Love Match (Love Match 1)

“That’s not how it seemed to me. Everything was fine when I left. What happened to change it?”

Luke looked at him, wincing internally when he saw the raw look on Jesse’s face. “It’s my fault, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just not ready for this. It’s not you.”

Jesse barked out a terse laugh. “Oh my god, the first guy I mess around with and I’m already getting the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ speech. That must be some kind of record.”

Luke tried to think of something to make Jesse feel better when his words registered. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘the first guy’?”

“Nothing, forget it,” Jesse mumbled, his cheeks red, eyes downcast.

“Jesse …” Luke reached out for Jesse’s arm, but he backed away.

Jeff chose that moment to jog back onto court. “Okay, ready for a rematch?”

They played on, the tension thick. The other team won easily, 6-3, 6-4. Jeff gave them a lecture on communication afterwards and Luke could barely look him in the eye. This was never going to work; they might as well just give up.

Jesse sped to the locker room. Luke walked quickly to catch up. “Jesse, wait.”

He didn’t break stride. “Sorry, I’m in a rush.”

Luke caught him by the elbow and tugged him into an alcove. “Look, maybe we should just cancel out on Indian Wells.”

Jesse squared his jaw. “Why? You afraid?”

“No! What the hell would I have to be afraid of?”

Jesse shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know, Luke. You tell me.” When Luke said nothing, Jesse sighed. “Jeff already committed us. We’ll get a penalty if we withdraw without a good reason. If you want to quit, then you go tell Jeff right now. I don’t want to hear the lecture. I don’t deserve it.” With that, he walked off.

Luke paced the hallway a bit before he found Jesse in the locker room. He tried not to notice the way Jesse’s firm muscles flexed in his back as he pulled a shirt over his head. Luke cleared his throat. “Okay, we’ll play.”

Jesse looked over his shoulder and nodded. “Okay.” He closed his locker and picked up his bag. “It’s business, plain and simple.”

Luke knew it was anything but.

The day of Luke and Jesse’s first match at Indian Wells dawned cool, but soon warmed up as the sun rose. Luke and Mike hit a practice court and rallied for a few hours. They were both into the second round of singles, as was Jesse. Luke hadn’t seen him yet but had watched the highlights on TV in his hotel room.

Their last few practice sessions together had been torture, but they were playing well enough as a team. Jesse had become just as cold and clinical as Luke was, and Luke wondered again why they didn’t just pay the penalty for withdrawal. But here they were, scheduled for one of the outer courts against a French/South African team.

Luke met Jesse in the locker room before the match. He put down his equipment and started stretching. Jesse had only nodded at him when he’d walked in, so finally Luke asked, “How’s it going?”

Jesse looked up from tightening the strings on his racquet. “Fine.” He looked back down, staring intently at nothing.

Luke couldn’t think of anything else to say, so he continued stretching his hamstring. The silence between them was heavy, and Luke was relieved when their opponents arrived. They made small talk until called out onto the court.

Jesse and Luke won the coin toss and chose to serve first. Luke’s first serve was an ace, neither of the other players managing to get their racquets on it. They won the first game easily, and before Luke knew it, he and Jesse had taken the first set.

On the changeover, when players switched sides of the court, he and Jesse sat in their chairs on the sideline and drank some water.

“I think we should go more to Morel’s backhand; it’s looking pretty shaky,” Jesse said.

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

Jesse swallowed another gulp of water as the official called time and nodded. He trotted out past the net, Luke trailing behind him. They took the lead in the second set and things were running smoothly until a ball that Luke let sail by him was called in, not out as he’d expected. Now they were down break point. He was sure the ball hadn’t touched the line and approached the chair umpire.

“Come on, that ball was out by a mile.”

The umpire remained impassive. “The linesman made the right call. It looked like it clipped the line. I’m not overruling.”

Luke looked up into the ump’s face, his calm, emotionless features. Suddenly he felt something inside him give way. “Bullshit!” he yelled.

The ump’s jaw tightened. “Return to your position on the court and resume play.”

“Or what?” Luke sneered. Then he felt a tug on his arm and Jesse was there.