Page 67 of Match Point

He groaned and moved to the nearby chair. “This is an Airbnb, not a hotel! Some old British woman who survived the Blitz is going to drink tea while sitting on that couch.”

“Technically, we didn’t havesexright there,” I clarified.

Hammy waved a hand. “Don’t want to know, don’t need to know.”

“Are you mad at me?”

He gave a start. “What? Of course not. You’re an adult; you’re free to do whatever you want. And all the people judging you for it can go to hell.”

I felt myself relax. “Thanks, Hammy.”

“Having said that… the network has some requests. They want you to make a statement about the relationship.”

“A statement? Tell them no.”

Flashing a smile, he said, “I already told them no, because I knew that would be your answer.” The smile twisted into a grimace. “But they insisted. And they implied that your professional relationship with the network might be damaged if youdon’tmake a statement. You don’t have to decide right now. Think it over.”

I groaned. I didn’t want to talk about my personal life. I wanted to focus on tennis. I doubted they would be making such a big deal if this happened to amalecommentator.

“Although I’m not mad at you, I do need to remind you to give me as much information as possible in the future,” Hammy explained. “I’m not just your agent—I’m sort of your publicist, too. I could have prepared statements in case this information ever came out. Now we’re playing defense.”

“Okay,” I said. “I promise to tell you everything. Starting now. I’m also seeing Dominic deGrom.”

Hammy stared at me without blinking. “You’re doing what now?”

“I’ve been in a casual relationship with Dominic since the Australian Open,” I admitted. “Just like with Tristan, it’s not serious. We get together whenever our schedules line up, which is rare. Tristan knew about Dominic, but not the other way around. Although Dominicdidknow I was seeing other men.”

“And how long have you and Tristan been involved?”

“Since the French Open. Well, a littlebeforethe French Open. But it happened the first time in Paris.” I started to tell him that I had also gone on a date with Gabriel Moreau that night, but then held back. Nothing had happened, so it didn’t matter.

Hammy slowly raised a palm toward me as if to give me a high five.

“What’s that for?”

“I’m treating you like a man,” he explained. “Because if one of my male clients told me he was sleeping with two extremely attractive female tennis players, I would give him a high five.”

I laughed and slapped my palm against his. “It doesn’t feel like something I should brag about.”

“You’re seeing the number two and number seven ranked men in the world. Brag away.” He rose from the chair. “I’m going to work on a few options for us. Don’t post anything on social media. Let’s wait and test the waters before we make any moves. But I expect this to blow over. As far as tabloids go, it’s a juicy story, but you didn’t do anythingwrong. Especially if they only know about Tristan and not Dominic.”

“Thanks, Hammy. I’m glad you’re here to help me feel better about everything.”

He hugged me tight for a few seconds, which only reinforced how much I appreciated my agent. Then he gave me an awkward smile and went into his room, closing the door as he began another phone conversation.

I retired to my room and spent the afternoon watching more tennis on my phone. After the doubles final, coverage switched over to Gabriel Moreau’s semifinal match. He won the first two sets easily, and was up 4 - 3 in the third set when I heard a weird noise outside. I muted the TV and froze, listening. Yes, there was definitely a rustling sound right outside my window. I slid off the bed and tip-toed over there, pulling back the curtain.

If it’s some paparazzi trying to get photos of me…

I nearly jumped when a familiar face suddenly appeared on the other side of the glass. Tristan blinked in surprise when he saw me, then gave a pathetic little wave.

“What are you doing?!” I hissed after opening the window.

“Avoiding the reporters watching your front door like hawks,” he said while stepping through the window. “I parked a few blocks over and had to sneak through two backyards like Ferris Bueller.”

“You’ve seen Ferris Bueller, but not Rocky?” I laughed. “I’m surprised you can get around so easily with an oblique tear.”

“Not a full tear, according to the doctors,” he answered. “Just a sprain. And they’ve got me on the good pain meds right now. I feel like I could swim across the English Channel.”

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