Matchpoint

Chapter 32:

My eyes are glued to the screen, a notebook to my left, a pen in my right hand.

Every so often, I jot down ideas, thoughts, and drills to help Dom improve.

"When are you going to close that laptop?" Holly is sitting opposite me at the table. Dom's cooking a pasta meal, and Jayce is sitting atop the kitchen table, talking his head off.

"I'm working." I mutter, but I haven't really taken in what she's saying. Ever since this morning, I've felt the energy deflate from my body. Instead of wallowing in my mortification, I've thrown myself into coaching business, hoping that'll make up for the guilt that I feel for getting involved with Dom.

As soon as I left the court, I went to find Dom, but he was nowhere to be found.

I tried texting him, but he didn't respond, not till much later in the afternoon. And now I'm here, sitting in his kitchen, and neither of us has mentioned the heated moment on the court.

I didn't mean to snap at him, but we can't risk the comfort of caring gestures and warm touches.

It's a privilege we're not allowed to be granted.

"But dinner's almost ready, and you've been like this allllllll afternoon." Holly whines, slumping her head into her hands.

At the mention of dinner, I find my eyes flickering over to where Dom stands at the stove. His eyes fall onto me, but there's no hint of emotion behind those eyes.

I know he's irritated. He didn't like that I brushed him off, but he has to understand that being too physical out in the open, no matter how small the touch, will get us caught.

"She's watching videos of Dom, that's why she's glued to that screen." Jayce snickers, breaking my gaze from Dom and back down to my laptop.

"I'm writing notes on his previous games." I say defensively, but not even I really believe that. I could watch Dom play for hours without writing notes. He's mesmerising.

"Sure," Jayce snickers, and I look at him, I hope he knows my eyes are filled with daggers.

With a sudden snap, I shut my laptop and push back my seat. Then, without turning back to them, I walk to the bathroom in Dom's room.

I'm splashing my face with water, trying deeply to rid the feeling of disgust that is settling on my skin like thick dust.

I look into the mirror, hating that Ladley's haven't ceased to leave my mind. What if she's right? What if people find out? Dom and I can't keep this a secret forever.

My eyes shut tightly, an overwhelming feeling of upset flooding through my veins.

Two hands fall down upon my shoulders, and I gasp, not expecting the sudden contact. As my eyes shoot open, they meet those mischievously green eyes.

"Clove, talk to me." Dom whispers, eyes staring intently into mine through the reflection in the mirror.

"She knows." I choke on my words, my hands shaking as they rise from the si k to wipe my tears. With a sad smile, Dom turns me around to face him, more so that I'm not looking at myself.

"She only knows what she wants to believe." Dom brushes my cheek softly, wiping away a rogue tear that took the slope of my nose.

"But, what she believes is true." I begin to sob, my shoulders shaking as I cry into Dom's chest.

"And what exactly does she believe?" Dom asks, his voice protective, defensive.

"That I'm fucking my coachee." I gasp in a poorly strung sentence.