Page 123 of Ace My Heart

And I have a lot of issues to sort through, I added silently.

Joel switched the water off without a word and stepped out of the shower. He dripped his way over to the shelves where I kept my towels and pulled one out, drying himself matter of factly. I tentatively followed, pulling the towel that I was sure I hadn’t folded like that from the rack.

Joel walked naked out to his suitcase by the front door and unzipped it. I followed him, my towel wrapped around me. I could definitely get used to him walking around my apartment naked.

Uh, what’s gotten into you, Melanie Black??? What are you thinking? You can’t have him. You don’t want him, not in that way at least. Do you?

I wasn’t sure about anything anymore. Which was why I was sending him on his way. The longer we spent in this weird little situation, the more likely it was that I would convince myself that this was real, that this was something more than sex. That I wanted something more with Joel Herbert.

Joel didn’t seem to mind me standing watching him as he got dressed. In fact, he grinned at me as he dragged his underwear on. I tried not to be affected by the way his muscles moved under his skin. I failed.

When he was fully clothed and his suitcase was all zipped up, he opened the front door and winked at me.

“Thanks for a great time, Stink,” he said with feeling as he dragged his suitcase out the door.

It felt like such an inadequate goodbye, but what had I really been expecting after all? “Mel, I can’t live without you”? No. Or … maybe? No, definitely not.

I stood frozen in the doorway. I wondered whether he would kiss me goodbye, and then I decided that him kissing me would be a bad thing. It wouldn’t be at all helpful when I was trying to sort out how I felt about this whole situation.

He stopped at the top of the stairs and half turned back to me, a look of indecision on his face. I held my breath.

“Hey, Stink, you can have a few days off if you want – you’ve earned it. Come round on Saturday and we’ll start talking about America then.”

With that he turned and walked down the stairs without another word, leaving me standing in my doorway wearing nothing but a towel and fighting off wave after wave of misery.

Stupid, stupid girl!I admonished myself.You knew when you were getting into this that it was just a physical thing. Why are you suddenly upset that it’s nothing more than that?

I trudged back inside, ignored my full suitcase near the door and went straight into my room. Connor had emerged from under the bed and was glaring disgustedly at me from my pillow. I dropped mytowel in the doorway and moved over to the bed, dragging the covers back and huddling down under them, lifting Connor under with me.

“I know, mate. Mummy’s making some pretty dumb mistakes this year. I’m disgusted with me, too,” I whispered to him. He turned his lamp-like gaze towards me and started purring.

He was just about the only male in my life that I knew exactly where I stood with.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I Won’t Say It

The first four days after we arrived home were torture. Joel sent me one single text, with a date when he needed me back for training. And that was all I’d heard from him.

Every single moment of those four days had me on the verge of texting him, calling him, catching a fucking Uber and just showing up at his house. I tried to keep myself busy by going out every day, taking a run or a ride (in the opposite direction to Joel’s house), walking on Bondi Beach, hitting the shops – anything to stop me from acting on these urges.

I discovered one down side to being a Wimbledon champion: my face was suddenly recognisable to so many people. Every time I went out in public I couldn’t help but be aware of people whispering and pointing. I had to paste on a smile when people came up to me and wanted to chat, to congratulate me on my win, to ask for autographs and photos. I wanted to be able to enjoy it, but I was in a black mood.

Damn Joel Herbert! I should be on top of the world, but all I could think about was him.

Even once I was back at training, things were … different. I trained hard early in the mornings and sometimes of an evening as well. In the mornings I did drills and weights with Joel, but as soon as they were done, I escaped the awkwardness to do my own thing. Myown thing generally being moping around my house and annoying Connor who wasn’t used to me being up in his grill all the time.

It was over a fortnight before everything settled down even a little bit. I went through the motions of attending media events, interviewing for newspaper and magazine articles, signing a new sponsorship deal with Martel, and putting myself out there the way people expected me to. But none of it gave me any pleasure. Nothing made me feel anything. And it was all because of Damn Joel Herbert, or DJH as I had started calling him.

When I did have a tennis related commitment Joel took me, but we were very careful not to speak about anything unrelated to tennis, our upcoming America trip, sponsorships, my training regime or my diet. It was all strictly professional.

I felt like screaming.

Something had to give. I had to do something to stop myself feeling this way.

God, I pleaded as I lay awake in bed for the third night in a row,just let me get over this silly infatuation and get on with my life!

I wasn’t sure if he was listening to me anymore.

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