Page 64 of Best Year Ever
“My beautiful girl,” he says as he looks at me. And then with alook of intent, he moves my panties to the side and begins to work magic with his fingers.
“So glad you liked my surprise,” I gasp out.
We don’t leave Landon’s bed for two hours, which fly by. After we sneak in two rounds with only a short break in between, I look over at the clock, which now says 20:45. I quickly translate that to 8:45 PM.
“Ugh, I hate this, but I have to go,” I say, rolling over to face him and putting my hand on his chest, rubbing it in small circles.
Landon smiles languidly, a layer of sweat still visible on his face from our activities. “I get it, I do.”
I’m totally jello right now and I still can’t motivate myself to move, so I double-check about the quarterfinals. “You have your tickets for the match?”
Landon nods. “Yes, instead of paying stupid scalper prices, I got them from a sponsor who’d purchased a box. I just need to shake some hands and take pictures when I get there. Well worth it to see you.”
“I’d help with tickets, but it would probably invite questions.” I cannot imagine the potential media craziness if Landon showed up in my player box.
“I know, babe. No biggie.” Landon kisses my nose.
Within a couple of minutes, we rally to keep me out of trouble with Julie. I finish getting dressed, and he does the same, so he can escort me back to my house.
Another quick kiss when we hit my backyard marks the last time we’ll see each other until after my match.
When I get inside, I take a shower, trying to hold onto the very satisfying blur of memories from the last two hours. It’s a healthy departure from just obsessing about the next match.
Only possible because of Landon.
What a blessing that he understands the stakes and demands of being in my position. Another man might have laid down a guilt trip about my schedule or felt slighted that I cannot give him more time.
The next thirty-six hours will be all about prepping my mind, body, and game to win the quarterfinals. Sneaking out tomorrow, the night before my match, is a non-starter.
Landon didn’t miss a beat in dealing with this dynamic. His parting words as he walked back out to the road?
“You got this. Win this for you.”
True to Landon’s last words to me, Idowin. Incredibly, I’m going to the Wimbledon semifinals.
Within a minute of entering the locker room, I get a couple of texts from him.
NEW YEARS: Crushed it.
NEW YEARS: If only they had a jersey with YOUR name on the back, that’s what I should be wearing today.
I put a heart reaction on his comment and jump into the shower.
Julie comes into the locker room shortly afterwards, face beaming. “Everything you’ve worked for, you’re making it happen. I’m so proud of you.”
I smile back and grab my stuff, throwing my mostly-dry hair into a messy bun.
As I follow Julie through the locker room exit, Dad finds us outside and gives me a big hug. “You done good, Rori.”
I let myself take a minute to enjoy the safety net of my dad and then break away. “I should head to the press conference.”
He kisses the top of my head and nods. “Julie and I will come in and watch.”
We head into the media room together, and they hang off to the side. Despite the questions coming my way, I don’t miss whenDad whispers something in Julie’s ear—yeah, my spidey senses continue tingling.
After my press obligations, we go straight back to the rental house. Maggie and Peter lost their match yesterday, but they’ve stuck around to support Malcolm and me. That’s right, Malcolm has made it to the men’s semifinals, winning his match a day earlier than me.
Two Americans still in the mix late in the tournament means the US press has been particularly invested. The UK press is bad enough, but navigating both of them is a chore.
