Matchpoint

Chapter 31:

A cold cup of tea sits on the counter, exactly where I left it last night.

I don't even think I drank more than half. Such a waste.

Today is a new day. I wish I could say I had forgotten about what my father had said last night, but it's been circling my brain with no remorse.

I hear the shower turn off, and I roll over in the bed, my body melting into the mattress.

The moment Dom opened his front door, he knew I had had a shocker. He didn't ask questions. He didn't press me to open up. He just took me in his arms and sat me down on the couch.

I can't believe I ever thought he was an asshole.

He made me tea. He took out my hair tie. He raked his hands through my hair.

It's like he had trained for this. He knew exactly how to keep me calm.

The door clicks. I can hear soft feet padding against the carpet and feel the warmth of his body as he settles onto the bed beside me.

"How are you this morning?" His voice is croaky, sticky with sleep. He lays a hand on my back, tracing small figures with his fingers. With a small yawn, I turn and face him, his green eyes immediately striking me with light.

Slowly, I shift in bed and move closer to him, burying my head in the warmth of his recently showered chest. He smells like lavender.

"Alright." I mumble into his skin.

Dom chuckles, causing my head to lull up and down. "Well, you spent most of the night snuggled up to me, so I'd say you slept pretty well." He teases.

"Fucker." I grumble and Dom just brushes my back soothingly.

I roll over and look up at him. Fuck, he's gorgeous.

"But, really, are you okay?" He asks softly, his fingers running through my hair soothingly.

"No, not really," I whisper, a small huff slipping from my lips, "how am I meant to feel confident in my coaching abilities when my own father seems concerned that I'm the choice of the tennis golden boy."

"Sounds more like a judgement about me." Dom scoffs, but he doesn't get it.

"Maybe, but he should be proud of me, not putting me down." I mutter, rolling back onto my side and facing away from him.

Dom's hand lands on my back, and I feel him curl his body around me. "Hey, he doesn't have to believe in you because the rest of us do. And your own belief in yourself is all the encouragement you need to work hard."

With a deep sigh, I turn back to him, leaning my forehead against Dom's. "You're a sweet talker, you know that, right?"

Dom chuckles, and I can smell the mint lingering against my nose. It's addictive.

"I know." Dom kisses my lips softly. "But you like it."

He kisses along my jaw, brushing aside my hair and moving down my neck.

He's right. I do like it. I like him. I like him a lot. Fuck.

♤♤♤

The ball flies between us, and we keep moving closer to the net. The rhythm is hypnotic, I'm waiting for him to snap.

If you get someone playing a shot in a rhythm for too long, the grow confident. And just when they're confident, that's when you know you've got them in the palm of your hand.

But Dom knows how I like to play. He knows I'm forcing his hand, and he's not going to let me.

He sends a strong forehand to the far side of the caught, and I intercept it instantly with a smile on my face.