Page 4 of Rivals and Liars

"We've been together three years, Leire," she whispers without looking at her.

"I know. But I'm not ready, and you know I've never asked anything of you—I haven't clipped your wings or demanded exclusivity."

Kate gives a sad smile and shakes her head. Of course she hasn't asked for it. Kate is the one who simply can't. How could she sleep with other women when she's in love with her?

"Maybe I'd want you to. Maybe I'd want it to matter to you—what I might do with someone else," Kate says, getting up from the bed and wincing as she straightens.

"Of course it matters to me, Kate. It would kill me with jealousy if you did, and with sadness—but I can't be that selfish. I can't ask you to hold back when I still can't give you everything you're asking for."

Leire gets up too and moves closer to where Kate has leaned against the dresser.

"I know I always say the same thing." She rubs her hands together, restless. "But it's complicated, and you know that. I'm at the best point of my career—"

"It doesn't matter, Leire. Let's drop it," Kate cuts her off, not wanting to hear the end of a sentence that only makes one thing clear: that Leire's career matters more to her than what she feels.

"How's your back? Is it still hurting?" Leire asks.

"Barely. In a couple of days I'll be good as new." Kate decides not to sabotage this time together. She'd rather enjoy the little they have and let herself fall apart when she's alone.

"I'm glad." Leire takes her hand and leads her back to the bed. "Because I'm not so tired anymore."

The curve of Kate's smile deepens and those small lines appear at the corners of her mouth—the ones that are Leire's undoing.

"I love these little lines," she whispers, pressing her lips to the right corner of Kate's mouth.

Kate turns her face, searching for her lips, and sinks onto the edge of the bed as Leire eases her back with a gentle push on her shoulders. Her skin prickles, her stomach tightens, and something warm sparks low in her belly as Leire drops to her knees and slides Kate's pants down to her ankles.

"I've been thinking about you all day," Leire admits, pulling her underwear down too.

Kate tries to hold back a gasp of pure need, but it's impossible—because when Leire touches her, her body gives out and her mind goes quiet. No intrusive thoughts crowd in; in moments like this, she can only hold onto the good parts, which is everything she feels with this woman—a deep connection that, at twenty-nine, she's never had with anyone else, and that she's certain she'll never feel again under any skin but Leire Cobos's.

Leire lifts her legs onto her shoulders, grips her thighs, and Kate falls back, her body trembling and her breath coming in ragged bursts as Leire's lips and tongue take their time with every inch of her, driving her out of her mind with pleasure.

"Just like that, baby," Kate whimpers, then bites her lip and breathes hard against her fist.

Leire doesn't stop. She knows exactly where Kate is, knows what she needs when she's right on the edge—so she pushes inside her, buries her fingers deep and holds them there, filling her, and all it takes is the press of her tongue against her clit for Kate's body to shudder apart, breaking into wave after wave of pleasure that Leire feels against her lips.

"In Germany we could try to clear a day and stay in an Airbnb," Leire starts, once they're both under the sheets—tangled together, naked and satisfied. "Just the two of us, meals together, everything. Something normal between us. I know it's not much, but—"

"I'm not going to Germany," Kate interrupts. For a moment she considers demanding that Diane stick to the schedule they'd originally planned.

She's spent months dreaming about a whole day with Leire. In the beginning, these encounters were enough for her too—exciting, even thrilling, and they'd both laugh when they finished making love and caught each other's eyes.

"Rivals and liars," Leire had murmured once. "We've let everyone think we're rivals when it isn't true."

Kate had agreed back then, but once she started falling for Leire, everything changed. That description didn't fit her anymore—it only applied to the two tennis players who, one night three years ago, had ended up in one of their hotel rooms without quite knowing how it had happened, and had such a good time that they kept repeating it whenever their paths crossed.

"Why not?" Leire props herself up on her arm and looks at her.

There's something uncomfortable pressing just behind her sternum. She hasn't felt it before, and she tells herself it's just a twinge of exhaustion catching up with her.

"I'm going back to Australia. If I don't want the other day to get worse, I need to rest."

Kate has spent weeks asking herself why she doesn't tell Leire the truth—why she can't bring herself to say that the injury is far more serious than anyone thinks, that she can't play most of her matches without an injection beforehand. The only answer she finds is that she doesn't dare, because her whole identity is built around this sport; she doesn't exist without it, and that terrifies her in a way she can't face out loud. She doesn't want anything that could become an obstacle between them, because Kate always wonders what would happen if she had to stop for a few months the way Diane keeps insisting she should. Would Leire still be there? Would the daily messages keep coming? Would she suggest seeing each other somewhere outside of all this?

"But I'll be at Wimbledon."

Leire nods. She wants to say that Wimbledon is still a long way off—even if it's only a couple of weeks—that she'd been looking forward to seeing her every day, and that the news has just hollowed out something inside her she can't quite name. But does she have the right to say any of that? It would only make Kate feel worse, and Kate already puts up with so much on her side while getting so little in return.