Painting the Lines: A Hot Romantic Comedy (Ace of Hearts Book 1)

by Ashley R. King

  Julian’s mind raced, searching for an excuse that wasn’t I ache for you, and I can’t ache today. The best thing he could come up with was his usual barbarity.

  He raised his chin. “I’m the athlete. Does Roger Federer sit up front with his driver? This is a big tournament. Sitting in the back makes me feel like a pro again. Amps me up.”

  Without missing a beat, Amalie shot back, “Well, consider this, you’re not Roger Federer, so get your butt up here, please. I hate not talking on long car rides, and I need you to DJ.”

  Julian pushed his sunglasses over his face. “You know I can’t resist you, especially when you say please.” Against his better judgment, he switched seats.

  “Thank you.” Her smile was genuine as she handed over her phone.

  “I guess this means I can play whatever I want on repeat then?” He smiled, finger hovering over said jam.

  Amalie laughed and shook her head. “Only if I get to play nineties pop.”

  It was going to be a long drive indeed.

  They arrived at the Jekyll Island Club Hotel at that hazy part of the day when the sky turned pink and red before melting into black. The hotel was beautiful, a place full of history and purported ghosts. The turret with the club flag stood against the fading sky, looking more like a postcard than real life.

  Julian and Amalie’s rooms were in a building separate from the main hotel. Amalie gushed that she preferred to stay in Sans Souci, the dark green structure that oozed old money, rather than the main building because there was more privacy. They had side-by-side deluxe rooms right next to Paul, all facing the wharf, with a shared balcony complete with white rocking chairs—Southern charm at its finest. Each room was spacious, with a table and four chairs tucked into the bay window alcove, along with a humongous bathroom.

  Julian turned to say something to Amalie, but she had already disappeared into her room without so much as a good night or screw you.

  Suddenly antsy, his mind racing once again, Julian stepped out onto the balcony, enjoying the cool breeze coming in off the wharf. People were milling about in the dying twilight—but even among the quiet hive of activity, a flash of red caught Julian’s eye. Amalie was on one of the coquina footpaths headed toward a set of benches facing the marsh, her hands tucked into her hoodie.

  He hastily threw on his sneakers and headed out. He almost went after her empty-handed, but he knew she liked food gifts, and he’d do anything to brighten her day. He swung by the Pantry, a small café overlooking the hotel’s courtyard framed by vibrant pink flowers, chairs, and a fountain. He picked up the largest cup of sweet tea they sold.

  He didn’t have to walk far to find her sitting on a bench surrounded by trees, the view of the spidery Sidney Lanier bridge pretty epic from her spot. Leaves crunched under his feet, causing Amalie to jump, her head whipping around to skewer him with a death stare that she quickly schooled into a bored expression.

  “Can’t get enough of me, huh?” she deadpanned.

  Julian pressed his lips together, not wanting to confirm the truth of her words. He held out the cup, his Southern olive branch. “I brought you crack.”

  Her face lit up, making her even more beautiful—the rare light blue of her eyes, the haze of the sunset making her hair look like a halo. He wanted to look away, to not notice these things, but he’d have to be blind for that to ever happen.

  She moved her bag to the ground, wordlessly giving him permission to sit. “You know the way to my heart.” Her head tilted to the side before taking a sip of the tea, her eyes closing in ecstasy as a moan escaped from her mouth. “That’s so good,” she added, her voice low and sultry.

  Julian normally would’ve made a joke, but he was mesmerized by the show Amalie had no idea she was putting on. Suddenly wildly uncomfortable in more ways than one, he cleared his throat, trying to erase the thoughts of Amalie naked and moaning that flew through his mind.

  “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” Her eyes locked on something across the marsh.

  Enthralled, Julian kept his gaze on her as he said, “Yeah, it is.” It was a dangerous slip, but he meant it, and he didn’t care if she knew.

  Amalie slowly turned to face him, her expression as soft as her voice. “Why aren’t you in the room? Shouldn’t you at least be trying to rest?”

  He sighed as he brought his arm up along the back of the bench, stretching it behind her shoulders. He felt her stiffen as his thumb brushed over her shoulder blade, but she eventually relaxed once he began making circles there. “Yeah, but my mind won’t stop racing, and I wanted to be with you because sometimes that’s the only time it quiets. Is that okay?”

  Her lips parted in surprise, but she quickly recovered. “Oh, sure. Of course that’s okay.”

  His thumb did another sweep across Amalie’s shoulder, running a featherlight touch back and forth. “You make me feel calm, princess, and right now that’s what I need more than anything.”

  She studied him for a second, the intensity of her gaze forcing him to look away. “It’s funny you say that,” she said, “since you actually have the opposite effect on me. Shows how one-sided this friendship is if you ask me.” She punctuated it with a playful shoulder nudge.

  Julian’s hand found the tip of her hair and, testing his limits, wound his fingers through the mess of curls, his movements unhurried and relaxed. “So you admit that we’re friends? It’s finally official, huh?”

  Her breathing picked up. “Might as well be, I guess. We have four more months together.”

  Four months sounded like a long time, but Julian feared it might not be enough. Would he ever see her after the US Open or after her book was finished? Would they still text and go for morning runs?

  He shook his head, trying to focus on the present instead. They sat there together, his hand wrapped around Amalie’s delicate curls, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. He decided to call it a night when Amalie’s head fell on his shoulder, her eyes fluttering closed. A part of him wanted to stay that way, to revel in the feel of her, to memorize the peaceful expression on her face, her sweet scent that enveloped them, but he had to wake her for his own self-preservation. This thing with Amalie was spiraling, and he couldn’t afford to screw it up. As much as he hated it, he pushed her hair away from her starlit face and whispered, “Hey, sleeping beauty, those snores of yours are starting to scare the children…and a few animals.”

  She woke with a mumbled start. “Haha. So funny.”

  The walk back to Sans Souci was a quiet one, the sounds of a true Southern night wrapping them in a weird sort of haze as the frogs croaked and the ocean lapped lazily against the shore of the marsh.

  It wasn’t until they stood at the doors outside their rooms that Amalie spoke, her voice thick with sleep, her eyes heavy. “I know I’m no replacement for your dad, but I want you to know I believe in you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  What she did next surprised him even more than her words. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, the touch so featherlight that when she wordlessly slipped into her room, Julian questioned whether or not the whole thing had been a dream.

  Chapter Twelve

  Julian

  Adrenaline pulsed in Julian’s veins once he arrived at the Jekyll Island Tennis Center.

  “Any pre-match rituals this morning?” Amalie asked as they walked to the end of the first court. He tried not to notice how her lavender sweater brought out her eyes or how spectacular her ass looked in those jeans.

  Things between them appeared normal, at least on the outside. On the inside, though, Julian’s emotions were all over the place. He’d gone to sleep with the scent of her on his shirt, on his skin, and he dreamed about the things that had flashed through his brain when she’d moaned while drinking that stupid tea of hers.

  “Actually, yeah.” He cleared his throat as he adjusted his headphones for the second part of his ritual.

  “I have to watch one of the Rocky movies be
fore every single match, and I come on court with “Eye of the Tiger” blaring in my headphones.”

  Amalie nodded, eyes alight with interest as she asked, “Do your rituals usually work?”

  He sobered instantly. “They did until I stopped caring.” The admission shocked him. It was the first time he’d said that out loud to anyone aside from Paul.

  “But things are different this time. You got this, Smoke.” She gave him a little wave before making her way into the small section of stands to the side of the court. Julian caught himself shaking his head and smiling, enjoying the way her hips swayed with each step. Of course, Paul came over and interrupted that, offering a few last-minute tips about his opponent, and then it was go time.

  When Julian’s feet hit the court, the thrill of the game came rushing back. He pictured his dad behind the green fence, his nod of encouragement, that hideous golden tennis racket necklace he always wore sparkling in the sun. Julian used to joke that the necklace, a gift from Julian’s mom, made his dad look like a ’70s mobster. His throat constricted at the memory, but he hoped that maybe, just maybe he could make his old man proud.

  Better late than never.

  The day went by in a sports-movie montage kind of way. Julian beat every opponent put in front of him, finally getting a feel for winning again, and damn if it didn’t feel good. He rode that high to the championship match later that afternoon.

  As he stood across from Wesley Walker, the seventeen-year-old baby-faced pro, all he could hear was the sound of his pulse beating a heavy bassline as they waited for the coin toss. Up into the air the coin went, glinting in the late-afternoon light, with Wesley winning the toss and calling for Julian to serve first.

  Julian rolled his shoulders and neck as he did a zigzag jog back to the baseline. Fine. The kid wanted him to serve first? He could do that. As a matter of fact, he lived for it.

  Looking up, he zeroed in, everything else fading away, that undeniable something that had been missing burning through his veins.

  After dropping the first set, the intensity picked up for both players as Julian put pressure on Walker. He made him run more, his shoes squeaking on the asphalt as he tried to run down each ball. Julian’s heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest by the time he finally hit an ace to win the second set in a tie break.

  “Come on!” Julian yelled with a fist pump, trying desperately to keep himself hyped up. This kid was no joke.

  Julian knew he’d have to bring something extra in the third set but wasn’t sure if he had it, despite Paul and Amalie’s encouragement from the sideline. The sound of each player grunting with every shot echoed through the court, followed by feet shuffling across the asphalt in an attempt to put everything they had into each ball. It was razor tight down the stretch, and Julian found himself trailing 5–4 and match point in the final set.

  Sweat cut across his face as he understood the utter importance of this point. He’d trained for this. He knew what to do.

  Without hesitation, he lunged into the serve, sending it right into Walker’s body, and in return was given an easy ball in the middle of the court. As he moved toward the ball, knowing what weighed on this shot, he tightened his grip. He had it, he knew he had it as he released his racket through the ball, the power of the Julian Smoke forehand rippling through his body as he crushed it up the line to save match point.

  There was no doubt in his mind that shot would be a winner.

  His eyes frantically tracked the ball only to see it just miss the line. He sank to his knees in disbelief, his head in his hands as denial and shock coursed through his veins.

  The match was right there in his grasp, and he let it slip away.

  Drinking in a shaky breath, he pulled himself up off the court despite the chill in his veins, the slump in his shoulders. His feet moved toward the net on autopilot and he offered a mumbled congratulations. Years from now, when he looked back on this memory, he’d only be able to recall that final moment on court, the moment where he choked.

  He had blinders on, not hearing or seeing a damn thing. He shoved his racket into the bag with enough force to punish it for not serving him well during that match, and then he walked off court without looking for Paul or Amalie.

  But his coach met him outside the court, looking like they’d just won the tournament. He clapped Julian on the shoulder. “Man, that was awesome!”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I lost,” Julian spat out.

  Paul then channeled the Cheshire cat. “Yeah, I know. It was fantastic.”

  Julian pinched the bridge of his nose. “What?”

  “Man, you would’ve been unbearable if you won that match.”

  Wait. This was his coach, right?

  Julian’s frown deepened. “What do you mean unbearable?”

  “You love the Rocky movies, yeah? Well, then you know he doesn’t win the first match.” Paul punctuated his words by waving his hands around, like that explained everything.

  “Yeah, and…?” Julian drawled, still not following.

  “You need some adversity, especially for an arrogant kid like yourself.”

  “Thanks, Coach?” Julian managed, confusion and sarcasm mixing through his tone.

  Turning away, he saw Amalie’s fiery red hair moving toward them. Her entire face was lit up, her eyes trained on him like he was the only thing in the world. If he hadn’t just lost, it would’ve been intoxicating. As it were, it was just flat-out embarrassing.

  He didn’t have time to think about much else because as soon as she reached him, Amalie threw her arms around his neck with a little squeal. His hands found the dip of her hips, itching to keep her there against him, but she stepped back and did a little excited dance, bouncing on the balls of her feet, beaming.

  “I’m so proud of you! You played your heart out. When you did whatever this move is called,” she mimicked him hitting a drop shot, “I got chills, I tell you. Chills!”

  Julian dipped his chin in acknowledgment, feeling like a kid who had just been handed a participation trophy, and headed in the direction of the car. Yeah, he’d played his heart out, but it still hadn’t been enough. He heard Paul and Amalie’s footsteps behind him.

  “She’s not wrong you know,” Paul called out.

  Julian didn’t say anything until they reached Amalie’s car. She popped the trunk and he started shoving his equipment in, trying to wrap his head around the loss. He could sense Paul and Amalie doing this weird telepathic conversation with their eyes, so even though they weren’t speaking out loud, he was desperate to get their focus off of him, more specifically, worrying about him.

  “When do we play next?” he asked, leaning against the car. Amalie put her hands in the pockets of her jeans and Paul shoveled gum into his mouth.

  “We don’t,” his coach spoke up. “You’ve got enough points to be entered into the lottery for sectionals. Now’s the time to just train and get ourselves right. I don’t need you out there with your brittle psyche losing matches.”

  A sound came from Amalie, drawing Julian’s attention. “What are you laughing at?” He had a good idea, but he wanted to hear her say it.

  She just shook her head, studying her shoes, her hand covering her trembling lips. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Julian knew, unlike in the past, that he needed to dust himself off and keep moving. After all, he was one step closer to the US Open. That realization caused his pulse to hum in his ears. “Well, I guess we better get to training, then.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Amalie

  Romina smiled as she put the finishing touches on Amalie’s winged liner. “You look hot.”

  “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

  “It was those chili cheese fries I told you not to eat. Serves you right.”

  Amalie stared at her reflection. Somehow her best friend had transformed her into Rita Hayworth, complete with soft, cascading curls and super glam red lips. The black dress she�
�d chosen for the occasion was a sleek, simple number with a trapeze-cut neck and an open-back design. The dark, shimmery material sparkled when the light hit it just right, making it look like a blanket of twinkling stars.

  “Oh, don’t forget these!” Romina rushed forward with a small blue box.

  The large diamond drop earrings inside had been a Christmas gift from Amalie’s mother, purchased with her alimony payment. They were stunning.

  As Amalie fastened the second earring, a knock sounded at the door.

  “Oh, God.” She took one last glance in the mirror, her trembling hands fussing over imaginary wrinkles in her dress. She was famously overthinking everything, like the fact that she was about to walk into a party with Julian Smoke on her arm.

  Romina put her hands on Amalie’s shoulders, looking at her head-on, her expression serious but calming. “Listen to me. You’re going to slay this party. Just breathe.”

  Amalie nodded, standing up straighter. Her chaotic thoughts fell away as soon as she opened the door. She choked on a gasp as her eyes unabashedly drank in the sight of Julian, dressed in a tux that had been perfectly tailored. His hair was combed neatly, the natural wave of it still rebelling over his dark eyebrows. And those damn eyes. They got her every time.

  “Uh, oh, hi, hello, hey.” Smooth. Her cheeks reddened, but she took a deep breath and managed to say, “You clean up nice.” Her gaze dropped to a bouquet of perfect pink orchids clutched in Julian’s grip, her heart doing a little somersault.

  Julian’s eyes flared as he studied her from head to toe until his gaze landed on her lips. Amalie tried to school her features, but Julian looked at her like he wanted to eat her up, and honestly, at this point, she was totally on board with that idea.

  “God, Amalie, you look”—he let out a ragged breath, his hands clenching briefly and then relaxing—“you look incredible. Wow.”