Page 17 of Match Point

“I don’t have to tell you,” he said.

“What! That’s no fun!”

He sat back down before I could ogle him too much. “My next guess. Your match against Sharapova at Wimbledon, back when you were just getting started. You dropped out in the second set with a mysterious injury. I think you made that up.”

I winced. “I was outmatched, and she was crushing me in the second set. I was only a teenager, and the pressure got to me. So I pretended like my elbow was injured, and I went back into the locker room and cried.”

He put a comforting hand on my knee. “Oh, Miranda. I didn’t mean to bring it up…”

“Don’t apologize! That happened over a decade ago. It doesn’t sting anymore.” I aimed a warning finger at him. “But if you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

Dominic held up his palms. “I can keep a secret.”

I stood, unzipped my dress, and shimmied out of it. I was glad to be wearing one of my sexy bras underneath. The pink fabric and white lace held my full breasts nicely. Dominic allowed himself a generous stare, and made a deep sound in his throat.

“Take a picture—it’ll last longer,” I teased.

He immediately reached for his phone from his jeans on the floor and held it out to take a photo. I laughed and slapped it out of his hand. “I was joking!”

“That one Iwouldhave posted to Instagram,” he said with a huge grin. “You didn’t have to go straight to your dress, you know. You still had a shoe you could have taken off.”

“I’m happy with my choice,” I said, enjoying the hungry look in his eyes now. “Let’s see. Publicly, you’ve had… what, two girlfriends?”

“Two since I’ve gone pro,” he replied. “Eloise, the model from New York, and Tatiana, the Ukrainian tennis player.”

“Two public girlfriends,” I mused. “I think you’ve dated a lot more than that, but are very good at keeping it a secret. I think you’ve hooked up with alotof women.”

Dominic smiled. It was a smile of embarrassment, and for a moment I regretted asking him. It shattered the illusion that there was something special about what we were doing tonight.

But he surprised me by saying, “Nope. Those two girlfriends are basically the only relationships I’ve had.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yep.”

“Someone like you has only dated two women in a decade?”

He frowned. “What do you mean, someone like me?”

I waved at his body. “Uh, hello? Do you not know what you look like? Famousandsexy as hell?”

“I could say the same thing to you.”

“Don’t change the subject. Two girlfriends? You’ve never had a random hookup or one-night stand?Never?”

“Never,” he repeated, a serious look falling across his face. “I really don’t like hooking up with random girls. Especially not the girls that typically try to attach themselves to professional athletes. I’m just…” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

I realized I was holding my breath. I let it out slowly and asked in a quiet voice, “If you don’t like hooking up with random girls, then why invite me up to your hotel room?”

He took my hand in his, and all the while his gaze remained focused on me. There was a deepness in his stare, a universe of knowledge and thought.This is something he’s thought about, I realized.

“You’re not just some random girl, Miranda.” He shook his head. “I know we haven’t spoken in over a decade. And I know we barely knew each other at the Academy. But that night at the party, the night we kissed…”

I was kissing him again before I knew what was happening, fingers unbuttoning his dress shirt and practically tearing it away from him.

“Woah, you didn’t make another guess,” he said when I paused to pull the shirt off. “What about our game?”

“Games are dumb,” I said. “Kiss me.”

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