Page 55 of Best Year Ever
And the fact that I know that about her is telling—reinforcing that this situation is like nothing I have experienced before. Rori’s definitely a true friend now.
That must be why the sex is off the charts, I tell myself onthe drive here. We actually care about each other, so that intensifies things.
Our routine is coming to an end though, because tomorrow Rori leaves for the UK. She has a week of training there, followed by one warm-up tournament and then the big one in London. She’ll spend an entire month away. When she comes back, I’ll need to stick to Orlando most of the time as my football responsibilities ramp up.
I look up at her as she dances around the kitchen, heating up a pre-made meal. I’ll miss her, but I’m also excited for her. She’s officially now #8 in the world, and with a boat load of points in the next few tournaments, could take a step up again. She told me one night last week that her goal was to be top 5 for the year.
“Julie and I had originally set top 10 as this year’s target, but I already reached that,” she whispered with a look of disbelief. “So we set a new goal.”
I also had a surprise to reveal tonight that might help offset the abrupt change of not being able to see each other for weeks.
“Food is ready, superstar,” Rori says from the kitchen. We sit down at the table as she pushes my plate of chicken parm in front of me.
“This is what I’m talking about,” I say, starving after seven hours of workouts today.
As we eat, she shares about an interview she had with one of the big sports channels earlier.
“The reporter, Carolyn—she was so complimentary, and the actual interview went fine. But she also kept trying to pry into my personal life when we were off camera. Maybe she wanted a scoop about my dating life? It was so obnoxious,” Rori says with a snort.
“Huh, I can honestly say I’ve never had a reporter ask me who I’m dating,” I respond after thinking about it for a minute. “Just pictures in the tabloids.”
“Welcome to being a female athlete,” Rori says as she rolls her eyes.
“So what did you say?” I ask, curious.
“I told her, ‘that’s for me to know and you never to find out,’” Rori says with a huge grin.
I burst out laughing. “You did not say that.”
“I did, I did. But I laughed, and she laughed. I don’t think she was offended.”
“Okay good,” I say, still smiling as I stick my fork into another bite.
A minute goes by as we finish our meals, and Rori sets her fork down. She reaches across the table and gently rests her hand on mine.
“Landon, I’ve had the best time the last two weeks. I just want to say that.”
“Me too, beautiful,” I respond as I flip my hand over and gently hold hers.
“Is it going to be weird not to see each other, you think?” Rori asks with a slightly anxious tone.
“Yes, it might be, but as long as we keep talking and texting, we are going to be good. Exclusive ‘no label’ status intact,” I tease to defuse some of her stress, and she giggles.
“Maybe we should FaceTime sometimes,” Rori suggests. “It’ll basically be like chatting over our dinners here.”
“I’d like that,” I agree, squeezing her hand. “Also, there’s one more thing.”
“What?” she asks.
I hesitate, not certain how she’s going to react. I hope this doesn’t seem presumptuous of me.
“I do have a break from some of the mandatory activities right when you’re going to be in the thick of Wimbledon. If it’s alright, I’d like to come to London and watch a round or two during the last week of the tournament.”
She starts to answer, but I keep going. “You won’t need to host me or anything. I would get a hotel room and my own tickets. I just didn’t want to show up without asking if that would be okay.”
“Okay,” Rori says as she processes. “Yeah, I think that wouldbe okay. I don’t know when I could see you exactly, but having you there would be really nice.”
“Just nice?” I question with a grin.
