Page 27 of A Summer of Stars

“I didn’t expect you to be at the match today.”

“Honestly, me either.”

“So why did you?”

“So that you wouldn’t send an assassin through my window in the middle of the night to have me killed.”

Unexpected laughter shot out of me. “I may be more inclined to do that now that youdidshow up. But I’ll send an old assassin, don’t worry. One who’s been beaten down by the demands of the job and can’t get his leg over the windowsill without complaining about it. Maybe the noise will give you an upper hand, but it’s doubtful.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m an incredibly heavy sleeper. He could break an ankle on his way in, use my oven to bake a soufflé, host a poker game, and I’d never know—no upper hands in sight.”

“It sounds like it’d be more cost-effective if I did this job myself.”

“I have no doubt you’d thrive as a spy based on that match, and your chilling ability to intimidate with a single stare, of course. But remind me to never give you my address.”

“I’m sure it’s on the internet somewhere.”

“Thank you for being a living reminder of everything I fear.”

“What a compliment. Why, um, why did you come down here?”

“To be verbally attacked and take a bath in a tub full of ice, why else?”

“Is there a serious bone in your body?”

“Not when you bring spies into the conversation.”

“Fine, spies are off the table.”

He shook his head in silent laughter, as if he forgot I could see him. Something about it felt… genuine. A flash of the first night we met, when he looked up at me, touched by the rain. But it was also a reminder of everything that followed.

What an excuse for a tennis player.

I was doused with cold water—colder than this.

“I just… I don’t know. I wanted to see how you were after the match,” he said. But I didn’t believe him. I shouldn’t have even entertained a conversation for this long.

“Because I lost?”

“I—” His words dropped off.

“I don’t need to be coddled or—or checked on. I’ve lost matches before. I’m fine.”

To be honest, I had forgotten he was coming today. Even if I had remembered, I wouldn’t have expected him to actually show. When the second set arrived and I switched sides on the court, I had whiplash catching him in the stands.

Jeremiah had been the last man I invited to watch me play. Seeing Kieran up there felt like some cruel joke.

The sight of his linen button-down, baseball cap pulled forward with wisps of blond hair escaping, and clasped hands parting to twist a ring on his pinky finger were burned in my brain when I looked across the arena. The balance in my footing was off the moment I served, my equilibrium wandering away, sending the ball straight to my opponent.

What an excuse for a tennis player.

The last thing my reputation needed was him mocking me at my own match, surrounded by spectators who were deciding whether or not I deserved to be here.

It was the equivalent to inviting your killer to your funeral.

My skin was hot to the touch. My heart pounded in my ears. My hands itched with the urge to grab his neck and dunk his face under the water.

He picked his words back up. “No, that’s not—I know you don’t. But my brother said it was your first match back in a long time and…”