Page 47 of Match Point

From: Your cocky, arrogant, asshole French admirer

“That’s Gabriel, right?” the techie asked.

“Maybe,” I replied, though there wasn’t any doubt in my mind. “Help me move these so I can sit down?”

As Gabriel took the court to a bombardment of cheers, I thought about the flowers. A man like him couldn’t act the way he did and then make it all better with a small gift. This was a broadcast booth, not a confessional, and he couldn’t wipe away his sins with a cheeky confession.

Yet despite that, I felt drawn to the man down on the court. He scrambled back and forth, racket flashing with powerful speed, guiding his shots like a surgeon wielding a scalpel. There was something incredibly attractive about a man who knew what he wanted—whether that was on a tennis court, or in life in general.

I have enough complexities in my life, I reminded myself while adjusting my headset.I’m already juggling Dominic and Tristan.

While calling Gabriel’s game, I kept an eye on the other scores. Dominic won his first round match in straight sets, which was a relief—even though it wasn’t a surprise. Tristan struggled out of the gate against his unranked opponent, but then turned it around and won the match handily.

After working the broadcast booth for Gabriel’s game, I had a meeting with the NBC production team. Then I went back to my hotel to decide what to do for dinner.

Tristan was waiting outside my hotel room.

“What’s all this?” I asked, gesturing at him. “You’re wearing a sweatshirt with the hood up. Trying to be stealthy?”

“Wouldn’t want anyone catching us together,” he replied, lowering the hood to reveal his grinning face. “I already hate talking to the media. I’ll hate it even more if I have to talk about my love life.”

“Should you even have a love life right now?” I asked while unlocking my room. “You played a match what, two hours ago? And you have another in two days?”

“I don’t see the problem here.”

“I don’t want to be a distraction for you,” I explained.

“You’re awelcomedistraction,” he replied, following me inside. “It’s keeping my mind off all the stresses in my life.”

“As long as I’m nottoomuch of a distraction,” I said.

“I’ll worry about that if it happens.” He took me into his arms. “Besides, I want your help with my two-handed backhand.”

I blinked. “Really?”

He slid both hands down to squeeze my ass cheeks. “Yep. I definitely think two hands is better for me.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was laughing, too. “You’re cheesy.”

Tristan kissed me softly on the neck. “You’re laughing.”

“Because of howbadthat joke was.”

“You aren’t busy tonight, right?” he asked while kissing lower on my neck. “No plans with that other guy, what’s-his-face?”

“I’m not seeing Dominic all week,” I said. “Becausehewants to focus on the tournament, which is a very good decision.”

“Good for me. It means I get you all to myself.”

As he continued kissing me, I stopped caring how this would affect Tristan’s game.

*

The French Open was a flurry of excitement. Broadcasting multiple games per day took up a lot more time than I expected—an hour preparing before each match, several hours of broadcasting the game itself, and then a production meeting immediately after. And that was just for the morning match; I had to turn around and do it again in the afternoon.

Tristan and I continued hooking up after each of his matches. He called me his good luck charm, and insisted he didn’t want to jinx things by breaking the tradition he had started after his first match. And, to his credit, it seemed to be working; he was dominant on the court, scrambling for every point, and overpowering opponents with his massive serve.

But he wasn’t the only one. Gabriel looked even stronger, cruising to easy victories in the early rounds without losing a single set. He kept sending me bouquets of flowers, each more elaborate and expensive than the last. Dominic struggled against his opponent in the fourth round, but otherwise looked like he deserved to hold the #1 rank in the world.

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