Page 35 of Match Point

Gabriel looked down at his wine. “How could I forget?” he said softly.

“That was the first time I had ever kissed a boy,” I revealed. “The firstrealkiss, I mean. More than just a quick peck.”

Gabriel smiled broadly, then flinched. He gulped down his wine and began refilling his glass. “Your first real kiss was with Tristan Carfrae. I was second.”

I held out my cup so he could refill it. “You kissed me with tongue. A real French kiss. Tristan didn’t do that.”

Spots of red appeared on Gabriel’s cheeks. He tried covering it by sipping his wine, then said, “Was it a good kiss?”

Before I could answer him, the door down the hall burst open and someone came running. It was the same night guard who had let us into the museum. He barked something in French to Gabriel; I recognizedpartir, the French word meaningto leave.

“We have to go,” Gabriel said, hastily throwing the food back into the bag. “Someone is coming.”

“I thought you said you knew a guy!”

“I knowaguy. I do not knowallof the guys.” Gabriel grabbed my wrist and led me away at a jog. Shouts sounded in the distance behind us, echoing strangely off the walls, but I didn’t dare look back. It was all I could do to keep up with Gabriel’s pace while wearing two inch heels.

The hallways twisted and turned through the museum. Once again, Gabriel seemed to know the way, though I was hopelessly lost. Eventually we came to a restricted door, which Gabriel flung open. We were in a back hallway again, with crates of unused paintings littered everywhere. The shouts were getting closer, but then we rounded another corner and Gabriel threw open a door. Suddenly, we were out in the open air of an alleyway. He continued leading me onward, never slowing. We reached an intersection with another alley, and he yanked me to the left, hidden around the edge of a wall.

“Shh,” he said, finger held to his lips. I held my breath, straining to listen into the night. A door banged open, and we heard insistent whispers. I was terrified that they would come this way and discover us, but then the door banged shut again. Only silence remained.

I twisted toward Gabriel, who was standing very close to me. His eyes were dark pools in the night, drinking in the light as he stared at me. I put my palm against his chest, feeling him rather than pushing him away. He cupped my cheek, his thumb rough from the callous that came from years holding a tennis racket, and then he kissed me.

I closed my eyes and surrendered to how amazing his lips felt, especially as his body pushed me up against the alley wall. The scooter ride, the Louvre picnic, and even the getaway had endeared me to Gabriel in a way I hadn’t expected; the kiss felt like the inevitable conclusion to the evening, rather than an unexpected surprise. He grabbed a handful of my hair, holding my head against his as I slid my tongue into his mouth. Gabriel moaned and accepted it eagerly, sliding his tongue against mine just like that night long ago.

“The kiss,” I said breathlessly when he pulled away, “was very good.”

“This one?” he whispered. “Or the kiss at the party?”

“Both.”

He chuckled softly, caressing my cheek with his thumb. “I would very much like to continue kissing you, but we should be away from here.”

“What about the scooter?” I asked as we emerged out onto a main road.

“It belongs to my friend,” he replied. “I will buy him a new one!”

I laughed and smiled at the Frenchman. I wanted to go back to his place. I wanted to see where Gabriel Moreau lived, and to explore wherethiswould go. I was a retired woman, which meant being free to do what I wanted. I didn’t know what that really meant until this very moment.

But then he asked, “Do you like to dance?”

The change of subject caught me by surprise. “Iloveto dance.”

“Come, then. The club where I was going with my friends is only a kilometer away. As long as you do not mind walking. I know you Americans drive everywhere…”

I gave him a playful shove. “Some Americans. But not me. I could use the exercise—even in heels.”

We walked arm-in-arm down the streets of Paris, enjoying the night air. I felt vaguely guilty for snuggling up to Gabriel, especially considering the evening was originally supposed to end with me and adifferenttennis player. But Dominic and I weren’t really together, and based on the text messages we had shared over the past few months, we were both on the same page in that regard. Maybe it would turn into something more serious, but that time wasn’t now.

“Do you usually stay up this late before a tournament?” I asked.

Gabriel waved a hand. “My first match is in five days. This is the last night I will go out, and then I will be a good boy until the tournament.” He glanced over at me. “Sometimes I consider training more strictly, as you so famously did. No alcohol, no sugar. In bed before the sun goes down, even when there is no tournament in sight.”

“Your way is more fun,” I said.

“More fun, yes. But more successful? I am not so sure. If I win Roland Garros and become the number one ranked player in the world… perhaps I will need to make a change in order to maintain my spot.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “I think you have a good chance of winning the French Open this year. You’re the favorite.”

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