Nope, in fact he was exactly the worst type of asshole that you’d expect. Entitled, smug, and prone to treating everyone around him like his personal property. He had made his way through the women’s side of the tour like a dose of chlamydia, and rumour had it that he had in fact left some of the girls with an unwanted present like that. Those of us who didn’t date men were usually beneath his notice, though it hadn’t stopped him trying to “turn” us once or twice.
Only my success made him treat me with any kind of grudging respect, though I knew he told anyone who’d listen that it would be impossible to rack up career stats like mine in the men’s competitions, since they were all so much more competitive. Point a television camera at him, though, and he was Prince Charming. Like I said: an asshole.
As usual he tried to pull me into an overly friendly hug, holding on too long and letting his hands drift just short of places that would trigger self-defence responses.
“Larsson, look at you. All dressed up like a real girl. Does this mean you’re finally switching teams?”
“Not if you’re what’s waiting on the other side, no. You can let go, Jürgen. Otherwise the posse of models waiting for you might get the wrong idea.”
That got him detangled from me quickly. We did the requisite press line—one question each, big smiles, and lots of candid shots. The trophies were wheeled back out for us to pose with. How strange to spend two weeks winning something only to hold it for less than ten minutes combined. We got replicas, of course, but those were already spirited away and packed for the journeys home.
I’d like to say I sensed her the moment she appeared on the red carpet, but the sporting press certainly recognised Toni quicker than I had at the bar. They didn’t make as big of a fuss as they did over the top seeds, most of whom had been making the headlines for years. There was no denying Toni was gorgeous, though, and in my one—okay, maybe two—internet searches for her since Friday night, I had seen the modelling shots she’d done in her early career. A cursory look at the top stories suggested finding her in a bar on a Friday night hadn’t been much of a coincidence.
The party girl of tennis? No wonder our paths hadn’t crossed much. While Toni had been out in clubs with footballers and pop stars, I had been my usual boring self. In other sports, people would study their opponents to learn their weaknesses. I never had to do that. I played my way and they all came out trying to beat me. Sometimes the coaches would have me work on a specific shot or tactic, if the opponent had a particular weakness, but I didn’t remember a lot of people outside of the matches as we played them. It was a handy excuse for not having recognised her right away, anyway.
All the same, before she was even free of the red carpet, I had handed back the trophy I’d sweated and strained for through all those matches and made my way right to her.
Of course our greeting with continental cheek kisses set off a flurry of clicks and flashes too, even though it was nothing more than friendly and I’d greeted a bunch of the other players that way already. We did the minimum of turning to pose together, before ducking through the doors into the ballroom set out for the occasion.
“You made it,” I said, at a loss for anything more interesting.
“Yes, I got a taxi. I didn’t have to swim the Thames or anything.” She had that faintly amused look about her again. No doubt she found me a bit strange. Everyone else did. “Can I congratulate you again? Or will that just make you blush?”
“If you like. I’m more interested in what’s for dinner, though. I have a week free from my tournament diet and I can’t wait to eat something other than steamed protein.”
“You wait for British catering to let yourself go?” Toni laughed for real that time. “That feels like a waste.”
“Careful, you’ll get us both thrown out.” Nobody was close enough to overhear our conversation, though Jürgen was doing his best to leer at Toni from where he’d taken up his post at the open bar.
“I don’t think they throw out the champ. Would leave the top table a little empty, no?”
“Oh, there’s always an empty chair or two, after all the photo ops.”
“Like your date? Only I didn’t see you come in with anyone,” Toni said, looking around as though I could be hiding someone in plain sight. “And there’s no room in that dress to hide anyone else.” Her look up and down was lingering, appreciative in a blatant sort of way. I liked it a whole lot better than when Jürgen had tried the same thing just minutes before.
“Yeah, I never quite got around to that. Not recently, anyway.”
“Is that why you were out on Friday night?”
I laughed, but it came out with a funny little snort. The universe clearly wasn’t going to give me any kind of a break.
“I really just wanted a dry martini. Anything else would be too much trouble.”
“So you don’t date? At all?”
I wanted to dodge the question altogether. Apart from anything else, it meant coming out all over again, even if I was pretty sure that Toni at least suspected the truth. Stalling for time, I gave her outfit the same appreciative once over that she had given mine. We all looked so different out of the unofficial uniform of T-shirts and tiny skirts.
Where I’d gone for a dark blue, she was human sunshine in a vibrant yellow that would look awful on me. I knew that much about fashion. Paired with
