Page 4 of Ace My Heart

“You’re staying at Savoy Tower, aren’t you?” Pete asked quietly. I nodded mutely. If I opened my mouth I was worried I would screech out,“Take me now, you big handsome beast!”

Pete exhaled a deep breath. It tickled at the nape of my neck. I shivered involuntarily.

“Well, maybe you might like to pay me a visit tomorrow night, after my quarter? I’m in room 1537,” he suggested breathily.

Saliva flooded my mouth, but before I could compose myself to respond, Pete’s hands were off me and he was gone, leaving me gasping and aching in very naughty ways.

I’d lost my appetite, but I forced myself to finish the bowl of pasta. It sounded like I was going to be burning extra calories a bitearlier than my semi-final. At least, I hoped so, with every single fibre of my being.

I couldn’t have been more grateful that Ididn’toffer to swear off sex in my little promise to God before the match. I’d just have to figure out how to sneak out past Steve; he wouldn’t approve of this late-night rendezvous.

Was it wrong of me to even be considering sneaking out to meet up with Pete Levine? I mean, I had to play the most important game of my career in two days. But … I needed this. Besides, relieving that particular form of tension would probably help my game. That was my line, and I was sticking to it.

Pete was rumoured to be a bit of a Playboy, but I didn’t buy into labels like that. What two consenting adults did together in private was their own business and no one else’s. It wasn’t up to anyone but God to judge them. I didn’t think God would judge me too harshly for this. After all, he made me, and he’d given me a very active libido. One that, self-care notwithstanding, hadn’t had a proper workout in quite some time.

I wondered how the infamous Pete Levine would stack up compared to my one and only sexual partner.

Grant Johnson and I had had a long, sordid relationship. We’d popped each other’s cherries at fifteen, he asked me to move in with him at eighteen (thank God I said no to that one), and last year he met me at the airport when I arrived home from a tournament, with a blonde ditz by the name of Susie Keens hanging smugly off his arm.

“Sorry Mel, it’s been over for ages. I just couldn’t find the right way to tell you.”

What a nice way he found of doing it, arsehole!

Since Grant, I’d promised myself I would stay celibate, and throw myself into my career. Which was why I was now ranked twenty-third in the world and hoping to climb a few rungs.

Grant had left me a year ago. And a year without sex for someone who spent the previous six years having alotof sex had been torture.

I was so ready for a hook-up. Pete was gorgeous and I’d heardsome wildly hot rumours about the size of his dick. I wouldn’t get emotionally attached. He got my motor running and he apparently felt the same way about me. All in all, it seemed pretty perfect.

By the time I had decided one hundred percent to knock on Pete Levine’s door the following night, I was in the elevator on my way up to the seventeenth floor of Savoy Tower, where Steve and I had rented a three-bedroom apartment for the duration of the Open.

The third bedroom had been reserved for my mother, but Steve had banned Mum because of the whole curse thing. I’d assumed that by then it was too late to re-book a smaller apartment.

You know what they say about assume: Ass. You. Me.

I unlocked the door, hearing the TV blaring inside. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.

“Hey Stinky, you broke the dreaded curse!” a deep male voice dripping with ego greeted me. I couldn’t see him because he was lying down on the lounge, but I knew who it was, and I groaned.

“It’s not Stinky, it’s Smellie, and I only let myfriendscall me that.” I retorted. Steve’s son Joel just brought out the worst in me.

“Whatever, Stink.” He unfolded his six-foot-four frame off the lounge and slouched into the kitchen, pullingmyorganic kombucha out of the fridge and sculling it straight from the bottle.

I clenched my fists. “Well, now I know why your dad kept the three bedrooms, don’t I? Why are you down here anyway? Oh wait, let me guess, you quitanotherjob, right?” I used my most cutting tone. Joel grinned at me, totally unfazed.

“Actually, Stink, I’m taking a little holiday before I start seeing clients next week.” He took another massive gulp of the kombucha before pulling a glass out of the cupboard.

“You want some?” he asked, tilting the bottle towards the glass. I shuddered.

“Uh, no thanks,” I muttered crossly, thinking about all the backwash that had just gone into the bottle. Joel shrugged, took another slug and put it away, launching himself back onto the lounge. I growled at his retreating back and rummaged through the stocked pantry before emerging with my favourite post-game treat: a humble Caramello Koala.

I followed Joel back towards the lounge and sat down on the floor, reaching out to stretch my hamstrings and focused my gaze on the TV. A dreadful sitcom was on.

“What clients? Wait, let me guess, you’ve got a job as a male escort?” I asked as I peeled the wrapper from the object of my chocolatey desire.

“Yes, well I absolutely missed my calling there,” he replied with a wink and a leer that made me cringe. “I’m starting my own personal training business, didn’t Dad tell you? I figured he would’ve mentioned it, since he wants you to train with me a couple of times a week.”

I bit into the feet of the koala as I turned and watched him, eyes narrowed. Joel had been a personal trainer for a while now, but he’d had a string of jobs with gyms all around Sydney, which he never seemed to want to hold onto. He had a problem with authority. I had a private theory that it was because he hated being told he wasn’t allowed to do things like wink at female patrons or challenge other guys to wrestling bouts. He said that people just didn’t get his sense of humour. I was one of them.

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