Courting Carlyn

by Melissa Chambers

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Discover more of Entangled Teen Crush’s books… Offsetting Penalties

  The First Kiss Hypothesis

  Saving It

  Just One of the Boys

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Melissa Chambers. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 105, PMB 159

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  rights@entangledpublishing.com

  Crush is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Stacy Abrams

  Cover design by Cora Graphics

  Cover photography by GettyImages/iStock

  Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-64063-614-9

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition August 2018

  For Tom, my longtime tennis partner and treasured friend.

  Chapter One

  Carlyn

  I can’t believe this is happening. Years of conditioning and hitting a million forehands and backhands and a jillion serves, all in preparation for this single, precious moment, and I’m about to psych myself out of the whole thing…

  All because of him.

  What is Vaughn Yarborough doing here? He sits on row two, watching these tryouts like they’re nothing to him, like I’m going to breeze through them laser-focused and not screw everything up now that my arms have turned to jelly. He catches my gaze and lifts his chin just barely in acknowledgment. I attempt a smile, but I can’t look him in the eye. I wish he wouldn’t stare at me. In all fairness, he’s been following the play on the court, but still.

  All the coaches of us girls showing off for this Avery University scout line the fence, watching their players with intense scowls or encouraging nods. My dad stands at the end of the line, concern etched across his features, wanting this for me as much as I want it for myself. He tries so hard. How could I ever let him know he does more damage to my game than good?

  It’s not like we have a choice. We can’t afford a real coach, and he’s trying. But he doesn’t know what he’s doing any more than I do. He gives me this serious nod with a discreet thumbs-up. He has all the hope and faith in me that I don’t have in myself. My guilt-ridden heart sinks as I plaster on a smile and give him a thumbs-up in return, which makes him grin like everything’s falling right into place…directly off a cliff.

  On row two, Vaughn scoots over to make room for his famed coach, Jeffrey Lyons, as if this day couldn’t get worse. That’s just what I need to calm the nerves, a man who’s competed in all four grand slams watching me go for my last chance to make the team of my dream school.

  “Carlyn,” the Avery assistant coach barks.

  I jerk into reality and move my butt to the baseline to accept some forehands. My first shot lands in the alley, the second bounces out behind the baseline, and the third smacks into the net and suspends itself in midair for what seems like seven thousand years, and then drops unceremoniously back on my side of the court, rolling off to the ball boy who snatches it up and pockets it.

  “Next,” the coach shouts.

  …

  Rebecca meets me by my tennis bag on the hill with all the others. “Oh, Carlyn. I’m so sorry.”

  I unzip my bag and fish for my racquet cover. “It’s fine.” I’m trying hard to sound upbeat, but my words are a huge lie.

  She puts her hand on my back and leans in close. “What happened?”

  My traitorous eyes glance at row two without my permission, meeting his gaze for the briefest second before I look away. Vaughn shouldn’t make me this nervous. He’s just a guy my own age, like any other guy at this club…just with an enormous amount of international success and notoriety. I wince as I think about the mixed doubles tournament from last summer. There was another lost opportunity. A chance to play on a team with one of the best junior players in the world, and I lost the match for us. Way to get noticed, Carlyn.

  I zip up my racquet with a little more gusto than necessary. “It’s okay. I don’t have to play for Avery. Just going there is enough.”

  She smiles, her lips tight. She knows how much making this team meant to me, and now it’s over.

  Dad steps in front of me, his face ghost white. He runs his fingers through his hair. “Well, maybe there’s still a chance. That one serve you hit just about caught the line. I—”

  “Dad,” I interrupt. “It’s over. It’s fine. I’m fine.” His frown is so deep I think he’s etching new lines into his forehead. “Rebecca and I are going to Sonic to get a soda, okay?” I ask, needing desperately to be away from him right now, because if we’re together this afternoon, we’ll just talk about what was at stake and what’s been lost, and I’ll start crying, then he’ll try to stay strong for me but tears will form in his eyes, and I cannot deal with my dad’s tears, not today.

  “Okay,” he says. “But come home for dinner by six. I’ve got a roast in the slow cooker.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He nods at Rebecca, squeezes my shoulder, and then starts toward the parking lot but is stopped by another dad who extends a hand, and they settle into a conversation. Rebecca and I head off toward the main building for the locker room, but when we round the corner by the concession building, my heart jumps up into my throat as we’re met with Vaughn and Jeffrey Lyons, who plant themselves right in front of us. I glance around the corner to find my dad still standing there with that other dad, his back to us, thank God.

  “Hey.” Vaughn nods in the direction of the court. “Sorry about…”

  My ears sizzle, sending tingles of humiliation down my neck. “Oh, it’s fine. It just wasn’t my day.”

  Jeffrey nods at Rebecca. “I heard you got a scholarship to Brannigan. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she says.

  Jeffrey looks at me, and a fresh wash of humiliation rains down on my chest. “Rough day for you, huh?”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, my words coming out strangled.

  “Well, Vaughn and I have an opportunity for you that may take the sting out a bit.”

  “For me?” I blink, wondering what in the crap the two of them could have in store for me. Do they want me to be a ball girl at some tournament? Not that I’m above it, but that’d be par for the course of this day.

  Jeffrey smiles, and for a split second, I see what the fuss is about for all these middle-age
d women around the club. All tall and tanned, full head of dark brown hair. He may have been hot when he was young. Hard to tell. But for me, the interest has way more to do with the fact that he’s the kind of coach who makes the careers of young tennis players of his choosing.

  “Yes, for you,” he says, as if there isn’t another soul on the planet at this moment more important than me. I wonder what the catch is.

  “Okay,” I say dumbly.

  “Vaughn has organized a tennis camp for underprivileged kids this summer.”

  I’m a little surprised to hear this. I guess I never thought of Vaughn as the type to want to help kids, but admittedly, I don’t know him that well.

  Rebecca smiles at Vaughn. “Nice.”

  We all look to Vaughn to expound upon this idea, but he pockets his hands and glances around like he’d rather be anywhere on the planet but here.

  “It’s a two-month program,” Jeffrey says. “Kids will cycle in and out, but a couple who are interested in really learning the game will stay the duration, going home on weekends, of course.”

  “Sounds great,” I say.

  Jeffrey Lyons grips Vaughn’s shoulder. “We’re glad to hear you say that, because we were wondering if you might want to spend the summer there with us.”

  My heart sinks. This is humiliation on a whole new level. They’re targeting me as one of the kids who needs the whole summer to learn the game, not to mention an underprivileged one. My dad doesn’t have near the amount of money as most members of this club, but I wouldn’t call us underprivileged. Sure, I’m wearing a tennis skirt from a few seasons ago, but it is lululemon. That should count for something.

  “Oh, well, I appreciate the offer, but I need to find a job this summer. I have to pay for my own car and gas, insurance. I’m also saving for a new racquet. I have to pay for that, too.” I turn toward the main building of the club. “I was actually going to see if they needed help in the tennis center here so I could get a discount.” I have no idea why I’m babbling on to these people. I don’t owe either of them an explanation, but still, I’m offering up a buffet of them.

  They eye each other, and Jeffrey gives Vaughn a significant look. Vaughn turns to me, his face flushed. “No, I can pay you. I mean, the fund will pay you…the investors. You’ll be paid.”

  Oh, geez. Now I’ve got them thinking I’m some sort of charity case. It isn’t like that. My dad just tries to teach me about money by having me pay for certain things. He won’t buy me a racquet because the one I have is only two years old. I have my eye on another one that’s lighter with a slightly bigger head. It’s three hundred dollars, and since he doesn’t see anything wrong with my current racquet, he said I would have to pay for it myself, which I’m fine with. But these rich kids at this club probably can’t conceive of paying for their own equipment.

  “No, I don’t think you understand. We aren’t poor. I mean, we are compared to a lot of families around here, but we live in Heartsville. I go to Jackson High. It’s a good school. It’s not Cedar Prep, but the academics are outstanding for a public school.” I know I need to shut up, but the words continue to vomit out of my mouth. “We’ve got a really good marching band. They won some championship last year.”

  Rebecca steps on my foot, and I bite my lip, partly to ease the pain in my foot and partly to shut my trap.

  Vaughn shakes his head in frustration. “No, we don’t want you to attend as a student. I mean, we want you to work with us at the camp.”

  My hopes spring up for a moment, but then I come down a notch when I imagine myself in the cafeteria wearing a hairnet, slopping mashed potatoes onto kids’ trays.

  “You’d assist Vaughn and me on the court with drills and games,” Jeffrey says. “We’ll break off into smaller groups frequently, and you’ll lead one of the groups. We can pay you five hundred dollars a week, and your food would be covered. But the catch is you’ll have to live there at the camp. We’d like you to stay in the cabin with the girls during the week. The program is about more than just tennis. It’s about mentoring, and with your experience at the center downtown, we think you’d be the perfect candidate. You’ll probably even know some of these kids.”

  I stand there, mouth agape, willing words to come out, but none seem to surface.

  Rebecca looks between me and the two of them. “So, what ages are the kids?”

  “Twelve to sixteen,” Jeffrey says. “I already spoke with Tom at the center, and he gave you a glowing recommendation.”

  I think these two are for real. They want me to come and work at a camp with them. Vaughn Yarborough, national champion; Jeffrey Lyons, famed coach and Wimbledon quarterfinalist; and me. I huff a laugh at the insanity of this. Vaughn stands there, running his fingers through his wavy blond hair, which leaves it sitting perfectly tousled on top of his head, and he wasn’t even trying. For someone who’s out in the sun all the time, he has this really clean skin on his neck and the bit of chest that shows through his polo shirt, like he’s impervious to sunburns. He blinks, holding my gaze with his clear blue eyes, and I think about how unfair it is for one person to be so good at something on top of being so unbelievably attractive, kind of like Tom Brady or Steph Curry.

  Rebecca nudges me. “I think she’s very interested, right, Carlyn?”

  I glance over at my dad laughing with that other dad, his back turned to us, so oblivious to this conversation. If he sees me even talking to Jeffrey Lyons, he’s going to freak out with a capital F.

  To say my dad hates Jeffrey Lyons would be the understatement of the millennium. My dad’s dating life has been dismal since my mom died fourteen years ago. He’s had a few relationships, but he was never ready to commit to another marriage…until Shannon.

  He took her to this fancy restaurant, which he would never typically go to, got down on one knee, and received a big fat no. Three days later, word spread like wildfire around the club that she was Jeffrey’s jam of the month and had been for a couple of weeks. That was three years ago. He has yet to go on another date.

  I glance back over at my dad, who looks like he’s wrapping up his conversation. I take a quick step behind the building, hoping he won’t look this way and see me talking to these two.

  Jeffrey points at him. “Is your dad the issue? That’s no problem. I’ll talk to him.”

  “No!” I scream and practically lunge for Jeffrey, grabbing his arm. My hands fly off him a second later as I realize I’m touching him. Like I need my dad to see that.

  Jeffrey looks a little taken aback, and then chuckles. “Carlyn, it’s fine. Your dad knows me. I’ve seen him around the club for years. I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced, but I’ll take him for a beer and have him won over in no time.”

  Oh my god. This couldn’t be worse. He doesn’t even remember that he stole my dad’s future fiancée, or whatever she was. Of course he doesn’t. He dumped her about a week after she dumped my dad.

  “And it’s not just you and Vaughn at this camp,” Jeffrey continues. “There’s a couple who live on the premises. It’s their campground. They’ll be there twenty-four seven, and they’ll have a security guard for the cabins for after dark. I’ll explain all this to your father.”

  I stand there trying to figure out how I can possibly pull this off. My dad will never let me do this. Me alone at a camp all summer with his nemesis and teen tennis’s player of the year, and I’m not talking about just on the court. My dad doesn’t see me as a girl who’s going to be eighteen at the end of the summer and be an actual adult. He sees me as the little girl he’s raised all on his own since I was three. I’m all he has…his protected little princess. He’d think he was tossing me to the lions.

  I close my eyes, trying to figure out how I could possibly convince him of this. “Um, I’m just not sure this can work out.”

  Vaughn and Jeffrey exchange a look, Jeffrey nodding in my direction and Vaughn looking irritated, but then finally turning to me. “I need you for this camp. You’ve
got the experience, and you’re good with kids, according to your boss.” His words are matter of fact, not complimentary, which sort of makes them more of a compliment. He looks at me…like, really looks at me. “I need someone like you.” The tone of his voice has dropped, low and serious, and my belly warms a little.

  I wonder if this means I’m forgiven for blowing that mixed doubles match last summer. I’ve been sick over it for a year now. I cringe at the thought of how many clicks that YouTube video is up to now.

  Vaughn sort of scrunches up his face, and then lets out an agitated sigh. He meets my gaze again. “Will you consider it? Please?”

  Jeffrey peers at us, his eyes squinting in thought. “Rebecca,” he says. “Can I show you something I noticed earlier today on your backhand?”

  Rebecca’s eyes widen again. “Sure.” She gives me a sorry glance, and then takes off with Jeffrey, leaving me alone with Vaughn.

  This is the first time he and I have had a one-on-one conversation since the mixed doubles match. It’s not like we were friends before that. We know of each other, being around the club together and all, but it’s not like he’s here much. He’ll grace us with his presence a handful of times in a year, but he plays the international junior circuit and has since he was like fourteen, I’m pretty sure.

  I lift my eyebrows, closing my mouth tightly, waiting for him to make his next move. I might be having a little fun with this. I’ve never seen Vaughn Yarborough beg for something.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he lifts his chin so he’s looking down his nose at me. “What’s it going to take to get you to do this? More money?”

  Holy crap. “Can you do that?”

  He drops his arms to his sides. “Look, you really are the best person for this job, hands down. It’s important to me that the camp goes well. I don’t want to screw this up. I could use your help, with the kids. I mean, what do I know about working with underprivileged kids? I haven’t done anything like this before. I’ve been on the road the past four years.”

  Vaughn Yarborough needs my expertise on something. The irony is almost laughable.

  “I’m serious,” he says. “If you don’t do this, I’ll have to cancel the camp. Do you want to be singularly held responsible for disappointing all those kids?”