by Nana Malone
Releasing his grip on the sink, he wrapped his arms around her torso once more, crushing the fabric of her tucked-up skirt in his embrace, before pressing a lingering kiss to the exposed skin of her shoulder.
One hand claimed her breast again, gently pinching her nipple, before he wrapped his arms around her torso, gripping the fabric of her dress as he slid home, again and again. Fucking her, begging her silently to take all of him. He felt the telltale quiver of her body as she slumped forward, moaning, her beautiful face a mask of shock, bliss, and lust. And then Bryce let go of everything—the desperation, the fear—and let his release send him to bliss as his cock twitched inside.
Holy shit. She’d never done anything like that in her life. Bryce had dragged off her dress and turned on the shower to let the steam release the wrinkles. They emerged from the bathroom several minutes later, having succeeded in making themselves somewhat presentable again. She’d found a brush, and was able to sweep her sweat-dampened hair into a functional bun. Her face was free of makeup, but her cheeks were flushed from him screwing her brains out, and eyes were bright and clear from having spent so much time exercising in both the tennis court and the bathroom. Bryce had claimed her torn panties as a trophy.
Tami couldn’t help moving in a way that made her feel sexy. Well, it was easy to feel wanton and naughty, given she had no undies on. With every step for the rest of the evening, she felt Bryce’s knowing eyes on her.
The lingering awareness of his body and the impressions it had left on her inspired fantasies of him dragging her off to random, unseen rooms of the enormous house. To his car on the drive back to her apartment. To the various rooms of her apartment.
She spent the rest of the evening balanced between the tense, but polite interactions with Bryce’s family, the torment of anticipation with which she had met his plea to partner with him for the tennis club’s approaching tournament, and the myriad fantasies playing through her head. If, on the day she met his entire family, she could go panty-less among them and not die of embarrassment, she could certainly face the difficulties of stepping back into the competitive tennis world at Bryce’s side.
Twenty-Three
“I want you to move onto your side,” the physical therapist instructed Bryce, while Tami watched from across the room. “Now raise your leg like you’re in an 80s workout video,” she told him. “Pretend I’m Jane Fonda, if it helps. And if you don’t know who that is, don’t tell me. I feel old enough already,” she joked. “Give me a few more of those…and good. Now, I want you to rest the sole of your foot on the floor while you stay on your side. Good. Now the leg that’s lying on the floor…lift it if you can—if it hurts, stop immediately and say something. We’re looking to see where you are in recovering your range of motion and to strengthen that injured leg, not sending you sliding back to square one.”
By the time his session was over, Bryce had sweated more than in the last two weeks of training and matches with Tami at the tennis club—but he had a clean bill of health, and his physical therapist was impressed. “Improving rapidly,” she’d told him with a wink.
The tournament was only a week away, and for the mixed-doubles teams, would only last the weekend—the eight pairs would have a possible two matches on Saturday with the final two facing off on Sunday. He knew Tami was determined to simply enjoy the fact that they would be playing at all, and he didn’t challenge her, but he was sure they would be in that final match. He wanted her to see how good they were together.
Working with Andrew and a few spare club members had been a tremendous help in figuring out the rhythms of working the court as a team, but there was only one way to devise any kind of solid strategy: bring in a professional coach.
He hadn’t spoken to Dmitri since their fight.
"You need to call him, Bryce. He needs to evaluate you for singles play."
He knew that look on Tami’s face. She wasn’t going to let that go.
“Fine. I’ll call him. But this is about our doubles game,” Bryce pointed out.
“If he can make it on our schedule, I’ll be fine with that,” Tami said diplomatically.
There had been some difficulties working practices in around her schedule at the store. Bryce had floated the idea of her quitting and letting him support her while she searched for something new or took classes—he didn’t actually propose that she think about looking into competing in the women’s singles side, but he knew that she would understand the choice he was hoping she would make. Tami ignored him, of course, and insisted that she was going to support herself. Frankly, his asking was starting to piss her off. And him, too. He wanted to take care of her. Why wouldn’t she just let him?
“I don’t want or need you to take care of me that way,” she told him in no uncertain terms. “I appreciate what you want to do for me—really, I do—but to take so much from you would feel… It just wouldn’t feel right. I will do what I can, when I can, for this tournament—and I absolutely want to be there on the sidelines for you when I can—but I have enough of the people I work with talking about me behind my back because of us, and I don’t want to give them any more reason to think I’m getting special treatment.”
Bryce bit his tongue; he didn’t really have much of a choice—if she quit and let him support her, she wouldn’t have to worry about what her coworkers thought. Still, she’d been okay with the idea of Dmitri coming to evaluate them, and perhaps if Bryce added a professional coach’s voice to the growing number encouraging her towards competing professionally, there was a better chance she might start coming around to the idea.
Dmitri arrived at the club while Tami and Bryce were warming up, and Andrew showed him to their court. Bryce started to make introductions, but Dmitri waved him off. “There is time for niceties later. Continue.”
The pair Andrew had found for them to play against arrived a short time later, and they jumped right in. Tami was in war mode. Bryce liked seeing her like that. Well, he liked seeing her any way really. She refused to acknowledge that Dmitri was even there. Bryce knew from experience that his coach had a poker face carved from stone, so there was no point checking to see what he thought. Andrew was vocal initially, calling out suggestions for both sides. Gradually, Bryce became aware that the only instructions he heard were being directed at their opponents. Dmitri must have said something to Andrew.
After the first game, they switched sides of the court and it became harder to ignore Dmitri’s presence—at least, it was harder for Bryce. Tami on the other hand, was in the zone.
The match progressed quickly, and the two of them worked more smoothly together than their opponents, making fewer mistakes. They had been playing for about an hour and a half when they finally won in two sets, 7-6, 7-6.
Andrew gave them each a clap on the shoulder before going to discuss his thoughts with the losing pair, so they could improve their coordination for future matches.
When Dmitri approached, he was nodding slowly, but his mouth was still set in a firm line.
“You work well together,” he finally said. “You understand your space and are aware of each other’s place within it—that is something that is impossible to teach. Tami, your serve is particularly strong, but you are more confident from the left side of the baseline than the right—you, too, Bryce, though I suspect it has to do with your injury and how it affects your weight-bearing leg. We will need to work on pulling you back from the net in future—what you do now is fine for amateur opponents, but you will need to pull back a bit more after this tournament is over, and you begin facing stronger and more practiced teams.”
It was clear Dmitri had an extensive plan forming as he continued voicing his assessment.
Bryce watched out of the corner of his eye as Tami gulped down just about everything in her water bottle, but didn’t say a word. What was she thinking? How did she feel? Did she want this? Eventually, she looked at her watch and interrupted. “I should head for the showers. I need to get back home to c
hange before my shift this afternoon.”
Dmitri went completely silent while Tami crossed to give Bryce a quick kiss.
“Call me later and let me know how everything else goes, okay?”
“I will,” he promised, then watched her as she gathered her things and headed inside.
“She does not want to compete?” Dmitri asked, a raised eyebrow the only difference in his stony expression.
Bryce was grinning. “She’s warming to the idea—slowly, but she didn’t say anything against it in front of you. That’s more than I expected.”
“You need to rest—not too long, or your muscles will cool and tighten,” Dmitri said, snapping back to attention and shifting gears rapidly. “I need to see how you move on your own—you are so very aware of Tami’s presence when you play together, but you hesitate occasionally, and I need to know if you are deferring to her, or if it is a change in your game related to your injury. Andrew!” Dmitri called.
Fuck. He hadn’t expected to play on his own. “Uh…is now really the best—?” But Dmitri wasn’t listening.
The pair Andrew had been working with were packing up their gear to call it a day, so the club pro hustled over to Bryce and his coach.
“I will need you to work with me in assessing Bryce’s singles game—the machine is useful in repetitious exercise, but cannot be programmed for the kinds of shots to which Bryce needs me to see him reacting.”
So this was happening. Bryce knew from experience that Dmitri wouldn’t bring up their past arguments.
Bryce and Andrew glanced briefly at one another, before giving a nod to Dmitri and heading back onto the court. Dmitri’s Russian accent became thicker and his grammar started to slip the more he became focused on watching.
Bryce was tired, after already having played one match but he pushed himself to fight through the fatigue. He called for breaks a few times so he could stretch and rub his knee. Sensitive to every twinge he felt, he needed to pay careful attention to his leg before proceeding.
He could tell Dmitri was disappointed with the frequency of the breaks—the man’s dark eyes narrowed, and there was additional tightness in the set of his mouth—but Bryce was hoping caution would be on his side in the long run. He didn’t want to push to get back into singles competition too quickly simply for the sake of capitalizing on his previous reputation financially. If Tami would agree to compete with him on the circuit, he might actually get himself back to a place where he could compete in men’s singles again.
But from Dmitri’s dour expression and the doubt he felt each time he moved to the right and put weight on that leg, Bryce knew that for the time being, his competitive singles career was probably over.
Twenty-Four
Tami threw up before their first match in the tournament. It had been eight no, nine—years since she’d last played competitively.
“You’ll be fine,” Bryce reassured her. “We’ll be fine.”
“I know,” she said, with less conviction than she wanted to convey. “It’s just something I needed to get out of my system. Who from your family did you say was going to be here?” The nerves she thought she’d expelled with her breakfast crept in again.
“Just my parents and Echo, as far as I know. Fox is playing out of state tonight, Gage’s got practice most of the afternoon, and Dax is actually busy with classwork—he’s taking extra classes in his spring semesters to offset what he missed in the fall,” Bryce explained.
Neither of them mentioned his grandparents. The outright hostility from his grandfather had cooled, but he was far from approving of their relationship. Tami got the feeling that the majority of Bryce’s family were surprised they were still together after almost five months. Echo was different, though. She’d taken to calling and coming around to hang out.
“Did you mention it to any of the people you work with?” Bryce asked.
“I mentioned it to Jim when I put in for the day off, and Amy, of course, but I don’t think anyone else would bother to come—I don’t think any of them could afford to come, even if they were interested. Isn’t that part of the point of a charity tournament?” she asked. “I used my guest pass for Amy, but she had to work, so we’ll see.”
Bryce didn’t get to answer. They were summoned to their court for the first match.
The club had a few courts that had the capacity for spectators, but for the first rounds, when it was necessary to have matches played simultaneously, seating was limited. Each of the finals would be played on the largest court on the premises.
Tami was impressed with the level of organization that had gone into the planning and orchestration, especially considering how crucial timing was in clearing a court and its viewing areas to bring in the players and audience for the next match.
On the court, as she and Bryce shook hands with their opponents and met with the chair umpire for the coin toss, Tami spotted a familiar face hustling around the court with a clipboard and a grimace. It was the employee she’d seen Bryce fight with in the pro shop, back when they’d first met.
Bryce had apologized and explained everything about what had occurred in the last days of his relationship with her.
And Echo had confirmed the cray-cray status of the girl. But it still unsettled Tami to see her here. And then her gaze moved to the man next to Stella. Oh, shit. Dark hair, lips curved into a cocky smile. Was that him? Michael? She froze, unsure of what to do. Her stomach tightened and pitched.
She blinked rapidly, willing the image away. And thankfully, when she opened them again, he was gone. She looked quickly around the court, but there was no sign of the guy. Clearly, nerves were getting to her. Looking over to Bryce as they headed back for their baseline where she would serve first, a sense of calm descended, and she knew from the first bounce of the ball against the court’s hard surface that the match was theirs to win or lose—and they would win. Together, they could do anything.
Their first match passed in a blur—6-3, 6-2. They walked into the club, and peeked in on the other matches underway from the club’s indoor bridge that overlooked the main string of courts. Tami lingered, watching the women’s singles matches, and Bryce stood silently by her side.
Their second match took a little longer, as their muscles had cooled, even with their attempts to keep moving. After winning 6-4, 7-5, Tami saw Brent and Julia waiting for them in the stands. Echo met them at the entrance as people filed past her on their way to another match, or to find food.
“That was amazing, you two,” Echo grinned. “Gramps and Gram will be there to watch you two tomorrow, if I have to throw bags over their heads and drag them here myself,” she assured them.
“I think using Dmitri to talk to them might be a safer approach,” Bryce muttered.
By the time they met up with Brent and Julia in the stands, Dmitri had already joined them, and was far more animated than Tami had ever seen him. Brent was nodding a lot, while Julia’s attention wandered, until it found her two children and Tami.
“We’ve just been discussing you two,” she called, urging them up the steps and into nearby seats.
“Dmitri was just telling us about the plan he has for you two moving forward,” Brent said, his proud gaze focused on Bryce.
“Let’s save it until after tomorrow,” Bryce said. “Wouldn’t want to jinx anything.”
“It’s all right,” Tami interjected. “I’d like to hear what he has to say.”
It felt so good to play today. She wanted to keep going.
“Well, the first tournaments I would enter are—” Dmitri began excitedly.
“Not about that,” she interrupted again. “Financially. What would entering these tournaments cost? What are the tiers for prize money? Even if my work schedule weren’t an issue, the financial side of things still is,” she explained in a level voice. She had tried talking to Bryce about these things, but he insisted it wasn’t a problem—and she was sure his family had spoken about it amongst themselves at length, whether he w
as part of the conversation or not. Tami wanted to force the issue into the open, and make it clear that she pulled her own weight, on and off the court.
“You wouldn’t have to worry about that, dear,” Julia Coulter’s voice was sweet and calming. “We would pay for anything Bryce needed, and what he needs right now, is for you to be his partner out there. Besides, if he wanted, he could easily pay for tournaments from his trust fund and never make a dent. But as it’s in the name of the game, it would come from the family coffers.”
How big was his trust fund? “Thank you, but I must insist on paying my half,” she said.
“It won’t be an issue either way,” Dmitri interjected before the objections of either could escalate. “There are sponsors who will cover many of the initial costs, and I suspect endorsements will follow in short order as well.”
“Sponsors?” Tami asked. She’d been faced with the prospect once before, and couldn’t quite disassociate the idea from the emotional pain and financial distress that followed hand-in-hand with her mother’s illness—sponsors might have been more than willing to help pay for her to play tennis, but there were no sponsors willing to pay for her mother’s treatments, or the cost of home aides, or nurses. Instead, there had been fundraisers and battles with insurance companies, and finally, a crippling debt that had cost both her higher education and her childhood home.
“Word has gotten around to the usual backers about Bryce’s comeback and they want in,” Echo explained. “Andrew’s been talking, and Dmitri has his connections. It isn’t really all that surprising,” she insisted. “And if you’re wary about it, we have people who can help you understand it all. Bryce’s manager has been calling for updates—he can help explain it all to you…” Echo’s voice trailed off when Tami frowned at her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bryce shaking his head in warning. “Or we can help you find a manager of your own.”
