Matchpoint

Chapter 35:

My legs jiggle as I watch the ball fly from either side of the court. Behind me, I can hear Dom's mother gasping with every risky shot Dom makes. However, I'm not concerned. Dom's doing exactly as I'd hoped he would. He's playing some fine tennis.

What helped was waking up this morning to his name being ranked 8th on the ATP rankings. A jump we were hoping for, but not expecting.

Dom takes out another set. This match is quickly turning into the Dominic show. Dom's playing Machac, a competitor who has a current career high of 25th. So, statistically speaking, Dom should play better, but that still doesn't mean that Dom isn't being forced to play fascinating shots. Just as I'd hoped, though, Dom's playing spontaneously. He's adapting to the style Machac plays.

Machac turned professional at a similar age to Dom. He was about seventeen.

The thought sends chills through me. Father had always dreamed of me being the youngest female tennis player to go professional. He said that seventeen was too old, if only he could see the way Dom and Machac played given they only started in their late teens.

With a swift slice of his racquet, Dom sends the ball flying over the net, causing Machac to stumble towards it. He misses it.

Dom pumps his fist, eyes finding mine in the crowd. I watch him mouth 'come on' as he walks back to the baseline, eyes not leaving mine once.

Machac, on the other hand, yells in frustration. He, too, turns to his coaches, but unlike Dom, he's throwing his hands up and shaking his head.

"Machac isn't happy." Stack chuckles beside me.

"I wouldn't be either if I was him, Dom's smashing it." I smile, and Stack hums in agreement.

It's Dom's serve. I can see his eyes analysing Machac's stance, trying to determine whether he goes straight down the T or attempts a sharp sideline shot.

The more I coach Dom, the more I notice his little quirks. Most players have their habits, it might be touching or kissing a necklace or brushing their nose, but for Dom, it's the quick sweep of his tongue over his bottom lip and a simple slide of his finger against the underside of his cap.

Then slowly, he poises his arm behind his head and tosses the ball into the air. The light catches on the sweat, glistening on his skin. It makes him look angelic in a way.

It's an ace. Another game under Dom's belt, three more, and he'll win this set and the match.

Dom makes his way over to his bench, eyes meeting mine once more. He does a small gesture with his hand as if to slice his racquet. I know he's telling g me that he's listening to me. He's doing what I recommended. I nod with a grin.

We've been studying Machac's style all week. He's a baseline player. Machac plays his best tennis when he's right on the baseline, dictating the direction and speed of the ball. At first, Dom and I practised ways we could push Machac behind the baseline. But, after some late night video watching, I noticed Machac's lack of time spent up near the net. He looked as if he felt exposed when he got too close to it.

It's nice seeing Dom taking on tips and executing them perfectly. It gives me such a high.

♤♤♤

"That was insane." I breathe against Dom's neck.

I'm kissing him in the change room moments before he'll be called in for a press conference.

"You knew exactly how to disorientate Machac." Dom marvels, shifting my mouth from his neck back to his lips.

"You executed every shot perfectly." My words are hardly strung together between the mess of lips.

"You kept smirking every time I won a game. It was fuel." Dom says against my mouth, tongue sweeping against mine momentarily. "I mean, I just wanted to keep seeing that look on your face."