Free Game of Love by Ara Grigorian Page A

her forehead, causing the tight skin to loosen and ease. Her eyes fluttered momentarily. Suddenly, her hand emerged from beneath the blanket and took his hand in hers, tight against her chest. He felt her heartbeat and gentle breathing. He studied her face, wanting to remember every detail, knowing for once he could use his photographic memory for something he actually wanted to commit to memory.
    With her face etched in his mind, he drifted.

    “
Mademoiselle. Monsieur.
Please put on your seat belts,” someone said. “Heavy turbulence.” It was the flight attendant.
    Gemma rose slightly, trying to remember where she was. Her neck was tight, and a heavy headache weighed her down. Medication always disoriented her. She noticed her hand. That wasn’t her stuffed dog… that was his hand.
    Andre woke up. “What’s going on?” he asked, but did not release her hand.
    “Turbulence,” she whispered.
    He nodded then squeezed her hand. “We’ll be fine.”
    Their chairs rose while the plane jolted. Gemma rubbed her temples and turned her head this way and that, hoping to release the tightness in her neck.
    “Are you okay?” he asked.
    “Ugh. I think so. My neck is frozen stiff and I have a headache.”
    “Face me and scoot closer.”
    She did without hesitation.
    He laid his hands on her temples and applied a gentle pressure. First light, then stronger. Her eyes did not break from his. His long fingers slid down her jaw, to her neck. She blinked and leaned a bit closer to him as his hands found the back of her neck, then the base of her skull. She was no longer sure if her head hurt, or if her neck was tight. What she wanted was to grab his face and press her lips to his.
    “Gemma?”
    “Yes?” she muttered.
    “You’re drooling.”
    “So are you, love.”
    He laughed then pulled her into his chest, embracing her completely.
    “This is a good day,” she whispered just as the plane shook again.

    When breakfast was served, Andre glanced at his watch. They had less than two hours before landing. He thought carefully about what he wanted to say next. He wanted to see her again, but his life was too complicated–and so was hers–and, in any event, that’s not what he wanted. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. But he loved talking to her. Well, maybe love was too strong a word. Really liked? Really-really liked? Whatever it was, he knew he could talk to her freely, because like him, she had also given up youth. Like him, she was trying to make sense of the crazy world they now lived in. They were more alike than different.
    “Are you staying in LA, or is this a layover for you?” he asked.
    “Staying for a few days, then I’m heading back to London,” she said, forking her fruit salad.
    “Are you here for a match or an appearance?”
    “No, nothing like that. I just needed to get away for a couple of days. Needed to collect myself before my upcoming matches.”
    “So the tabloids were right. You are having a nervous breakdown.”
    She poked his hand with her fork. “Careful. I can get nasty.”
    He rubbed his hand. “Clearly. So, you’re staying at a hotel, a resort–”
    “My home in Malibu.”
    “You have a home in Malibu?”
    “Yes, Malibu and London. When I’m not traveling, that is. I stay in LA maybe six weeks out of the year. About the same in London. The rest of the time I’m in hotels or on planes.”
    “Then your travel life is as bad as mine. That must take some of the fun out of the game. I know it kills me,” he said.
    “The travel is dreadful. Absolutely hate it. Some months, like this one, are criminal. French Open, then to another match in the U.K. next week, then possibly the Netherlands, followed by the big one, Wimbledon. Back to back.”
    “How does your body hold up with this type of grind?” he asked. When his words registered, he turned beet red. “Wait. What I meant…”
    “Very well, thank you very much.” She punched his shoulder.
    It was now or