Page 3 of Match Point

“Forty! Game point!” they finished loudly, but I didn’t stop kissing Gabriel. And he made no move to pull back, either. His tongue felt so good against mine that I didn’t want it to stop—

“Okay,” one of the other guys said, pulling Gabriel away. “Leave some for the rest of us, Napoleon.”

Gabriel’s fair skin turned three different shades of red, each darker than the last. He glanced up at me, then immediately returned his gaze to the floor, embarrassed.

He’s cute, I thought, seeing him in a new light. He had been overshadowed by Tristan on his left and Dominic on his right, but now I saw him for the beautiful boy he was. I could still feel his tongue inside my mouth. I wanted to keep going. New thoughts sprang into my mind, fueled by the alcohol. Could we leave the game and go off alone together? How would I even ask that in front of everyone? Justthinkingabout that sent a chill of indecision through my body.

“My turn,” Dominic deGrom said, reaching forward to grab the bottle with a wide hand. He grinned up at me. “Maybe someoneotherthan Miranda Jacobs will get to play.”

A nervous flutter ran through my chest. Dominic was the most popular guy at the Academy. He was #1 in the World Tennis Junior Rankings. He was confident, not cocky, which was rare for someone as talented as him. Rumors said he was the next big Andy Roddick, onlybetter,if that was possible.

But for now, all I saw was a sexy guy who somehow knew me by name.

He spun the bottle. It only made two or three rotations before coming to a stop. I don’t know how I knew that it landed on me, because I was still staring across the circle at the dark-haired, brown-eyed dreamboat. I couldn’t look away from him.

A girl to my left groaned. “Seriously? It must be broken.” She shot me an annoyed look like it was somehowmyfault.

“How can a bottle be broken?”

“Spin it again. Harder this time.”

Dominic shrugged, then gave the bottle a proper twirl. He did it so hard that the bottle slid over to the edge of the circle, spinning wildly. And when it finally came to a stop, it was still facing me.”

“Must be fate,” Dominic said, leaning into the circle.

Numb to the fact that I was about to kiss athirdguy in a row, I crawled forward until I was face to face with Dominic. As he put his hand on the back of my head and pulled me in, every nerve ending in my body came alive with excitement. Everything around us faded away; I couldn’t hear the others chanting the countdown. All that existed was the intimate connection of our lips grinding together.

Remembering the way Gabriel had kissed me, I shoved my tongue into Dominic’s mouth. He was surprised, but then accepted it eagerly. His own tongue undulated against mine, and he made a soft sound deep within his throat.

It lasted five seconds, or five hours. It was tough to tell.

People were laughing and cheering as we finally pulled apart, but I barely registered it. Everything seemed silent beyond the gaze Dominic and I shared, held together like magnets, unbreakable by any force.

He smiled, and my heart melted.

When I finally looked away, I realized the other girls around the circle were sneering at me. Were those stares judgmental? I wasn’t the one who had chosen to be kissed three times in a row, yet their eyes placed the blame squarely on me.

“I’m going to get a drink,” I said, jumping to my feet and retreating to the kitchen.

“Good,” someone behind me said. “Maybe one ofuswill get a chance to play.”

All the elation I had felt from kissing Dominic faded. The room was suddenly very warm. I opened the fridge and stood in the doorway, letting the cool air wash over me.

I was aware of someone nearby. I turned and saw Gabriel standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking awkward. He was shorter than I expected; at least a few inches below my height of six feet.

“Sorry,” he said in that French accent. “I will wait until you are done.”

“It’s a kitchen, not a bathroom,” I replied. “Get what you want.”

He hesitated, then went to the pantry to get a bag of tortilla chips. He lingered there with the bag in his hands.

“I have seen you play,” he said suddenly. “Your one backhand. It is very smooth.”

I chuckled. “It took me over a year to switch from a two-handed backhand, but I wanted to play like Federer.”

“Don’t we all?” Gabriel replied with a small smile.

Tristan strode into the kitchen like he owned the place. Which might have been true; I wasn’t sure which boys lived here. Without even glancing at Gabriel, he handed me a note and said, “That’s my number, if you ever want to practice.”

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