by Nana Malone
“Too bad you don’t have a second racket,” he said, turning toward her as he checked the strings with the familiarity of a lover. String by string.
She pursed her lips, then held out her hand. He got it. She wanted to keep playing, and he was keeping her from it. “Yep. Too bad.”
Except she sounded like this was just how she wanted it. Surprisingly, he liked the challenge in her voice. “It would have been fun to play.” He gave the racket back and was surprised again by another unexpected grin crossing his face when she snatched it away, then cradled it against herself protectively.
“Are you sure about that?” She glanced skeptically at his leg.
“I guess we’ll never know,” he murmured, walking over to retrieve the ball once more. He tossed it gently back to her. “You don’t like company?”
She caught it on the racket and cradled it so it didn’t fall off. Once under control, she began lightly bouncing the ball on the racket until it had built up some height, then she took a definitive swing and smacked the ball forcefully into the wall beyond the far baseline—forcefully enough for it to come shooting back out to mid court, where it got tangled in the netting. God, she would be amazing. He could watch her all day.
“Nope. As you can see, I’m good all by my lonesome.” Liar.
Tami watched him as he watched her. God, was that really Bryce Coulter? What the hell was he doing here, of all places?
His continued silence was unnerving and she licked her lips. “What? I’m not allowed to play on my own at the end of a crazy day?”
“You are,” he nodded, moving closer to her. “But if you had a coach, he’d tell you that your serve might benefit from rotating your stance a bit. Here,” he said, so close to her she could smell his cologne. God, he smelled so good. Like the ocean. Clean. Crisp. He should smell good. That cologne costs more than your racket did when it was new.
Despite knowing that, butterflies fluttered in her belly. Yeah. Her belly. She was just gonna stick with that lie for now.
He reached his hands out and put them lightly on her hips, rotating them a smidge. She held her breath. His fingers lingered for a moment before he pulled himself away and gave her the space she needed to try her next serve. Something deep and primal pulled low in her body. And she was suddenly shocked to realize she missed his touch. Focus, Tami.
The stance felt awkward. What she felt strongest was the imprint of his hands on her hips, like their heat had absorbed into the fabric where it became trapped and burned it into her skin underneath, but she swung anyway. The serve went exactly where she wanted it to, and despite herself, she grinned.
He whooped encouragement behind her. “Like I said, just a little coaching,” he reiterated.
“Have you considered coaching at all?” Tami asked. She knew that he might not be able to play again—at least, not at the level he had before.
“I don’t know that it would suit me,” he muttered, a serious note creeping into his voice.
“You seem pretty well suited to it to me.”
“Maybe I’d just need to find the right player to change my mind,” his voice was soft, low, and it gave her goose bumps. Holy hell. That wasn’t flirting, was it? Was Bryce Coulter flirting with her?
Tami shifted her gaze away to avoid meeting his.
“Listen,” he began again. “Maybe you—?”
This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening. Guys like Bryce didn’t ask out girls like her. “I should head home,” she interrupted. “It’s getting late, and I should have gone back a half hour ago.” She moved quickly around the court, grabbing her things, shoving the loose tennis balls into her gym bag and taking a quick swig from the thawing water bottle inside. “Thanks for the tips on my serve.”
“I can walk you home,” he offered. “Or give you a ride,” he amended, after her gaze once more dropped to his injured knee. “My car’s not too far, and you shouldn’t go alone at this time of night.”
“Thanks Prince Charming. But I got this.” She could take care of herself. The last thing she needed was a knight in shining armor. Liar. “My car’s not that far from here,” Tami explained, moving to the gate slower than she’d intended. “Besides, I know enough not to get into cars with strange guys.”
He nodded. His lips tipping into a wry smirk. “Good point. But let me get— ”
He didn’t get to finish though. Two women entered the court, brushing closely past her. Tami fumbled for her racket, but it tumbled to the ground with a clatter. She shot a glare at the oblivious women, who didn’t even have the decency to apologize. She rolled her eyes and ignored the pang of loss that she no longer had his attention. Not like she would have said yes to whatever he said. But still.
“Bryce!” One of them cried out, and Tami couldn’t help but glance over. The first girl—a tall blonde with strong legs—hurried to Bryce’s injured side, as if to give him support. Tami watched as he stepped in the other direction. The redhead, who was a few steps behind her, kept a little farther back before Bryce stepped forward to kiss her on the cheek twice.
A spike of jealousy shot through Tami’s chest, and she tried to ignore it. Where the hell did that come from? She started back towards her car, refusing to turn back to take one more look at Bryce. What did she care, anyway? Why should she feel so disappointed? Why did it even matter to her if he wanted to talk to pretty girls? He’s just another spoiled pretty, rich kid.
But it does matter, a little voice inside of her said.
Because for those few minutes with him, she didn’t feel so alone.
Three
“I have been looking for you everywhere,” Echo scolded as she pulled out her cell phone to text the family. “Jen is driving you back to the house—no arguments. I can’t believe you risked your recovery like this. Where’s your car? I’ll drive it back.”
“I’m fine.” He rolled his eyes and glanced past his sister’s shoulder to where Tami had disappeared. He wondered which direction she had headed, and whether or not he could talk Jen into going after her. He knew he’d never be able to catch up to Tami on his own. Damn knee was beginning to throb. He’d pushed it too hard with that serve. Showoff. “Besides,” he said, turning his attention back to Echo. “Just a few hours ago, you were one of the ones who was asking about when I’d be heading back onto the court.”
“We weren’t trying to say you should go out and start playing again this minute.”
Jen slid Bryce an apologetic look as Echo continued on her tirade.
“If you wanted to impress that girl, why couldn’t you just do what you usually do? Smile, flirt, or take her somewhere nice… Is hurting yourself worse the only way you could get her attention?”
Echo ushered them back towards the fence, and Bryce made a concerted effort not to wince with each step.
“I wasn’t trying to impress her,” he lied, as smoothly as he could. “She’s got one of the best serves I’ve ever seen. I was trying to figure out why she doesn’t have a coach.”
“Sure.” Echo ushered Bryce towards her car and handed the keys over to Jen. “Please take him home, now. I’ll meet you there. And Bryce,” she said, turning back and pulling her older brother aside. “I want to talk to you later…about Dad. There’s…something going on with him. I don’t know what, but… Could you just watch him a bit and tell me what you think?”
Bryce frowned. Sure, he’d noticed a change in his father’s behavior towards him, but it had all been in relation to his injury. Hadn’t it? “Sure. I’ll keep an eye on him. But I think you might be seeing something that isn’t there. You’re training for the marathon, aren’t you? You know you tend to do this, right? Find something to obsess over while you’re running.”
Echo rolled her eyes in response. “Your keys, please,” she said, changing the subject.
Bryce sighed and handed them over. “I parked about three or four blocks back, I think. Be careful on the streets.”
“I know how to drive, thank you very mu
ch,” Echo snapped.
“I was talking about while you’re walking,” he explained, trying not to let frustration color his voice. “It’s not the best neighborhood. Be careful.”
Echo grinned. “I can outrun anyone who tries to mess with me. You know that.”
Bryce eased into the passenger seat of Echo’s car as Jen started the engine.
“How’d you get dragged into this?” he asked, as they headed for home.
“I was supposed to meet up with Echo for a run,” Jen said. “Showed up at the house, and they were all freaking out about you walking out in the middle of dinner. They thought you’d just gone to your room, until one of the security guys let them know you’d taken your car out. It was either help Echo look for you, or stick around and get hit on by Dax.”
“You made the right choice,” Bryce chuckled. His brother, Dax, had had a lingering crush on their sister’s oldest childhood friend for years. Bryce knew his parents had always hoped he’d date Jen, and she was sweet, but she was a carbon copy of all the women he’d ever dated. From the “right” family. Went to the “right” schools. He wanted more than that. He wanted someone real.
Getting girls was easy, given the Coulter name and reputation. And when his own star was on the rise, they threw themselves at him. That part hadn’t exactly stopped with his injury, but his enjoyment of it had.
Awe and desire had turned to pity and the need to comfort—or, at least to prove that they could be supportive of him no matter what, when what they really wanted was the fame and notoriety that came from dating a Coulter.
When they arrived it was clear the family had been watching for them on the security cameras, because as soon as they pulled in, everyone poured out the front door and hurried to the car, surprise and relief etched on their faces.
His mother wasted no time scolding him thoroughly as she ushered him into the house. Bryce noticed that Dax hung back to chat with Jen, as Echo drove up in his BMW.
His father pulled him aside in the living room. “You know you’re not really supposed to drive. Just because you can take the brace off a bit here and there to exercise the leg, doesn’t mean you should be using it for so much. Reckless, son.” Suddenly, Bryce was clearly aware of how old and tired his father looked. The old man sighed as he relaxed into the heavy leather armchair, tilting his head back and raising a hand to rub over his face.
He looked exhausted and exasperated, and Bryce couldn’t fault him for that. There were times, growing up, when he and each of his brothers had wondered what it was that truly drove their father to push them all so hard. The famous Brent Coulter demanded excellence, and that was what they struggled with, what they fought to give him. And for the most part, they succeeded.
Except for you. Bryce firmly shoved the thought away.
The rest of the family scattered. Jen and Echo headed out for an abbreviated run, with Dax tagging along. Gage disappeared upstairs to work on his homework. He was in his senior year at the nearby preparatory academy, aiming at either a basketball scholarship for college, or for an NBA scout to pluck him up before he needed to worry about college.
And despite their mother’s urging to take college or university classes, his other brother Fox was more than content to earn his way into the NHL by standing out on his minor league team. Every spare moment was spent working out and practicing, getting ahead of his team members, so he’d be ready when the call came.
When Bryce’s grandparents came to say goodnight before heading to the guesthouse, it occurred to him that maybe his father pushed so hard because it was how he’d been raised. His grandfather would have expected nothing less than the best. His grandmother too.
The famous Rory and Serina Coulter, only had the one child, and through him the legacy of the Coulter family had been born. It was a lot of responsibility and expectations for one man’s shoulders, and if he happened to shift some of it onto his children—to share it with them—Bryce couldn’t blame him. Their father only wanted what was best for them.
“Look, about earlier,” his father began in a calm voice. “I shouldn’t have brought the subject up while everyone else was around. I should have waited.”
An apology… Someone was definitely making snowballs in hell, for sure. His anger from earlier flamed.
Bryce gritted his teeth. “I see you’re not going to apologize for bringing it up in the first place?”
“No.” His father’s voice remained steady. “I’m being practical. You have to face it. Obviously, we all want you to recover and play again, but we must also be realistic. We’ve all had injuries before, but yours… Yours is different. I’m sure you’ll play again, but even if you do, the chances of playing at the same level you were at before are—”
“Way to have faith, Dad. You don’t think I can make it to a semi-final again, do you? At least, not in one of the Slams—not in a tournament that matters.”
Bryce’s rising anger fell when his father sagged. The older man sighed, and it was as though all the fight had left him. “I just want to make sure you’ll be all right,” Brent assured him, his voice weak. “I want to make sure you know that there is a life for you beyond tennis.”
Bryce set his jaw. “If you say so,” he muttered, in an effort to end the conversation. He didn’t want to keep fighting, but his father rarely gave up a fight. Though, this time, he let it go. Maybe Echo had a reason to be worried. Or maybe the stress of his injury was getting to everyone.
If people thought playing basketball and baseball at professional levels could be exhausting, that didn’t even compare to raising the five children who were at the top of their game.
“I should go rest,” he told his father, rising and gritting his teeth against the soreness in his knee. “I promise, I’ll wear the brace more…”
His father sighed. “Just…as long as you still think about what you want to do with your life. Tennis isn’t all there is.”
There it was. Another nail in his coffin. Clearly, no one believed in him. That was okay, though. He’d prove them all wrong.
After a hot shower, Bryce gingerly lay back on his bed. He couldn’t focus on his future, especially if it involved quitting tennis. He was only twenty-four. He couldn’t think about what he wanted to do after his career was over. He couldn’t even think about what it would take to get his career back on track.
But, he admitted to himself, today was the first time in a long time he felt like himself. Just helping Tami had done that. Again, he wondered why she wasn’t coached. A serve like that had so much promise. She was good. Really good. Raw, but a natural. So why?
His dick stirred and he tried to ignore it. He’d left the girls behind for a reason. They were a distraction he didn’t need. And once upon a time it might have been fun to drown everything out with girls, but none of them had wanted him for him. Tami was different. Beautiful, yes, but the determination in her eyes was almost as sexy as that tight, compact body.
Forget her. With a groan, he carefully turned onto his belly. But that didn’t help. He played the scene from today over and over again in his head. Seeing everything in perfect clarity. The grim set of her lips just before she hit her serve. The satisfaction in her eyes as her racket connected with balls. The strength in her hips when he’d adjusted her stance. His erection pulsed. Dammit. He shifted, but that didn’t help. The length of him just throbbed against his leg.
With a frustrated groan, Bryce shifted onto his back again, and slid his hand into his pajama bottoms. He wrapped his fingers around his erection, picturing the girl with the big eyes. The way Tami’s cut-off sweats had hugged her ass as she bent to pick up the ball, sent a shiver through him. He gritted his teeth as he stroked from base to tip. On the down stroke, he gripped tighter, groaning against the pleasure.
He pictured her bent at the waist, her legs straight, but her muscles tensing. He let his eyes drift shut and imagined what it would feel like to have his hands on those legs, while the muscles tensed beneath his fingers.
What would it feel like to have them wrapped around his waist, squeezing his hips, drawing him further inside her wet heat while those arms pressed against…against what? The bed?
No, against… the chain-link fence running along the edge of the court. Her fingers twining with the links as she held on. Maybe a tennis skirt flipped up, exposing her perfect ass. The fantasy took hold in his mind. Her back arching, pressing her body against his as he slid into her, determined to leave his own imprint on her skin the way the fence would on her body.
His free hand twisted in the bed sheets, the fantasy driving him as he pumped. His brain fuzzed, the fantasy fading as he shook from the force of his orgasm. But he imagined how the challenge in her smile would linger. He wanted her.
After a quick cleanup, he was back in bed, his mind trying to work out how and when he could see her again.
You should focus on recovery. And maybe that should be the plan. She could help him recover.
Besides, he was hardly a man she’d probably want. And maybe that was a good thing. He wanted to see her again. Hell, he needed to see her again. Today was the first time he’d felt alive in months.
Four
“Let me get this straight…you met Adonis-Tennis-God Bryce Coulter…and you have zero intention of seeing him again.”
Tami took a swig of her Coke and nodded at her best friend, Amy. The two of them had a standing date every Wednesday night after work, since both of them closed on those nights. Pizza, sometimes a drink. Girl talk. Just what she needed.
Sometimes they splurged and actually went out to PB or La Jolla, or something. On those nights, their drinks were usually handled by guys trying to take them home. But since neither of them currently had money for Uber, this would have to do. Tonight, the party was at Amy’s house. The other bonus to staying in was that they could crash at each other’s houses if they wanted. “Yeah. That’s about it.”
