Out of the three of them, Tashi would have guessed that Patrick would be the sleazeball who ended up with someone ten years his junior. Art has the decency to pretend he doesn't ogle the younger girls in skirts on the court. Tashi did, too, until she met you.

Well, you aren't on the court, so that has to count for something. There's no power dynamic there. She's one of the most well-known names in tennis, but you don't know tennis. All you know is that she's a beautiful older woman that spoils you.

Who cares if her husband is off winning Grand Slams? Certainly not you. Not when she has you kitted out with your own bougie apartment, wearing designer and getting visits from her every time she's available. So fucking worth it.

And she knows it's wrong. Your age is the medium between hers and Lily's, for Christ sake. That should ring alarm bells, but fuck, you're just so pretty. With those innocent doe eyes that are so eager to please. Whether it's twirling around in a dress for her, or sinking to the floor when Art has had a series of rough games. "I'll make it better," you always tell her, so soft and sweet.

Like now, for example, when you're wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and sporting the most doped out look she's ever seen. Even when she makes a comment about returning the favour, you're shaking your head and smiling prettily at her, laying down on the bed next to her.

"You're too good to me," she murmurs, dragging her manicured nails through your scalp. At this point in your relationship, you're shameless in the way you melt into it, like a damn dog being scratched behind the ears. Too good to her—ironic, considering she's the one that just ordered you an entire collection of Dior lipsticks because she couldn't pick a colour. All of 'em, baby.

The other woman. At the end of the day, that's all you'll ever be. It should bother you, that you'll never have her fully, but... Tashi is oh so worth it. Like the good little dog you are, you'll take whatever scraps you can get.