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He laughs. “It’s not that bad,” he responds, walking right next to Sofia. He crosses his arms as he joins her, watching me freeze to death.
Sofia seems bored while Xavier is more than interested. He isn’t wearing his usual style of clothing. Normally, his body is clad with baggy clothes that are filled with color.
He’s known for his graphic T-shirts and cargo shorts, showing off his favorite tattoo above his knee to the world. Xavier always looks good no matter what he wears, but the version in front of me appears almost expensive.
A beige color T-shirt sits on his body almost perfectly. I can see every single crevice of his chest. He has black skinny jeans on that hug his legs. On his wrist sits an expensive watch, his VIP lanyard is around his neck, and reflective sunglasses stare back at me.
I thought he was gorgeous before, but now he’s indescribable.
“You look… different.” My tone is hesitant.
Complimenting him is not outside of my comfort zone, but I hardly think telling him how spectacular he is would fit into the confines of friendship. Especially when my thoughts are far from platonic at the moment.
He takes in his outfit. “I have to dress for the occasion. We’re at a grand slam after all.” His gaze is now back on me, a smile on his face.
“Well, I like it,” I almost whisper, but it’s loud enough for people to hear.
Another chill creeps up my spine.
“Noted.” He chuckles.
“You can get out now,” Sofia says.
“Thank the Lord,” I yell out in glee.
I jump out of the tub as fast as humanly possible. Xavier walks over with a towel in his hand. He wraps the warm material around my shoulders softly and I thank him for the gesture. Once the towel is safely wrapped over me, Xavier takes no hesitation to pull me into a hug. The movement catches me by surprise, and I can’t wrap my arms around him in response, so I stand in his arms with no inhibitions.
“I missed you,” he murmurs with his chin placed on top of my head.
“I missed you too.” Butterflies creep into my stomach at the thought of him thinking about me while he was in Brazil. I know he had a great time with his mom while I was here prepping for my tournament. But even so, he was on my mind, and knowing that he could have been doing the same fills me with relief.
He lets go slowly before his hands are placed on the side of both of my arms. I give him a soft smile.
“How was the New Year with your mom?” I ask.
“It was great! I haven’t spent enough time with her in the past few years.” A glint of sadness washes over his expression before it’s pushed away with his famous grin.
“You were supposed to get here tomorrow.” It doesn’t really come out as a question.
But he knows there is an underlying curiosity to my words.
“I know, but I wanted to get here a day before your match tomorrow.” He beams at me with excitement.
I’m glad he’s excited to be here; Xavier was the one to start up the conversation about coming along. I never asked or pushed him to. It’s nice having someone here with me for the first and most nerve-racking competition of the season.
Cleo and Chanel both went back to Mexico City for classes. I asked Cleo to come along with me since she isn’t stuck in university. But she told me she wanted to stay; I was worried at first. Knowing I won’t be with her, even after spending so much time helping her as much as I could. But she needs time to herself, and I want her to fall into her passions carelessly. So I let her stay, with the condition that she has to call me every day.
“Oh, okay. Are you going to watch a few matches today?” I ask.
“I was thinking we could watch some matches together. I’ve never watched tennis with a professional, so it could be fun.” He raises an eyebrow, hope in his eyes.
“I would love that,” I reply, knowing that I would do anything to spend more time with him. “Do you want to go to the men’s or women’s singles matches?” Most spectators have had a preference, ever since Billie Jean King. The rise in fans for the women’s singles matches has grown exponentially.
“I was thinking about women’s singles. We could watch some of your opponents. I heard Letty’s match starts in twenty minutes.” Her name on his lips doesn’t seem right; my mind doesn’t like when he mentions her. It’s silly for me to think this way. I have no claim over him. But Letty is someone I’ve never gotten along with, on the court and outside of it. Usually, when I play her, we stay professional, but once I try to make some sort of conversation afterward, she always ignores me. The things she’s said in the press when put up against me in the final rounds of a championship have not been the nicest.
At the end of the day, we don’t have to get along. I didn’t become a tennis player to make friends.
I think about his words for a second. Thinking about her ability, let alone even watching it, makes me feel queasy. She’s good, like dangerously exceptional. As I think more on it, I realize that if I get past my second match, I’m going to have to play her. Observing her may be the key to beating her for once in my life.
