Playing to Win (The Complete Series Box Set): 3 romances with angst and humor

by Alix Nichols

  I’m trying not to drive myself crazy guessing what it is.

  Has he brought me here to declare his feelings? Or is this a goodbye gift before he breaks up with me to reunite with Colette?

  If he doesn’t talk soon, I will go crazy.

  “How do you like Malta?” Zach asks as we stroll down one of the central streets.

  “Very much.”

  “Do you think you could live here for a few months next year?”

  I frown, taken aback by the question.

  “I’m asking that because residency is a requirement to get a Maltese passport,” Zach says.

  I stop in my tracks and turn to him. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “I was wondering… I thought…” He shuts his eyes as if to collect his thoughts.

  My heart races.

  Zach opens his eyes. “You shouldn’t go back to Nepal after what happened between us.”

  I don’t respond, processing his words.

  “I was too stupid and selfish,” he says. “You being a virgin at twenty-three should’ve raised a red flag about how big a deal chastity is in your culture.”

  “So you regret…”—I look down—“sleeping with me?”

  He takes my hand. “I don’t. I can’t. It’s too good.”

  I look up.

  “Sex with you blows my mind, chaton,” he says. “Every single time.”

  Who knew it was possible to experience two opposite emotions at the same time? What he said about the sex with me makes my chest swell with joy and pride. What he didn’t say about his feelings makes me choke on swallowed tears.

  I shrug. “What will happen in Nepal is not your problem.”

  “I respectfully disagree.” He attempts a smile. “There’s no way I’m letting you suffer the consequences of the pleasure you gave me—of the pleasure you’re giving me—while I carry on with my life.”

  I sweep my hand at the buildings along the street. “What’s Malta got to do with any of that?”

  “Malta is a member of the European Union,” he says. “It has a program that allows foreigners to acquire citizenship through residency and investment. A Maltese passport will give you the right to work and live in any EU country including France.”

  This is so far-fetched I don’t even know what to say.

  “That’s why I brought you here,” Zach says. “I wanted you to see the place and decide if you like it enough to live here for a while.”

  “Doing what?”

  He shrugs. “Chilling. Embroidering. Showing me around when I visit.”

  “What about Sam?”

  “I’ll bring him along when I can.”

  “I mean, who’ll look after him?”

  He sighs. “Mathilde. Me. My parents. Hopefully, Colette.”

  “Or you could get a new au pair,” I say with a smirk.

  “Uma, please.” He cups my face, a pleading look in his brown eyes.

  “Colette was never interested in Sam,” I say. “Why would she be now? What gives?”

  “When Sam was diagnosed, she didn’t expect him to make it. The doctors told us he might be too seriously handicapped to have a normal life. I chose to fight. She chose to withdraw to spare herself future pain.”

  “Future hassle, more like,” I mutter.

  “That too.” He strokes my cheek. “I’m not trying to justify her, but… I’m trying to understand. Now that he’s doing so much better than everyone expected, she wants a second chance.”

  I give him a hard stare. “She doesn’t deserve it.”

  “You’re right,” he says. “But I’m going to give it to her, anyway. For Sam’s sake.”

  Are you also going to let her back into your life and your bed while I’m “chilling” in Malta?

  But I don’t dare to ask that question, too scared of what he might say in response, honest as he is.

  “OK,” I say. “Let’s imagine for a second that I went along with your madcap idea. What about the cost? If I don’t have a job, I won’t be able to pay rent, and even if I find a job, I won’t be able to make the investment you mentioned. How much is it?”

  He knits his brows. “Who said you were going to pay for anything?”

  “How big is the required investment, Zach?”

  He rubs his forehead before muttering, “One mil.”

  My jaw drops. Unless he’s talking rupees and not euros, the amount is obscene.

  “I’m selling my company,” he says, “It’ll fetch at least half the money. Noah will supply the other half from his trust fund.”

  I lift my eyes skyward. “You’ve lost your mind—both of you—if you think I’ll accept that kind of sacrifice.”

  “It’s no sacrifice! I’ll start a new business, and with the experience I have now, it won’t take me more than a year to make it profitable.”

  “And what would you and Sam do during that year?”

  “We’ll live on my savings and water polo salary.” He arches an eyebrow. “See? I’ve thought this through. No sacrifice.”

  “I’m grateful, Zach,” I say. “I truly am. For this weekend and for your generous offer. But I’m going to say no.”

  He begins to protest, so I put my hand over his mouth to shush him. “I want to go back to Nepal. I may not look like it, but I’m strong enough to pursue my own path over there, regardless of what society expects of me.”

  “When did you make that decision?” He knits his eyebrows. “Last time I checked, your big dream was to work for a Parisian haute couture house.”

  “I changed my mind while you were in Australia.”

  He narrows his eyes, still unconvinced.

  “I already bought my plane ticket,” I lie. “My parents are expecting me back in three weeks, as soon as I graduate.”

  He looks crestfallen.

  As I draw away and start walking, I tell myself Zach will appreciate what I’m doing later, when his lust for me wears off, and he reunites with Colette. I hope she can make him happy.

  I hope she can find it in her to be the mother Sam deserves.

  SEVENTEEN

  Zach

  Uma is leaving in two weeks’ time.

  By choice.

  That’s all I can think of as I exchange pleasantries with Coach’s parents who’ve come by the pool to say hello to Lucas and his squad.

  It’s been a week since she hit me with the news, but I still can’t wrap my head around it. I spent the entire weekend in Malta trying to persuade her to return her ticket and accept my offer, or at least agree to consider it. I kept telling her there’s zero sacrifice in me selling an online business or in Noah dipping into his enormous inheritance to spare her needless hardship. Hardship that she wouldn’t be facing if I hadn’t been such a self-centered asshole.

  But nothing doing.

  “You didn’t force me to sleep with you,” Uma said on the flight back to France. “You didn’t sweet-talk me into it. You even asked me to stop and think.”

  “Desire impaired your judgment. I should’ve waited to be sure you weren’t rushing into it.”

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t rushing into anything. I’d thought hard and long about it for days. I made up my mind when I took that midnight walk through Inry. I have no regrets.”

  “Then why are you leaving?” I asked. “Don’t you want… more of it?”

  She gave me a sad smile and turned to stare at the fluffy clouds beneath the plane, leaving me to manage my distress.

  I had thought… I’m not sure what I’d thought, but I’d been convinced Uma enjoyed being with me. I’d anticipated she’d be glad for the opportunity to stay in Europe, first in Malta and then back in France, so we could continue seeing each other. I didn’t expect her to choose to return to Nepal and face the music.

  Maybe she doesn’t like me as much as I thought she did. As much as I like her.

  “Mom and Dad wondered if they could sit through your practice session,” Lucas says.

  “Of course!�
�

  “It’s a privilege.”

  “No problem at all,” several men say at once.

  Lucas’s dad smiles. “We’d watched our fair share of scrimmages and games back in the day when Lucas played, but we were curious to see him coach.”

  “He isn’t tender,” Valentin says, winking at them. “And he doesn’t always watch his language. I bet you’ll discover a whole new side to your son.”

  I bet they’ve been discovering new sides to him ever since he woke up from his coma with no idea of who he was.

  It must suck to be in Lucas’s shoes.

  How do you call someone “Mom” or “Dad” if you have no childhood memories of them? How do you hang out with old friends you don’t recognize? How do you rebuild your life using photos and other people’s memories?

  “OK, enough small talk.” Coach motions his parents to a bench before turning to the guys. “Into the pool! Chop, chop!”

  For the next two hours we train, focusing on shooting, sprints, and game tactics. Lucas has me spend some time practicing the lob shot and the backhand shot, which he believes are my weakest. He’s right. The reason I favor overhand and push shots is because they’re easier. But you don’t win gold doing only what’s easy.

  On the way home, I anticipate how the evening will go.

  Uma will give me an account of Sam’s afternoon and retreat to her room to work. She won’t come down to dinner, claiming she had a bite just before I got home. If I allow myself a bit of down time in front of TV after Sam’s in bed, she won’t join me as she used to. Her course at Ecole Lesage has gotten too intense, she says. Uma works every evening now, stitching and revising at her desk. She’s determined to leave France with her certificate in her pocket.

  Which is, after all, why she came here in the first place.

  While Uma is in her room, Colette joins me sometimes for a bit of late-night TV. She’s been showing up with increasing regularity of late, claiming she was in the neighborhood or that she was feeling a little down alone at home. I’ve told her she doesn’t need to invent excuses to spend time with her son. I’ve also told her she should try to arrive earlier so she can play with him and not just kiss him goodnight.

  She says the shop where she works stays open until eight, so nine is the soonest she can be in Inry.

  While we chat in front of the TV, I’ll offer her a glass of wine and tell her about some of the funny things Sam has said or done. After I’ve sent her on her way, I’ll knock on Uma’s door and climb into her bed. We’ll kiss and pet each other and have sex. I’ll savor her taste, all her tastes. We’ll fall asleep with her sweet little ass against my loins, and my hand on her mound.

  Our routine hasn’t changed after the Malta getaway—and yet it has.

  Whether we’re having a demure conversation in the kitchen or clinging to each other in the bedroom with my cock buried deep inside her, Uma won’t look into my eyes.

  It makes me feel wretched.

  It fills me with anger.

  On a couple of occasions, I almost took her face between my hands and ordered her to look me in the eye.

  God help me, I’m losing it.

  EIGHTEEN

  Uma

  Both Sam and Zach had insisted I come to this game. I caved in against my better judgment and because Zach is convinced I bring him luck. Nageurs de Paris has won every single game I attended.

  Colette is here, too.

  “I had to take a day off so I could attend,” she says to Sam for the third time in the past thirty minutes.

  Zach had been apprised of the magnitude of her self-sacrifice at least a dozen times before the game started.

  Sam ignores her comment and turns to me. “Ready for the wave?”

  He’s wearing a sweater the same color as Zach’s team jacket with a big number three on its back. I found it on eBay back in October as a cold-season alternative to his favorite jersey.

  “Ready?” he asks me again.

  “Aye, aye, captain,” I say, glancing at the pool.

  Noah must have just blocked a shot because he has the ball in his hand and is surveying the field for a wing player to pass it to. Whoever he picks, it’s likely they’ll pass the ball to Zach so he can shoot.

  Positioned outside of the two-meter line, Zach looks both alert and self-possessed. He always looks like this during games, despite all the opposing players crowding his personal space.

  If Zach nets the ball, Sam and I will grab each other’s hand, stand up and do the wave, after which I’ll throw some confetti.

  It’s our tradition.

  When I glance at Colette, her expression is gloomy.

  Guilt pricks my heart.

  Zach has chosen to give his ex a second chance. I have chosen to decamp so the three of them can make a go at being a family. That means I should be consistent and support Colette’s efforts to bond with her son. Zach believes she’s trying. It’s my duty to help her, even if doing so will sever my own bond with the boy.

  Move over, Uma. It’s time to let go.

  “Hey, buddy!” I give Sam a sunny smile as if I’m about to offer him a treat. “Why don’t you show your mom how to do the wave?”

  “Would you like to try?” he asks her.

  She nods.

  I hand her my confetti bag.

  Sam shows her our routine. “OK?”

  “Piece of cake,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “We do the wave every time Dad’s team scores,” Sam explains, “and when Noah blocks a shot.”

  Colette peers at the players in the pool. “Which one’s Dad’s team again?”

  “White caps.”

  The audience cheers, and I turn toward the pool.

  “Marseille’s hole set converted the penalty!” the commentator shouts.

  Marseille finds itself up 2-1. They manage to maintain their one-goal advantage throughout the game. But the Parisians refuse to capitulate. They catch up a minute before the buzzer, after white cap two—I think it’s Valentin—delivers a ball that Zach instantly shifts into the net. Sam and I scream our heads off. Colette stares at us like we’re savages.

  Marseille attacks, but Noah blocks their hole set’s powerful shot. He swims forward and passes the ball all the way across the pool to Zach, who volleys it into the goal… only to see it hit the crossbar.

  With the clock marking fifteen seconds to the final horn, and Marseille attacking again, Zach abandons his position to join Noah’s defenders and make sure the opponent doesn’t score a decisive goal.

  The tension is palpable as the audience and the commentator hold their breath.

  “Marseille is racing down the pool,” the commentator says, “They’ll try to score for the win. Otherwise, the game will go into overtime.”

  There’s a scrimmage involving several players. White cap five emerges from it with the ball in his hand.

  “Great movement from Paris! Cordier steals the ball, passes it to hole set Monin,” the commentator says before adding, “with just five seconds to the end of the game.”

  I clench my fists. Zach has no time to turn around and swim back toward Marseille’s goal.

  “Monin shoots backhanded from half-court!” the commentator yells.

  The arena grows silent as everyone follows the trajectory of the ball, mesmerized. It flies over the staggered goalie’s head and lands inside the goal cage.

  Zach’s team won! They’re going to the finals!

  After the game, the squad and their wives, girlfriends, and children—as the case may be—head to the usual cafe to celebrate.

  In Zach’s case, it’s the child, the nanny and the child’s mom.

  He plonks himself onto a chair at the long table. Sam jumps onto his lap. Colette sits down next to him. I press my purse to my chest and open my mouth to say goodbye and leave.

  “Uma,” Zach gives me a pleading look. “Please, stay.”

  I wish Noah was here so I could sit next to him, but he rushed off immediately afte
r the game.

  Zach pats the empty chair on his left.

  “Would you like me to take Sam home in an hour or so?” I ask, sitting down. “That way, you guys can stay as late as you want and celebrate properly.”

  Colette leans around Zach. “That’s a great idea! Thank you, Uma.”

  Zach frowns, visibly conflicted, when Lucas raises his glass. “To the best squad in the world and to the hero of this game, Zachary Monin!”

  A lengthy session of cheering, glass clinking, and shoulder slapping ensues.

  “Just look at you,” Jean-Michel says to Zach in the middle of the brouhaha, “You used to be this lone wolf, never to be seen in the company of a woman… And now you’ve got not one, but two gorgeous girlfriends, a blonde and a brunette. Lucky bastard!”

  I glare at him.

  “Shut your stupid mouth,” Zach hisses, more furious than I’ve ever seen him.

  Colette chuckles.

  If I linger for another minute, I might melt down and cry.

  “I rescind my offer,” I say to Zach. “Got a headache.”

  “Uma, don’t—”

  I stand up. “You guys have fun.”

  Zach moves to grab my hand, but I draw back and nearly run out of the cafe.

  As I ride the métro back home, my forehead against the window, I tell myself that things can only go uphill from here. Because “here” has become hell. Even suffering my parents’ disappointment and anger when I tell them I’m not marrying Giriraj will be easy compared this agony.

  One day, I’ll get over Zach.

  I’m strong.

  And I’m not alone.

  Marguerite has made peace with the fact that Noah and I aren’t in love. Once she did, she hailed my decision to return to Nepal. If my parents cut me off when I tell them I’m not marrying Giriraj, she’ll take me in. She’s even willing to offer me a job at her charity if I have no luck with designers.

  Marguerite is so much more than a mentor to me.

  She’s my rock.

  That said, I still don’t approve of her interfering with Noah and Sophie’s relationship. The way she arranged for Sophie to learn the truth about Noah was too brutal. So brutal that the poor girl flew back stateside and won’t return Noah’s calls.