Stay Away

almost

The dinner consists of me talking exclusively to Leah. Her friends try to coerce her into their antics further away, and Scarlett attempts to pull her outside for some top-secret conversation with their England friend group, but, to each and every offer to leave, she shakes her head and focuses her attention back on me.

It's very flattering.

My tiramisu arrives before most people's desserts, and I convince Leah to have a bite. She leans over the table as I hold out my spoon, and I find myself having to focus on the potted plant in the corner, whispering the words "French Open" under my breath. Her lips look enticing. She is a captivating woman.

"It's not bad," she hums after washing it down with a sip of sparkling water. "You can have some of my vanilla ice cream." I laugh at the contrast. She frowns; she had said earlier on that she doesn't like being made fun of.

"Sorry, but you have the taste buds of a child," I say, watching her eyes soften from the playful glare she was giving me. "Now carry on telling me about the third Star Wars movie. We have, like, six more to get through before we leave."

I may have lied and said I'd never watched them. Her reaction was worth it.

Leah grins as she recounts Revenge of the Sith with a terrifying amount of detail. It feels like I'm being told what she did last weekend, especially since she begins to use her cutlery to recreate the scene where Anakin and Obi-wan fight before Anakin 'dies'. I watch her intently, not realising that Scarlett has been filming us until it's too late, and she's posted it to her story.

"Let's go," I suggest when she ends her version of the film rather dramatically. I'm finished, and Leah's ice cream disappeared the moment she was served it. "I don't want to be late for my driver."

She raises her eyebrows; "you have a driver?" I nod. It's a security thing. And also a way to keep a tab on my whereabouts. I can't have too much fun when I play nineteen tournaments a year. There is only so much time in the world. "Do they drive a nice car?"

"I would say so," I shrug, mind wandering to the thought of holding that trophy next month. I'm on my way to Italy beforehand, but I can't excite myself for a usually pleasant tournament. Not when the image of cold metal in my hands is replaced by soft, pale skin, accompanied with blonde hair and a charming smile and a woman I have only just met. I shake my head as subtly as I can, hoping that fantasy somehow slips out of my mind.

"Okay, yeah, let's go." Leah stands up, as do I. "Scar, we're off." My sister and her girlfriend are drunk because they are both being rested for Chelsea's next game, and they are clearly enjoying each other's company. They pay little to no notice of how Leah slides her arm around my waist as we walk out, or how Aniek's face has fallen at the prospect of being abandoned by the woman she could speak Dutch to without being reprimanded for breaking the English-only rule. I feel a little guilty for ditching Aniek, but it's not as if anyone else has had my attention tonight anyway.

Richmond is splendidly green this time of year, but, in the darkness, the trees appear more looming and monstrous. I shiver. The night has a British chill that was hidden by the earlier sun, and my dress is short. Leah offers me her blazer as a joke. I tell her that she's coming off a little too eager, to which she nudges my hip. I stumble in my heels, more used to the feeling of trainers on courts.

"Hey, watch out," I admonish her, gripping onto her arm to keep me upright. "I'm injured. You can't ruin my chances of winning the French Open." Being a distraction for tonight has done more than enough, I would say.

Leah steadies me in front of my car – she has done well to assume that the black Range Rover is meant for me. "You're injured?" She sounds inquisitive, caring. I decide to put some physical distance between us, taking a step back. Something pricks at my bare back, but it's for the best.