Matchpoint

Chapter 12:

With a soft thud, the ball lands just to the left of where my racket was outstretched. I'll give it to Dom, telling his story just adds fuel to his growing fire, and when he uses that as his weapon, he's basically unpredictable.

My eyes rise to meet Dom's, and I'm immediately met with that cheeky, smug grin. I just know I'm in the firing lane now.

"Come on up to the net, Dunn." Dom snickers, and I slowly make my way up to him, watching that grin widen and unable to help a little smile flash upon my own face.

I reach the net and tilt my head at him, letting my hair flow down my shoulder and watching as Dom's eyes follow the trail. "So, why did you stop playing tennis?" Dom clicks his tongue, and before I can respond, he holds up his hand. "And don't even try to make something up because I've been told that you used to play in the mini leagues, grand finalist, winner even?"

With a chuckle, I shake my head at Dom, loving that he decided to do some digging on me himself. "Well, Dom, I did play in upcoming tournaments, I was listed in the rising tennis youth back in twenty-fourteen." I go to continue, but suddenly I'm hesitating. With a shakey breath, I continue. "I had this coach. He had such Hugh expectations of me, and I desperately wanted to live up to them. Being my mother's daughter, I think he expected to have the same drive as her."

I slowly begin walking around the court, my mind in its own trance. "I loved playing. It made me feel powerful, but I couldn't help but be buried under the weight of preasure. The more I trained with my coach, the more I began feeling like it was a chore. I'd go out onto the court, I'd play, I'd come home, I'd train. It was this cycle that seemed never-ending, and I couldn't get a break."

Dom follows me, a thoughtful look cast upon his face. "Then there was this one tournament, I was down. It wasn't looking good for me. My coach screamed at me from the sideline, and he got taken out of the stadium." I pause, turn back to Dom, and smile. "I won that game, I somehow came back from it."

"And then, I got to the semi-finals. I was so nervous for the game, my coach wouldn't stop yelling at me, telling me that I needed to suck it up and so better," I sigh, I cans till remember the same sick feeling I had as I walked onto the court, my bag slung on my shoulder, my face pale with anxiety. "The game started, I was winning, I saw the face of my coach and I...I faked an injury."

Dom's eyebrows raise. I shudder briefly. "I couldn't handle the pressure, I couldn't step foot back on the court in a professional way without feeling a sense of pressure to perform."

Dom and I stand face to face in the middle of my court, and his eyes sparkle with empathy and understanding. Are stories aren't too dissimilar. Though he experienced more physical abuse, I saw the verbal side, a side I had hoped to have never seen.

"Fuck Clove, aren't we two messed up kids." Dom smirks, and though it's not a joke when is discussing any form of abuse, it feels nice to know that he gets it. "It kind of feels like maybe we were meant to team up, don't you think?"

As he speaks those words, Dom steps towards me, our bodies now sharing the same vicinity, our lungs now inhaling the same breath.

"I knew you had a fire in you, I knew you had to have been some kind of pro player, even if you didn't make it to the adult leagues." Dom smiles softly, this look of adoration masking his usual michevious look.

"I suppose." I shrug, feeling extremely conscious of our close proximity.

"Maybe we're more alike than you think." It is unmistakable, the way his eyes make a prolonged path down to my lips where they linger longingly. Fuck. What is he doing?

"Maybe." I mutter, melting right in front of his face. My body hums, the anxiety pulsing through me as I weigh up my options here. Dom is charming, he knows how to captivate someone and pull them into his inner web. But he's also a show pony (he tries to say he's not, but I can tell that he knows that he's good).