Page 10 of Match Point

“True words. Who said that?”

“Dominic deGrom,” he replied. “Right here. Just now. You heard it in person.”

“Lucky me. I didn’t know you were so philosophical.”

“I don’t think you know a great deal about me.”

“Never had much of a chance,” I said. “The only time we ever talked at the Academy was at that silly party, and then…”

“Then you got sent to play in the Abu Dhabi tournament, which won you a slot at Roland Garros, where you made it to the semifinals as a sixteen year old,” he finished for me. “Launching your tennis career and leaving the rest of us behind.”

“It’s strange,” I said, sipping my drink. “Sometimes it feels like that was a lifetime ago. But sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday.”

“I know what you mean. Time is a strange thing.” He leaned in closer. “I hope this isn’t a douchebag thing to say, but…”

“But you’re going to say it anyway?” I teased.

“I just wanted to say that you lookamazingin that dress,” he whispered. “You were beautiful back at the Academy, but you’ve grown into such an incredible woman. I wish I had asked you out long before that party.”

That couldn’t have been true. Dominic was flattering me. He was a dreamboat back then—and still was—but I was an awkward teenager back at the Academy, tall and gangly after a growth spurt.

“You clean up nicely in a suit, too,” I said, allowing myself to admire him up and down. God, he looked good. And for once, I didn’t have an upcoming match.

But he did.

“I know you probably have an early bedtime, so I’ll stop talking your ear off,” I said. “It was great catching up with you—”

“Then let’s keep catching up,” he interrupted. “Stick around a little longer. At least until I finish my wanna-be Mike’s Hard Lemonade. My first-round match isn’t until the afternoon tomorrow, and I’d rather hang out with you than talk to all these other players who are laser-focused on winning this week.”

Dominic had a charisma about him when we first met at the party, and he still had it today. I wanted to say yes to him. I wanted him to give me his full, undivided attention. Now that tennis was no longer the focal point of my life, I wanted so many things.

“Sure,” I said. “For once, I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

6

Dominic

Fourteen years.

Fourteenlongyears.

In tennis, it was common for women to go pro before they were eighteen. Men took longer to mature. I didn’t play in my first tournament as a professional until I was nineteen. It took another five years to win my first major, at the US Open. By that time, Miranda was an established champion, ranked #1 in the world.

She was out of reach. Out of my league.

I had tried to find excuses to run into her over the years. You might think it would be easy since we were playing in many of the same tournaments, but you would be wrong. Schedules were stringently controlled, down to the minute. The four hours before a match were spent fueling and preparing, and the four hours after were spent recovering with a gauntlet of stretches, massages, ice baths, and nutrition.

And the few times when our pathsdidbriefly cross, I had no idea what I was going to say to her. How could I possibly ask her out? I couldn’t buy her a drink because she didn’t have alcohol ten months out of the year. I couldn’t take her to dinner because she only ate meals cooked by her nutritionist at home. I couldn’t even ask her out to coffee because she didn’t consume caffeine. This was further complicated by the fact that she still lived in New Jersey, and my home was in Queens.

On top of all of that, Miranda made no effort to try to run into me. Why would she? By the time I was finally making a name for myself, she was already on top of the world.

It’s not meant to be, I told myself.I should move on.

And that was true… until the interview I saw earlier that day.

I was in my hotel room, getting a sports massage after a tune-up session with my coach. I had the TV on for background noise, and they were showing coverage of the Australian Open. I was only half listening until I heard the name Miranda Jacobs.

I opened my eyes and stared at the TV. I hadn’t realized Miranda was in Melbourne; now that she was retired, I expected her to stay away from the big events. But I guess she had to make an appearance as the reigning women’s champion.

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