Matchpoint

Chapter 26:

Fuck, I love Spain. I'm walking into the Caja Magica, absolute breath taken by the vibrancy of the backdrop. It's a place of modernity and tradition, filled with colour and noise. The Caja Magica alone has stunning architecture where sleek, futuristic structures rise from the earth. The magnificent building is surrounded by lush greenery and has expansive views of the city skyline, I'm in awe.

I love the courts here. They glow under the Mediterranean sun. Not only that, but the breeze, a crisp whisper that dances through the stadium and graces the sweaty bodies of busy players.

"You eye fucking the building?" Dom brushes up beside me, his arm briefly lingers against mine.

I slap him playfully, and Dom chuckles in response. He swings his tennis bag over his shoulder and heads into the training court.

The flight here wasn't too bad. I sat with Stack, believing it would be better this time to distance myself from Dom. Surprisingly, Jayce chose not to join us, stating that he had family matters to deal with.

It's just me, Dom, Paul, Philip, and Stack.

With a deep and peaceful sigh, I head into the arena. Dom's game starts tomorrow at twelve. I was expecting more preparation time, but they've moved things forward this year. When we found this out, we tried to move our tickets to Spain forward a few days, but they were all booked out. To my dissatisfaction, we've been left with little time to prepare Dom, though he doesn't seem too fazed.

"Hit me, coach." Dom jogs on the spot, his feet light, movements quick.

I grab out my notebook. I spent most of the flight reading details on his opponent.

"Jack Draper." I state, and Dom nods, raising his eyebrows because he already knew that morsel of information. "Twenty-three, left-handed,"

"Thanks, test dummy, didn't know that shit." Dom says sarcastically, flicking my cap with his finger. My eyes dart over to Stack, Paul, and Philip to see whether they saw Dom's little gesture. They didn't.

I give Dom a deadpan stare and receive a smirk in response. "Fine," I shove him. "He has a strong serve. It's only getting better with every game. He averages a speed of just over one thirty every game. He certainly uses his serve to set up his game. He has a big forehand, it's filled with pace and a heaviness unmatched by most players. He also tends to push players behind the baseline. He doesn't like them up near the net."

Dom nods, satisfied by my assessment. "As his opponent, you want to neutralise his serve and forehand. Test his backhand and force him into rallies. If you push him till he feels comfortable, that's when he'll falter."

"You like doing your homework." Dom teases, poking his tongue out of his mouth slightly.

"Someone has to do it." I respond and encourage him to go to the baseline.

With a chuckle, Dom admits defeat and makes his slow trek over to the baseline, where he begins warming up. Paul joins him there, and they start running through warm-ups.

I've had a lot to think about since Dom made his mind clear on what he wishes for us. I would be lying if I didn't say that I've been compelled. There has been no more kissing since that night, just sly touches and insinuated jokes. Dom's pushing it, testing my limit, and I don't mind him doing so.

I know he's waiting in my response, but I can't think of that right now, or I shouldn't be. Getting him through this match and tournament is my main goal.

During one of our team meetings, Dom flirted with me a little too openly. It was meant to be a teasing comment, but he ended up fiddling with a strand of my hair as if it were normal. It wasn't normal, and I knew Stack thought so as well.