GrandSlam (14 page)

Sunday morning passed in a blur of fucking and fried food.
It was completely and utterly unhealthy sustenance, but at some point in the
night Marie and I had had a sleepy conversation about things we missed about
home—and an English breakfast was one of them. I’d resolved to make one when we
got up—which was closer to lunchtime than breakfast time.

I didn’t have all of the essential ingredients in my fridge,
unfortunately—it seemed black pudding was elusive in L.A.—but I did a damn good
job of the bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, fried bread, sausages and baked
beans. Marie was in charge of making us each a mug of English breakfast tea
while I was working my culinary magic—or at least it
smelled
like magic.

When we finally sat at the table, me in shorts and a
t-shirt, Marie in last night’s dress, we shared an excited grin before tucking
in. “Oh my God,” Marie said, after chewing and swallowing a mouthful of food,
“that is so good. I think we may have made a mistake here. After eating this,
we’ll be booking the next flights home!”

I laughed. “I know what you mean. The bacon and sausages
aren’t quite what we’d get in England, but they’ll do in a pinch. At some point
I’ll find one of those supermarkets that sells proper British food.”

“Oh yeah!” Marie said, waving her fork around excitedly.
“You’ll have to let me know when you find one. I haven’t had a bar of proper
Cadbury’s chocolate in far too long! Like six days or something. The stuff they
have over here just doesn’t taste the same. It’s a different recipe or
something.”

“Oh you’re a chocoholic, are you?” It suddenly occurred to
me how little I really knew about her and I resolved to try to rectify that.

“Not just chocolate. Pretty much anything sweet. I have a
real sweet tooth.”

“Well I’ll bear that in mind. And when I find that
supermarket, I’ll treat you to some real British Cadbury’s chocolate. Do you have
a preference?”

“Aww, thanks. Now I can’t wait for you to find the damn
shop! I would absolutely adore some Dairy Milk.”

“Okay, consider it done. I’ll add it to my list.”

“Actually,” she said, taking a sip of her tea and closing
her eyes momentarily with pleasure before continuing, “I’d like to come with
you if you don’t mind. I’m sure they’ll be charging an arm and a leg for stuff,
but hey, I’ve got a good job so I can afford a few luxuries. Plus if I go with
you then I’ve got a strong man to help me carry the bags.” She laughed and I
felt a lurch in my chest. Wow, I really was the luckiest man in L.A. to have
such a bright, fun and totally gorgeous woman who wanted to share a bed with
me. Not to mention the dark and kinky things that went with it.

“Yes, that’s fine. I’ll keep you posted and we can go and
check out the place together. Hopefully it won’t be in the next state!”

“If it is, you’re driving. I’m not getting my baby all
dirty.”

I shrugged. “Fair enough. Now eat your breakfast before it
goes cold.”

We continued chatting between mouthfuls of food and I did my
best to slip in a few getting-to-know-you type questions, but not so many that
she’d think I was interrogating her. I was delighted to discover how well we
actually got on when we weren’t in a session, especially since the things she
asked me and the information I volunteered didn’t feel intrusive or like she
was trying to analyze me. It just felt, well, nice. Like two people who liked
each other having a normal conversation. Almost as if we’d just started dating,
actually.

I was surprised that the thought had popped into my head,
seemingly out of nowhere. We were fucking, playing, having fun together, not
dating. But just the previous evening she’d offered to stop going out with
Peter because I’d gotten a bit possessive. It was crazy—both that I’d gotten
possessive over someone who was nothing more than a kinky fuck-buddy and that
she’d given up on the young pretty boy so easily.

I decided not to examine the reasons for our respective
actions. I feared my conclusions would be more than I could handle. We were
different, sure, yet also so similar. Plus she was definitely older than me,
that much was evident from the amount she had achieved career wise, but it
wasn’t something that bothered me in the slightest, and it didn’t seem like it
was an issue for her.

Damn, that self-assured confidence of hers was one of the
sexiest things about her.

After we’d eaten, Marie announced she needed to get home.
She asked if I could call her a taxi but I poured scorn on her idea.

“Don’t be silly, I’ll drive you. It’s my fault you’re here,
after all. Just give me a minute to grab some shoes and find my keys.”

She nodded, draining the rest of her tea and clearing the
table while I scurried around looking for my keys. I’d been so blinded by lust
the previous evening that I had no idea what I’d done with them. If it hadn’t
been for the fact that my apartment key was on the same ring, I’d have wondered
if I’d left them in the damn ignition. It was true what they said, I decided,
men only have enough blood in their bodies to operate one major organ at a
time, and last night, my brain had certainly not gotten the required oxygen.

“You don’t need to do that,” I said as Marie started loading
the dishwasher. “Leave it, I’ll do it when I get back.”

“It’s okay, it’s only a few bits of cutlery and crockery.
And besides, it’s the least I can do for the, uh,
interesting
evening
and the delicious breakfast. If I had some more sensible shoes with me, I’d
walk home to burn off some of those calories!”

“I wouldn’t worry,” I said, grinning widely. “I think we
both burned off plenty of calories last night and this morning, don’t you?”

A blush crept up her chest and cheeks, and it was then I
noticed the love bite I’d left on her neck. Oops. I decided to keep quiet about
that one—I’d let her discover it when I wasn’t within slapping distance. My
cock stirred slightly as the thought ran through my head that I’d marked her,
claimed her like some kind of primal mating ritual, albeit inadvertently.

“Got ’em!” I said, holding up my keys triumphantly. How
they’d gotten underneath the sofa was anyone’s guess.

“Great,” she said, moving over to where I stood. “Time for
me to go home and get showered then.”

“You could have showered here, you know.”

“I know, but it seemed pointless given I didn’t have any
clean clothes to put on. That and the fact you’d have kept getting me dirty
again anyway.”

I slung an arm around her and pulled her to me, dropping a
kiss onto her hair. “Carry on being so sassy and I’ll have you over my knee
again and you can forget about going home for a few hours.”

She let out a squeal and pulled away from me, then opened my
apartment door and moved into the corridor as fast as her heeled shoes would
allow.

“I’ll take that as a no then?” I kept my voice good-natured
and smiled, but I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d gone too far last night.
She’d certainly seemed to enjoy it though.

“Not exactly,” she said, looking around at the doors of the
neighboring apartments and lowering her voice before replying, “but I just need
to recover from last night first. I’m not hard-core like you, remember?”

You have no idea
,I thought. I took her arm
and we walked back to the elevator and waited while it traveled up to my floor.
Marie leaned her head on my shoulder—well, more the top of my arm, given her
height—and pretended to fall asleep. I jostled her gently when the lift pinged
and we shared a grin as we stepped inside.

“Come on, sleepyhead, let’s get you home. Anyone would think
you’d had a busy night.”

Her response was to stick out her tongue. She was just so
cute it was all I could do not to slam her against the wall and kiss her until
she was breathless. Until we were both breathless.

* * * * *

As always, Monday came around way too fast. I was sure it
had arrived particularly quickly on purpose this time though, as it was a very
important day. I was playing my first proper match since the accident. It was a
friendly, not a tournament, but it would still be a good test of how I was
getting on. I was sure I was almost back on top form, but as good as he was at
his job, training with Peter wasn’t the same as playing against a professional
tennis player. I knew I’d have my work cut out for me too, as Rufus Lampani was
a damn good player. In last year’s Wimbledon tournament, I’d faced him and won
by only a single point. He was tough competition, and therefore the perfect
opponent to give me a true assessment of my fitness level and stamina.

I arrived at the academy in plenty of time, got changed into
my kit and took my time doing my stretches. The last thing I wanted was to rush
my preparation and end up with a pulled muscle or something. Setbacks were
strictly prohibited, as far as I was concerned.

As I shifted my position, I was surprised to notice a series
of scratches on the tops of my arms. After a heartbeat, I realized how they’d
gotten there and smirked. A rush of blood made my cock stiffen a little too. I
quickly started my workout again in earnest, hoping my need for blood in other
parts of my body would prevent my erection from becoming any more pronounced. I
needed it to go away altogether—I absolutely could not play tennis with a
hard-on. Mercifully my cock returned to its slumbering state after a minute or
so.

Lampani came into the changing rooms just as I finished my
stretches.

“Hi,” we said in unison.

“You ready for this?” he asked.

“Absolutely. I can’t wait to whip your arse.” Obviously I
didn’t mean that in the literal sense. I was strictly into women.

“Yeah, you wish.”

We exchanged some more lighthearted banter as he got ready,
then we headed out onto the court, but not before I’d grabbed my wraparound
sunglasses. The sun was brutal out there.

I was pleased to note that Marie was there, sitting on the
benches beside the outdoor court—then I remembered
why
she was there.
Not to cheer me on but to assess how I was playing. She was my psychologist,
not my damn girlfriend. Luckily I’d hidden my pleasure at seeing her again
under the stoic expression I always wore while playing, and it became considerably
easier when I saw who was sitting next to her. Peter.

I chastised myself. Obviously he was here. He was my coach.
It was his job as much as it was Marie’s, and it made perfect sense to have
both my psychologist and my coach watching my first match. I just didn’t have
to like the fact they were sitting next to each other, chatting away and
laughing like they were good friends. Especially since I knew Peter wanted so
much more.

Suddenly I was amused. It didn’t matter what Peter wanted.
Marie had told me if Peter asked her out again, she’d turn him down. She didn’t
want things to progress with him. I didn’t know if that was just because of me
or because she didn’t like him that way, but regardless, I was pleased. She
deserved better than him. Yeah, he was a nice guy generally, but his attitude
to women sucked.

Mind you, was mine much better? My relationship track record
wasn’t exactly brilliant, and it was mostly because of my sexual preferences. I
couldn’t shut it off just to please a vanilla chick, and as a result I’d had no
long-term girlfriends. Thank God Marie had come along when she did—I’d be
getting my rocks off in exactly the fashion I liked for the foreseeable future
with a woman who really did it for me. I was a very lucky man.

As I made my way toward the middle of the court, swinging my
racquet, suddenly my heart sank. What would happen when Marie had received all
the lessons in submission she wanted? Would she ditch me and find herself
someone who could offer her kink in the bedroom as well as a romantic
relationship? I’d be back to square one then, sexless and struggling to play
good tennis because of my suppressed desires. Damn it. I’d just have to make
sure that Marie stuck around at least until the US Open—I was sure that if I
got that in the bag then my confidence would be boosted and I’d sail on the
supreme high of my success until the Australian Open and so on.

By now, Peter and Marie had noticed Lampani and me and
they’d waved hello to me. I nodded back, feeling a little stab of regret as I
saw Marie’s face fall. She’d obviously been hoping for more than that, some
kind of indication of our intimate relationship. But that clearly wasn’t going
to happen. If anyone became aware of our increased intimacy, they’d start
asking questions. Questions that neither of us would be able to answer, not
without giving the game away. We’d promised each other complete discretion and
we had to stick to it.

The ball boys were in place and it looked as though Peter
had brought some drinks out. As Lampani reached his side of the court, he
nodded to me to indicate he was ready. I pulled the towel that had been draped
across my shoulders off and threw it onto the bench at the side of the court.
Then I nodded back and we began our warm-up. He served first and we did a few
volleys, then switched so I was serving. Soon it was time to play for real.

Pushing my weight up into my toes, I shifted back and forth,
getting myself ready to run in whichever direction the ball happened to go. One
of the things that made Lampani such a good player and a tough opponent was
that he had a knack of making it look as though he was going to hit the ball
one way when it actually spun in the opposite direction, causing many a player
to dash the wrong way and miss completely. Over the years, his opponents had
wised up to that particular trick, but just knowing about it didn’t mean you
could counteract it. That took skill and determination. Luckily I had both of
those traits.

He bounced the ball off the asphalt a couple of times, then
threw it high in the air and slammed it over the net. This was it, time for me
to get back into the saddle. I dashed after the yellow ball of fuzz and whacked
it back. That signaled the start of a series of fierce volleys. It was clear
that Lampani wasn’t going to go easy on me just because I was out of practice,
and for that I was supremely grateful. I wasn’t going to keep my place as
number one seed if people went easy on me.