My number one fan
Title: My number one fan
Pairing: Ernests Gulbis/Novak Djokovic
Other characters: Richard Gasquet
Rating: PG
Word count: 3,503
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters and this is a fiction.
Summary: Ernests finds his number one fan in the stands.
Author’s note: The story is set at 2009 Brisbane International, with Ernests’ POV. The match facts aren’t real.
Oh, no. Not again. He is there, keeping an eye on me, again. That creepy Richard Gasquet, the one that rather I should keep an eye on. The infamous, I’d like to say, French is my boyfriend Novak’s ex-boyfriend and I still have no idea what he saw in him. Seriously, he can play some good tennis but who cares about him off-court? I know I don’t.
“Fault!”
I try to ignore his presence in the stands and focus on my second serve. This is the first game of the match and I can’t afford a double fault against a higher-ranked player than me, Paul-Henri Mathieu who is currently ranked at thirty one. Other people who might have recognized Gasquet in the crowd must think that he came to see his fellow countryman’s match but no, I know that he came to see me, in not such a good way.
“Fault!”
“Love, fifteen.”
Ouch. I hit a double fault and give the first point to my opponent. I ask a ball boy for the towel and my eyes automatically land on that “not that cute” face. Wait. Did he just snort at me? Huh. What kind of a player snorts at another player who just hit a double fault because of him? He should look guilty, not pleased!
I frown a little bit more than usual and toss the ball in the air before aiming the center service line. My opponent barely gets to the ball and the second point comes running into my arms. Yes!
“Fifteen all.”
I check Gasquet’s face again while wiping my forehead with the hem of my T-shirt. He should see that I worked on my abs to which Novak gives a lot of attention with his mouth and hands these days. I see Gasquet’s eyes check out my abs and as I expected, he looks away immediately. Yes! Big boost for me!
I serve once more before I get a time violation warning and get into a rally where I show off my big forehand. I heard that Gasquet’s new coach has been working hard to give him a shiny, new forehand but I bet when it comes to a powerful forehand, I can still beat him.
“Thirty, fifteen.”
Ha! Take that, Frenchie!
It’s time for me to serve again and this time, I hit an ace which flies over the net at the speed of 225km/h. I feel good. I get ready to serve and there goes my second ace. Nice!
I slowly walk towards the bench and grab my sports drink. I really want to stop checking the unpretty face but I can’t help it. It’s human instinct, or rather animal instinct to beware of your enemies.
It’s funny that Novak can’t watch my match in the stands because of the possible speculation of our relationship but Gasquet can. That Gasquet even came to see my match in Madrid last fall and to some other matches before that. Thanks to him, I even remember reading somewhere that he and I were good friends! Yeah, right. We’re totally good friends; best friends forever maybe. I can’t believe some journalists actually wrote that stuff. Why are they even getting paid?
I drink some water and pick up my racquet again. I’ll have to find a way to focus on my match and completely tune out the one who has been watching thirstily, for a couple of months already, for a chance to get my boyfriend back. As if I’m going to let that happen. Over my dead body.
I take a deep breath and go back to the baseline to play a solid return game. I didn’t win in straight sets against my boyfriend yesterday, only to lose today. I felt bad enough for Novak who had to answer hundreds of questions that were practically asking him the same thing: Why did you lose? So I should really try my best to win. And, even if I can’t, at least I should suffer a beautiful loss. I owe him that much.
Okay. I just lost my service game and I am ashamed. I could’ve focused more and spared myself humiliation over those horrible unforced errors. There’s a clear difference between missing the ball by a few centimeters and by a whole meter.
I am aware that there is a reason why I am still ranked number fifty three in the world even when everyone keeps telling me how talented I am, but I really don’t want to make too many errors today when I know that Novak’s watching in the hotel room, probably cheering with all his heart and when I painfully know that my nemesis is watching in the stands, only a few meters away, probably enjoying how much distraction he can be.
“Love, fifteen.”
I hit an awesome backhand drop volley and hear the crowd applause. Thank you. Dropshots are growing on me so fast and I think that they could be very useful throughout my career if they keep working this well. I hope so. I could certainly use more weapons.
“Fifteen all.”
Well, I saw that one coming. That was a tricky serve.
“Thirty, fifteen.”
Okay, let’s concentrate.
“Forty, fifteen.”
Urgh, I should return better. My boyfriend has one of the best returns in the business. I should follow his good example.
“Game, Mathieu.”
So I couldn’t break back. It’s all right. I should try to hold here. I’ll get another chance to break. No worries.
“First set, Mathieu.”
Oh well, who said that it was going to be easy to win this match? It’s never easy to win a match when you’re ranked outside the top fifty. And, I should better work on getting my ranking up so that I can avoid running into top seeds. It’s getting frustrating, really.
This week I was rather lucky to face an exhausted Novak. I bet Gasquet will have to beat his chest like King Kong and weep in a dark corner if he ever finds out why the world number three was so tired. Hah, perhaps I should mention it in front of him if I can find a sneaky way to do that. I’ll have to come up with a creative method.
Wait. Now that I ask myself, why isn’t he watching the match with Novak? Even if I warned him several times already, my boyfriend still thinks that I’m being paranoid. He still hangs out with that headcase whenever Gasquet manages to find a way to set an appointment behind my back, and he still thinks that French is very mature for being good friends with him.
Oh, I suddenly realize the reason why Gasquet didn’t sneak into our hotel room to watch this match! Drinking water can do me good like this. I suppose he didn’t want to see Novak cheer for me so he rather chose to come here and see me get all annoyed; both by his presence and by how the match is going on at the moment.
“Time.”
I lost the first set but I’m going to do everything in my power to do better in this second set. I try to picture my boyfriend shout encouraging words for me. I’m dating a solid all-around player, a possible future number one. I have been very proud of him throughout all these years, and I think that it would be very nice if I can make him proud too.
“Game, Gulbis.”
I hold my service game with ease for once. I feel better about this match now. I fixed my wild forehand and my backhand has become more stable. I towel my face and get ready to return whatever ball will fly over the net.
“Love, fifteen.”
Ah, I’m so glad that my net play was decent there.
“Love, thirty.”
Okay, I just need one more point. Focus, Ernests, focus. No need to get nervous. It’s just another point.
“Love, forty.”
Yes! I can do this! I can’t possibly let three break points get away, right? As I see my opponent wipe sweat off his face, I take a brief moment to look at my racquet.
During the off-season, my sweet boyfriend gave me a super sweet gift. Hehe, one day, no, scratch that. I remember the date and time when he gave it to me. It was right before Christmas, on the twenty third day of December, around 4 o’clock in the afternoon. We woke up late after some heart-melting, body-burning lovemaking, and were lazily kissing on the couch, watching a Christmas movie on TV.
While I let out a sigh of contentment, he drank some wine and told me that he had something for me. I remember telling him that I was a big boy and could wait until Christmas morning. He laughed and kissed me on top of the head - for your information, he is so in love with my hair that he looked as if he had used all the racquets in his bag when I had a very short haircut - before getting a small box from the bedroom.
I was so surprised that I went all pale, telling him in my softest voice that I was only twenty years old and wasn’t planning to get married to anyone that soon. I knew that I loved him with every single muscle fiber in my heart, but I wasn’t ready to think about marriage or any type of a similar ceremony with him. Then, my humiliation began. He looked at me with a very interesting look on his face before he burst out into laughter and laughed his whole body off for the next five minutes or so. Yeah, so much for a romantic afternoon.
I should’ve known that it wasn’t a ring inside that blue box. It was a shock absorber in the form of a yellow smiling face, the exactly same one that he himself has been using as his lucky charm. I recall myself looking up at him with a slightly confused look. I was worried that people might add one and one together and start gossiping about the two of us. Even when he said that it was just a shock absorber, I knew that it meant so much more than that. I knew that it meant that he really thought serious of me and that he knew how much I would like this present.
“Fifteen, forty.”
Ouch, I thought that ball was in for a second. Too bad.
“Thirty, forty.”
What a time for him to hit an ace!
“Deuce.”
Already? How did that happen? I was here all the time!
“Advantage, Mathieu.”
What? No way!
“Game, Mathieu.”
No!!!! I can’t believe this. This is not happening. It’s not!
I look up at the huge scoreboard and confirm the score. So it turns out that I can lose a game where I had a 0-40 advantage. Great. This is just great. I can’t help the frustration go through my system as I trudge towards the bench and that’s when I hear the last voice that I’d probably want to hear on this planet.
“Well done, Paul-Henri!! Nice hold!”
Damn it. Did he just support my opponent in English? In English? Even if his English is worse than horrible, there’s only one reason why he didn’t yell in French. He wanted me to hear it. And, of course, I heard it. It’s not like I can shut my ears like a car’s side mirrors or something. Unfortunately, a human body doesn’t work that way.
I give my number one fan a death glare as I approach the fat icebox to get myself a new bottle of water. I know that I could always ask one of the ball boys to get it for me, but I prefer to do it myself so that I can get as close as possible to that huge fan of mine. I know that the camera must be zooming on my face and that the commentators and the fans might question my stare but I couldn’t care less about all that right now. I just have to do something at him and too bad for me that all I can do at the moment is threatening him with my eyes. I hope I look quite angry and scary, not too cute.
“Good luck.”
Excuse me? Oh dear lord, he’s even smiling at me. He knows that people are watching him and me. Since I can see that one of the cameras is quite near, I nod and smile back, picturing Novak in my mind. I sincerely hope that the smile could pass for a friendly one and now that I think about it, perhaps it’s a good idea to make people believe that we are actually good friends. That way, maybe Novak and I can keep our relationship safe to the press for a longer time than we’re expecting.
I turn around and open my new water bottle, trying my best to think about my match again. So, even if I couldn’t break him, we’re still on serve. I decide to change my shirt since it’s pretty sweaty and I figure that it would be a good chance both to show off my body at my nemesis and to give something for my boyfriend to enjoy. I hear some wolf-whistles as I take off my shirt and take more time than necessary to find the new one in my bag. Will either of Novak or Gasquet notice that I’m taking my time on purpose? Hmm, I wonder.
“Time.”
I get up from my seat and hold my racquet firmly in my hand. Confident of my game plan, I get three balls from the ball boys and choose the one that feels right. Okay, here I go!
“Game, Mathieu.”
I feel the urge to fling my racquet on court but Gasquet’s presence stops me. I can’t behave badly when he’s around and I want to control my emotions better on court for a better career. Novak has been working very hard on that issue and I could see that it has been paying off. I take two deep breaths and get ready to play the best return game possible. If I fail here, my opponent would be closing out the whole match.
I wait patiently for the serve, eyeing the ball. I hit it back over the net, he does the same, and we go through a rally that ends up with me hitting the ball into the net.
“Fifteen, love.”
I bend my back again to return the serve but the ball goes into the net once more.
“Thirty, love.”
Another rally and this time, I get the point with a passing shot. Yes! I’m happy with that shot.
“Thirty, fifteen.”
But a bad return from my part gives Mathieu the match point and he hits a fashionable ace to wrap up the match.
“Game, set, match, Mathieu.”
Ah, that’s too bad. But I did try. It’s not like I gave up after losing my service game. I tried.
I shake hands with my opponent and the umpire, and quickly go get my bag. I don’t bother looking at Gasquet for once and leave the court.
Bleep.
Even if I don’t check the name, I know that the text message is from Novak. Was my performance all right? Is he disappointed at me for not playing better? The only way to find out is to check his message, take a shower and go back to our hotel room; the place where nobody will judge my game and where Gasquet isn’t allowed to get in, at least when I’m there.
Bleep.
It must be a long message or maybe it’s someone else who feels sorry for me. I walk into the locker room, say a few hellos to the players inside and leave the tennis bag on the floor to check my cell phone. The first one is from Novak as I thought and the second one turns out to be from my mother.
You did a good job. No frown, no sad lips! I want to kiss happy lips when you come back!
I’m very proud of you, sweetie. Remember that I’m always proud of you.
I can’t help the smile that hangs on my lips and around my eyes. I’m happy whatever the score was, however my performance was today. I’m happy.
I send them both the same message, telling them that I love them. It’s such a short message but I’m sure that they can read all the unwritten words below it. Those two people are the ones that I really care about, the ones that I can’t afford to see unsafe or unhappy. And, did Novak say that he was going to kiss me? It’s so obvious that he would kiss me when I return to the hotel but it still makes me feel good to hear such a lovely promise. What a way to comfort me for my loss. He always seems to find the perfect way to console me.
I take off my wristbands and go to take a quick shower. Normally, I would enjoy taking enough time under the warm streams of water but today, I feel like making it a quick one and rather take a long, cozy bath with Novak later on. Ah, just thinking about sitting between his legs, with my back resting against his chest makes me relax. It’s okay even if I lost in straight sets. This is all about gaining match experience. It’s okay.
I vaguely remember what happened between grabbing fresh clothes and taking a cab back to the hotel. I rushed my way back to our room and lifted my hand to knock on the door.
Knock-knock.
“Hey.” My wonderful boyfriend greets me with a smile and I smile too.
“Hey.” I take a step forward and walk into our world. It’s my personal heaven.
“Good to see you smile.”
He takes me in his arms and I get the promised kiss right away. I like it when he doesn’t take unnecessary time and gives me what I want immediately. My arms have instinctively been wrapped around his shoulders and his arms are around my waist; my favorite position to kiss.
“Oh, I saw Richie there. He must really like watching your game.”
Jesus. Does he really have to mention that name and disturb our perfect moment?
“Yes. He must be my number one fan.” I put a subtle amount of sarcasm in my voice which he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Aww, how sweet. Maybe all three of us should eat sometime together. Why haven’t we tried that already?”
Because he and I would probably be too busy kicking each other under the table. But I since I don’t feel like I can tell him the truth, I just shrug my shoulders.
“I don’t know. Let’s try that sometime.”
I see it as the perfect opportunity to make sure Gasquet realizes that Novak is madly in love with me, not him. My heart starts to beat faster and my blood gets hotter as I think about all the things that I could do to torture him. We should get a private booth in a fancy restaurant so that I could be able to touch my boyfriend without any hesitation.
I could kiss Novak between dishes, caress his arm and neck between bites, beam at Gasquet who should be sitting on the other side of the table, alone. What an awfully wonderful image! Ahahaha!
“Haha, what are you grinning at? Aren’t you tired? What about a quick nap?”
He leads me to the bed and for some reason, I yawn. I didn’t realize that I was tired. Sometimes, he really seems to know me even better than my mom. Well, given the amount of time that we spend together and given all the activities that we did together, perhaps I shouldn’t be that surprised.
“You’re going to nap with me?” I ask in a sleepy voice and yawn once more as I go under the covers. It’s warm but it could be warmer with Novak by my side.
“I can do that, if you want me to.”
I nod and smile as he takes off his T-shirt to join me in bed. Take that, Gasquet! He’s napping with me!
My smile only grows wider as I feel his body close to mine, his lips on my hair, his hands giving me all the comfort that I need. I close my eyes and giggle. I’m so in love with him and he loves me back.