid game.”

You’re not just some girl I kissed. You’re so much more than that.The words were right there, on the edge of my tongue. I wanted to send them out into the air. I wanted her to know.

Instead, I said, “So, have you kissed a lot of boys since then?”

She snorted. “Not many, no. Not manymen, either.”

“Really? I would think being the top female tennis player in the world would make you quite attractive to the fellas. In addition to your natural attractiveness, of course.”

“I never had much time,” she replied with a rueful smile. “And I was afraid people werejustattracted to me because of my status. It’s tough to trust someone in that environment. What about you?”

“No,” I said without skipping a beat, “I haven’t kissed many boys since the Academy.”

She gave me a playful glare.

“I’ve dated here and there,” I admitted. “Nothing has stuck.”

“Huh. That surprises me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I always figured someone would scoop you up and never let go,” she replied.

Funny,I thought.I always assumed the same would happen to you.

“It has felt like everyone I’ve ever dated has just been interested in me as a status symbol,” I explained. “An accessory for their Instagram story or TikTok reel. I’ve gotten good at spotting that ahead of time, and I avoid those kinds of people. Unfortunately, that’s pretty much the only kind of person who asks me out.”

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