Game of Love by Ara Grigorian Read Free Book Online Page A

walked her to the locker room, but Gemma’s thoughts drifted back to the end of the game.
    When she lost, she wanted to hide, but the crowd had different plans. “
Gemma! Gemma! Gemma!
” they chanted.
    She found the will to wave to her fans and her team. Wesley’s eyes were swollen, while Bedric kept a strong face, and Tish tried to maintain her composure. Ravaged with dejection, she searched through unfamiliar faces to find Andre. He was screaming and cheering as loud as anyone else, waving a tiny British flag.
    Her lungs felt raw and her joints like frail parchment paper. She had lost to Sonia… again. She should have been crushed. Instead she focused on the friendly face of the American man with the genuine smile.
    A face she wanted to see again. A man she wanted to know better.

    With Tish’s help, Gemma finished packing her luggage. She could feel her friend’s stare.
    “I’m fine,” Gemma said, then playfully pushed Tish. “Don’t analyze me like I’m some endangered butterfly.”
    “I know. You always come back stronger. Do you want me to join you?” Tish asked.
    “Thanks for the offer. But I want to rest, do nothing for three days before I head back to London. I need some
me
time.” The last thing she wanted was to deal with the press, paparazzi, and more Johnny Flauto fallout in London. Also, she wanted to see Xavi again. To ease her mind.
    “You let me know when you want
me
time to be
we
time
,
and I’ll be on the next bird out of Heathrow.”
    They hugged.
    “Take this,” Tish said, handing her a Sudoku puzzle book. “It’ll keep the voices in your head occupied on the flight. Half the book when I see you later in the week, or you owe me fifty quid.”
    Gemma tucked the book in her carryon. “Remember, not a word to Wesley or Bedric until after I’m gone. They won’t understand and will assume the worst.”
    “Understood.”
    Gemma was silent for a moment. “Tish, don’t ask why, just do me a favor.”
    “Anything.”
    “Go and see if Andre, the American, is at the bar. Then text me.”
    “And I can’t ask you why?”
    “No, you can’t.”
    “Can I guess?”
    “No, you can’t.” Uncontrollably, Gemma beamed. There was that feeling again. Youth.

    That night, lounging at the hotel bar, Andre watched highlights of the day’s match on the flat screen. Gemma had not come downstairs. For all he knew, she had already left.
    “She is staying here at the Pullman,” the bartender said.
    “The British player?”
    “
Oui
, Gemma. She is so good.”
    “What makes her good?”
    “How do you say, angry and active on the court?”
    “Aggressive?”
    “
Oui
, like Capriati. She runs to the net all the time. Like the men, taking chances, but smooth like a ballerina. Also, powerful serves. She makes the match fun to watch.”
    “Interesting.”
    “And, of course,” the French bartender said with a dramatic flair, “she is the most beautiful woman in the world.”
    Andre laughed, fully agreeing with the man’s sentiments, when a familiar sensation gave him pause. He swiveled slowly, scanning his surroundings. Nothing seemed out of place, but he couldn’t shake that all too familiar, yet uncomfortable, feeling. Was he being watched?

    Gemma read Tish’s message. “
Not at bar. Sorry G.”
    She considered going downstairs just to be sure. Gemma had wanted to do that for the last couple of days, but had talked herself out of it, each time remembering what falling for the wrong guy had gained her.
    She strode to her bag, found her scraggly stuffed dog of twenty-one years, then went to her bedroom and fell on the bed.
    Probably best he wasn’t there. She couldn’t afford to get in that trap again.
    She closed her eyes, recalling the unforced errors and lost chances on the court. Even so, she had done well this time. Xavi had been right. So long as she remained focused and shut out the noise, she could have a shot at winning it all. Thankfully, she’d get another chance in three