He lost himself in Jesse and hoped it was true.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Heathrow Airport was a madhouse, as always. Luke and Jesse had caught different flights, Luke reminding him that they couldn’t be seen together too much. The British media was famed for its salaciousness, and if they caught a whiff of scandal, they’d be all over Jesse and Luke.
As it was, Luke had flashbulbs going off in his face as he headed to his car, the driver leading him through the crowds. Fans shouted his name, and he gamely waved to them, smiling and playing his role.
Finally ensconced in the back of the luxury car, he relaxed, tipping his head back against the seat. Jesse had lost in the quarterfinals of the French, and now both of them were headed to London’s Queen’s Club for a tournament on grass that served as a tune-up for Wimbledon.
The car wound its way through the busy streets of London towards Luke’s hotel. They’d be in London for three weeks, and normally Luke would have rented a townhouse in a quiet part of the city. It was nice to have some privacy and a sense of normalcy—by the time he returned to the States following Wimbledon, he would have been gone for two months.
However, with Jesse part of the picture, they needed to stay in the same hotel so if they were seen together, there was a logical explanation. He wished it could be different, but as Nik used to say, “If wishes were trees, we’d all be drinking vodka.”
Luke smiled at the memory. Nik loved to mangle phrases to make his own sayings to go along with the Russian ones Luke didn’t understand. He shut his eyes and remembered, the city slipping by unnoticed. He still felt a stab of guilt when he thought of Nik, but as time went on, it lessened.
Sometimes, Luke didn’t know whether to be happy or sad about that.
The hotel was big and well appointed, home to many players during The Championships, the simple moniker the British used for Wimbledon, as if no other identifier was needed. Luke supposed it wasn’t. For all the glory and prestige of the other Slams, it was Wimbledon that held the most magic, the most history.
As a three-time winner, Luke was huge with the fans and as he stepped from the car, more cameras flashed. He took a few minutes to sign autographs for the waiting crowd, who screamed and grinned and bounced up and down. Luke could never really understand why they were so excited to see him, but the attention flattered him. He was only human.
His room was large and plush, and he wasted no time in flopping down on the bed. His eyes drifted shut, the late afternoon sun warm on his face through the big window. The flight had been a short one, but there was something about travel that always made him drowsy.
He awoke some time later to a quiet knock at the door. He ignored it at first, slipping back easily into his dreams. But it sounded again, and with a groan, he heaved himself up. He opened the door to find Jesse, bouncing on his toes and looking up and down the hallway.
“It’s about time.” He pushed Luke back into the room and closed the door behind them. “Someone could have seen me, you know.”
Luke stretched back out on the bed, covering his head with a pillow. “What time is it?”
“Time to order room service. I’m starving. You must be, too.”
Yawning, Luke agreed, “Come to think of it, I am.”
“You want the usual?” Jesse flipped through the menu, perched on the side of the bed.
“Sure. Wait, what’s my usual?”
“Chicken breast, baked potato, whatever vegetables they have. They’ve got a rosemary chicken thing; it should fit the bill.”
Jesse ordered their dinner while Luke ruminated on the fact that Jesse knew him well enough to order his dinner. A smile tugged at his lips.
“What?” Jesse looked down at him.
“Nothing, I was just thinking.”
“Uh-oh, we all know how dangerous that can be.”
“You little shit.” Luke laughed, hauling him down across his body on the bed.
“I certainly am.” Jesse kissed him.
“How long for the food?”
“Half an hour. Long enough?” He ground his hips down suggestively.
“Hmm. Maybe we should wait. I don’t want to rush.”
Jesse slid off him, curling up to his side. “No, we wouldn’t want that.”
“What time’s your practice court booked for tomorrow?”
“Way too early. But you know Jeff.” He deepened his voice, imitating him. “The early bird gets the worm.”
“Hey, you got to the quarters in Paris; I guess you shouldn’t knock it.”
Jesse snorted. “Yeah, and then I lost 6-1, 6-0, 6-1. In, like, fifty minutes.”
“Hey, at least you avoided the triple bagel, right?”
“Yeah, those two games I won are something to be proud of.”
Luke rolled over, resting his head on his hand as he peered at Jesse. “You know how amazing it is to get to a quarterfinal of a Slam in your third year on tour? Some guys work for years and never get that far. You’re having a great year, so don’t knock it.”