Page 28 of A Summer of Stars

What an excuse for a tennis player.

There was a singular moment in a match when you fell into a rhythm. It didn’t always happen, but with the most magical matches,it always did. Where the racket became an extension of your arm, and the ball grew magnetic, finding you instantly.

You didn’t even need to think. You simply reacted.

Fighting with Kieran felt the same way. It required no thought. Nothing was clouded by anxiety or perfectionism. Just simple, utter passion.

Or in this case, loathing.

“And you wanted to see if I survived? If I’d quit again?”

“Now you’re just putting words in my mouth.”

“God forbid I don’t want to entertain a conversation with someone who doesn’t even take this sport seriously.”

“I never said—” He groaned. “It’s not like you invited me here. It’s in our contract. I didn’t know you suddenly wanted me to care or that it was a requirement in order for me to talk to you.”

“Well, thank you so much for gracing me with your presence!”

“You know, I came today as a favor, despite knowing you’d hate seeing me here.”

“Afavor?” I scoffed. “You’re grossly mistaken if you think I need any favors.”

He heard the argumentative tone in my voice, and finally, his jabs were no longer passive-aggressive. “Based on the way PR has been acting, they’ve made it sound like you need any favor you can get. So don’t give me a hard time just because you’re the one who needs the good publicity—”

Thatstruck an old chord I had been trying to keep covered in the dusty depths of my heart. I was so tired of hearing about how men got to determine my image. “I don’t needanything. If you had actually watched the match, you would’ve seen I’m perfectly fine without some talentless stuck-up actor—”

His voice rose outside the room. “I’mstuck up? I came down here to pay you a compliment.”

I leaned forward abruptly. The water in the tub sloshed over the edge. “Acompliment? I don’t need your pathetic compliment when I just competed against the third best player in the world for two hours after almost a year break while you sat on your ass and watched, knowing nothing about the sport.”

“I don’t even know why I bothered coming down here. You’reinfuriating.”

“You just can’t stand to hear that you’re wrong, and that makes you as pitiful as every other man in Hollywood.”

“And yet you’re willing to date this pitiful man because you’re so desperate for everyone in this industry to love you.”

We were racing to see who would make a spectacle first. Who would leave and shout at PR to write up a new agreement that allowed us to be Photoshopped into the same pictures so we never had to be near each other again.

But I refused to cave. I’d rather deal with the knives in my chest before admitting that I couldn’t handle his presence.

I stood up abruptly from the water. Wrapping myself in a towel, I ripped open the door.

He looked surprised and flustered. Like a boy who was cut off with a kiss. (Who knows, maybe a kiss would’ve made him even angrier.) His hair was ruffled, his hat no longer there, and his cheeks were pink. There was a line of tension between his brows.

“Idareyou to say that again to my face.” I spoke slowly, letting the words come out clear and hard.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Take care of your attitude before next week.” And with that, he turned and walked off, leaving me more fired up than when the day first started.

Our fight was only six days ago. To say I was dreading seeing him this week was an understatement. I loathed the very idea of having tolookat him, let alone stand near him and appear interested in his existence.

Per usual, I’ve turned to wallpapering to avoid the idea of murder.

My neck was cramping with my head tipped back. Like a crane trying to catch a bug flying above, taunting me. This piece of wallpaper refused to stick to the edge of the ceiling three feet above. You’d think ten years of experience in wallpaper usage would make me fit to apply it, let alone six hours of tennis training a day. But no. My arm was already sore after one wall. Which was why Deidra and Cecilia were here helping with the other wall.

“You’re probably rolling too aggressively,” Amir offered over the phone set to speaker on the floor.

“Of course I am—I’m imagining his face behind this paper,” I shouted, hoping he could hear my aggression.