“Suit,” he corrected. “We travel in suits. Uniform is only for games.”
“Whatever. You show up at the designated time and place, you get on a plane—and that’s no commercial airline, is it?”
He didn’t deny that.
“Then you get flown out to the place where you have a nice hotel prearranged for you, eat food they provide for you, you have team trainers and staff to take care of all your needs, you play your game, and fly back the same way. Did I miss anything?”
“Not in the big picture,” he allowed.
Propping her chin up on her hands, she watched him. “When I need to travel, it comes out of my pocket. I use airline miles, or I fly the cheapest way possible, which usually includes several annoying connections. I’m playing in some bizarre places because I need the points to qualify for better seeding in Slams. I’m sharing a masseuse with thirty-one other women, knowing that masseuse may or may not have time to even see me. I’m paying for a dingy motel because I need my cash to last. I’m eating good food—if I can find it—because it’s something I can’t skimp on, but I can’t always find it when I don’t have a kitchen to make it myself. I’m spending ungodly amounts of money on stringing my rackets each time I play. And then I have to make it back home again. And the best outcome from that tournament? If I add up all my travel expenses, my rackets, the food… best odds is that I walk away from that tournament netting two grand if I win.”
“Two… You’re kidding.” Michael blinked, then chuckled. “That’s absurd. Nice try.”
Kat held completely still and had the satisfaction of watching the truth slowly spreading over Michael’s face.
“You’re shitting me. You’re telling me you could win a professional tennis tournament and walk away with only two thousand dollars.”
“Net,” she reminded him. “The full purse is bigger than that, but I have to consider my expenses. If I lose, I’m in the hole. It’s why I’ve started choosing my tournaments more strictly and earning money outside of playing. When I was young, I’d go anywhere, play anywhere I could for the experience, the exposure, the thrill. Now…” She sighed. “Too many injuries. I need to save my energy—and, well, money—for the tournaments that count.”
“But the bigger ones,” he started.
“Yeah, of course, the bigger the tournament, the bigger the payout. But there’s more competition and more expenses. It’s a wash, odds-wise, on winning more money. And none of this is taking into account paying for a coach whether I win or lose, court time… It’s money.”
“That’s just fucked up,” Michael growled. “You’re ranked in the top one hundred players in the world.”
“Women,” she added.
“Whatever. And you’re barely scraping by on winnings.”
“And endorsements. The few I have left,” she added quietly. “But now you see the ways that I’m never going to be able to relate to you. I’m not bitter. Okay, fine, maybe just a tad.” She held her forefinger and thumb apart an inch when he raised a brow in question. “Not bitter so much as jealous. But you simply play a sport that is more valued economically. I can’t change that. You didn’t create the system. You’re just doing the same thing I’m doing… playing a sport you love and reaping the benefits from it. Yours happens to come with more guaranteed benefits.”
“Still sucks.” He kissed her, then guided her head back down to his chest.
Kat sat quietly for a moment, her ear pressed to his chest. She let the soothing, heavy beat of his heart lull her into a meditative state. Could their lives be like this? Could she work at the tennis center with Gary, playing in the tournaments she deemed most valuable, not worrying as much about money, about her reputation with sponsors and the media? Could she and Michael have a future? To answer that, she had to know…
“You’ve never asked.”
His hand stilled for a moment in her hair. “Asked what?”
“If I really released the video. The sex video,” she added, as if that needed clarification.
It didn’t. They’d both known what she meant.
He was silent for a while. Long enough that she began counting the beats of his heart while she waited.
Chapter 23
“I don’t need to.”
Her breath released on a whoosh of air. Then she squeezed him closer, attempting to burrow in. “I’m going to go in tonight. I can’t leave them in the lurch, it’s too last minute. But I’ll give my notice.”
“Good idea. Maybe we can drop this whole fake persona along with the job?”
She grimaced. “It’s not all a persona, you know. I do love to dance. And I’m not a serious person. Never will be.”
“I’m fine with that. But the troublemaking, the idea of living up to a reputation…”
“Yeah. I know.” She breathed in the scent of them combined. It should have been disgusting… but it was soothing instead. “You’re right.”
Michael kissed the top of her head and held on.
Keep holding on. Please, please. Let me be happy.