I glance over at Carlyn, and she shows me her book. “Ponyboy time.”
I grin at her, putting in my earbuds and turning up my music, trying to get comfortable, but all I can think about are the two condoms burning a hole in my pocket.
Chapter Sixteen
Carlyn
Jeffrey helps a bellhop load our bags onto a cart and then kisses Tessa goodbye. She’s going to get checked into our rooms for us and then meet us at the club later since brunch set us back. I knew Jeffrey wanted to get here sooner, and we probably missed out on some vital time for this short trip, but oh, well. At least my dad allowed me to come.
I couldn’t believe it, actually. I think Nancy must have really done a number on him, because I expected him to shut it down on impact. Tessa was really good with him. She hung onto his every word, seeming fascinated with everything he said, enthusiastically agreeing with all kinds of stuff. It’s weird to think of your own dad as being susceptible to such blatant tactics, but he is a man…one who to my knowledge hasn’t had the attention of a woman in three years. Fish in a barrel, I suppose.
I thought our club was nice, but holy cow. This place is about double its size, and even fancier. Their Center Court is legit…like a miniature stadium. They look like clay courts, which makes me nervous. I’m used to playing on hard courts, and there is a difference, a huge one. I’m not sure what’s on the agenda for the day, but I hope Jeffrey doesn’t expect me to debut my new one-handed backhand on these courts. I’m not ready, and I’m totally out of my element.
“Dude!” shouts a guy about my age, coming our way, arms out like he’s greeting his long-lost brother. He and Vaughn do this handshake hug combo thing, ending with a seriously hard pat to one another’s backs.
“What’s up, man,” Vaughn says.
“My ace count here in a minute,” the guy says, and then turns to me. “Who’s this?”
“Carlyn,” Vaughn says, “this is my friend Slade.”
He tips the bill of his ball cap. “Nice to meet you.” He turns back to Vaughn with a lifted eyebrow.
I realize he looks familiar, and I know that name. Slade Oswell. I’ve seen him on the rankings.
A girl with the most beautiful long chestnut hair I’ve ever seen slides into our circle. “Don’t let them fool you. They hate each other.” She holds out a hand. “I’m Trinity.”
Trinity Kalivas. I’ve seen her name on the girls’ national rankings, high usually. I swallow hard, take her hand, and shake it. “Carlyn.”
She hugs Vaughn with the same hand that’s holding a racquet. “And I hate you for never texting me back.”
“I’ve been in the middle of nowhere,” Vaughn says.
“I got one from him yesterday,” Slade says.
Trinity puts her arm around the guy. “Oh, fuck off.” He puckers up, and she kisses him on the lips. She lets out a deep breath. “So, Carlyn. I hear you’re coming with me.”
I look around for Jeffrey, who I thought was nearby. “Oh, okay.”
“Don’t worry,” Slade says. “She only bites if you show her up on the court.”
Trinity chomps at him playfully, and then wraps her arm around me. “I’m not bad. You’ll see. Unless you’re really good. Then all bets are off.” She jumps. “Oh!” she yelps as Slade smacks her in the butt with his racquet. “Do you mind? I’m entertaining.”
“Yes, you are,” he says biting his lip.
She hustles me off, and I’m not sure how the two of them are going to survive the time apart.
“So,” she says, “Jeffrey says you’re tossing low.”
I wince. “Yeah, I think I probably do that. It’s just…I feel like I’ve got more control over my serve when I keep it close.”
“No worries. I used to toss low until I really gained my confidence on the court. That’s all it’s about. I’ll show you. Come on.” She taps me lightly on my butt with her racquet and then takes off jogging toward a court that’s not in use. I feel like the world belongs to Trinity and we’re all just her puppets in it.
A hopper is set up on the baseline, and she grabs a ball out. She turns to me and closes her eyes, breathing in, suddenly and almost freakishly calm as opposed to the frenetic energy that’s surrounded her for the past five minutes.
She opens her eyes. “Do you know how to center yourself?”
“Um…”
She waves me off. “I’ll give you a book to read. Do you like to read?”
I almost laugh at this, but she somehow seems like someone I should take seriously. “Yes.”
“Great. Finding your center before each toss is the key. You’ve got to shut out the entire world. Nobody’s watching on the sidelines. Nobody’s jumping off the high dive making a huge splash into the pool in the distance. No chatter. No analyzing last night’s blow job. Just you and the ball.”
She turns to the baseline, bounces the ball three times, winds her racquet behind her back, and then lets fly the most beautifully positioned, sky-high toss, her racquet smashing into the ball and sending it sailing across the net into the back corner of the service box where Serena Williams herself would be lucky to reach it. She turns back to me. “It’s all about the toss, baby.”
I spend the next I don’t even know how long with Trinity working my serve and my strokes like a magician, imparting constant words of wisdom on me that I soak up like SpongeBob SquarePants. I’ve never known anyone like her. She’s some sort of unique force of nature, all wrapped up into this package that would be suited to walk down a Paris runway, tall, statuesque, and blossoming, like ongoing.
She wipes her forehead, but I swear she’s not sweating. “Should we get showered or do you want to catch the last part of the match?”
“Match?” I ask.
“The exhibition match. Vaughn and Slade.” I frown. “He didn’t tell you he was here to play an exhibition match?”
I walk over to my bag, and she follows. “He didn’t mention it,” I say, wondering why.
“Aren’t you running that camp thingy together?”
“Yeah.”
She eyes me. “He might not have wanted you to watch him.”
“Oh, no, that’s crazy.”
“So are you two…”
“No, we’re just co-workers, really.” I zip the cover onto my racquet.
“But you want more, let’s be clear.”
“No,” I say, focused on my racquet.
“Oh, sweetie.” She narrows her gaze. “Did he fuck you over already? I’ll kill him.” She cranes her neck, like she’s ready to go kill him right this minute.
“No, not at all. He’s actually…a perfect gentleman.”
“Oh, Jesus. Who wants one of those?”
I giggle. “Yeah, right?” I ask, shouldering my bag.
She waves me off. “We’ll fix that up tonight.” She locks her arm into mine and steers me toward Center Court. “Let’s sneak in. He won’t know we’re there.”
We tiptoe up bleachers on the side behind Vaughn and take our stadium seats. “This club is nice,” I whisper.
She runs her thumb along the tips of her fingers indicating money, and then puts her attention on the match. I take that as a hint that even whispering may not be welcome here. Certainly, everyone is wrapped up in what’s going down on the court.
Vaughn and Slade smash balls across the court like they’re competing in the finals match at Wimbledon. Vaughn’s white shirt is soaked through, the back of his neck beet red. I’ve seen him play plenty, but something about watching him on this foreign territory is utterly gripping. Slade’s good, and he’s pushing Vaughn to move faster and swing harder than I’ve grown accustomed to seeing him do this summer. This match means something to him, and it shows in his form and his drive.
He’s at the net, and Slade almost gets one by his backhand, but he reaches for it, exposing his lower back, jumping high, the muscles in his arm rippling as he places the ball in the corner, right on the line. Everyone claps while he turns around and he
ads back to the baseline, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. He picks at the strings in his racquet, frowning with intense concentration that shows the power this game has over him, His lips move as he walks a few steps behind the baseline, and then he turns to ready himself for Slade’s next serve.
The line judge calls the score, ad out, and Vaughn shifts his weight from side to side, and then jumps a little in a dance, readying himself for Slade’s serve. A check of the scoreboard tells me Vaughn’s up a set and ahead in games in this set, and this is match point. My whole body is clenched.
Slade finally lets the ball he had drop behind him and holds up his racquet to the ball boy who dutifully tosses another to him. The other ball is swept up by another ball boy. How many are there? As I scour the court, I notice a guy with a video camera, picking up every single gripping move, and then another on the other side of the court doing the same but aimed at Vaughn. I want to ask Trinity exactly what this is, but I don’t dare break the silence.
Slade finally winds up and follows through with a serve that I’m sure will be an ace, but Vaughn gets his racquet on it, just barely, sending it soaring through the air, giving him time to reposition, but to what end? Slade’s going to put it away for sure, and he almost does, but Vaughn gets it back over, and before I know it, they’re settled into a rally that goes on for an excruciating twelve or fifteen shots before Vaughn finally has enough and places one in the back right corner of the singles court, and that’s the end of it.
The two make their way to the net where they shake hands and smile at one another, putting their sweaty arms around each other’s backs. They wave with their racquets at the camera, and then head to their respective benches, the crowd erupting with applause.
“That’s it?” I ask.
“They just did an abbreviated match. If they did best three out of five, we’d be here all night.”
“So this is just for exhibition?”
“It’s a draw for the club, tennis teams from the surrounding areas travel here to see them play. Keeps the two of them competing during their rest time. The club will host a reception in the ballroom here in a minute where Vaughn and Slade will be required to schmooze for like half an hour. We can go if you like.”
“Okay,” I say, fascinated by the world I had no idea existed. Our club isn’t nearly this sophisticated.
She nudges me, and then stands. “Come on. Let’s get quick showers so we don’t stink up the place.”
…
I worry I’m going to be underdressed for a ballroom, but everyone else is in shorts and stuff, too, so I don’t feel so bad. Even a few kids run around in swimsuits wrapped in towels.
A group of people cluster in one part of the room, and I crane my neck to find Vaughn and Slade at the core of it.
“Don’t be too impressed,” Trinity says. “They’re just rock stars in this little world for this moment.” These girls who look like freshman or sophomores walk away from the cluster, one grabbing the other’s arm, the two of them giggling like they’ve just met their favorite boy band. Trinity takes a skewer of something off a tray of appetizers on the table we’re standing next to, rolling her eyes, but with a little knowing smile on her lips. She takes a bite, and then says through a mouthful, “Oh, that’s good. Let’s make a plate.”
We get food and stand at a cocktail table with no chairs at it, eating fruit, cheese, grilled chicken bites, and some sort of savory pastry. We finish our plates, and Vaughn and Slade are still hard at the schmoozing.
“This is so weird, seeing Vaughn like this,” I say.
“Slade’s a bigger fan whore than Vaughn. He complains, but I think he secretly loves the attention. Vaughn would happily never speak to another aspiring pro tennis player ever again.”
I huff a laugh. “That sounds about right.”
“It’s killing Slade. He’s got these fantasies of him and Vaughn battling it out in the finals of the US Open. Boys.” She grins like maybe it’s her fantasy, too.
“I just don’t get it. How can someone be so good…good enough to battle for the best in the world, and give it all up to go to Avery?”
“The circuit is intense, and not just the competition aspect, but the traveling, being away from home. The lifestyle is exhausting. I’ve known kids who quit after just a few months on the junior circuit.”
A group of people, a coach and his team possibly, clear out, and Vaughn catches my gaze. He smiles at me, just barely, before he’s wrapped up in another conversation.
“Wow,” Trinity says. “I wish Slade looked at me like that.”
I look over at her. “What do you mean? You two are together, aren’t you?”
“When he’s around. When I’m around. We’re fairly casual. But the way Vaughn looks at you…that’s not casual.” A chill moves down my arm, goose bumps populating it. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s make our boys a couple of plates of food. Maybe these vultures will catch a clue.”
We fix the plates and then head over their way, waiting for a man and a woman with their arms around a pink-faced kid who looks like he’s probably a middle schooler to clear out. When they do, we slide over to them, handing them their food.
Vaughn looks surprised. “Thanks.”
“We’re your knights in shining armor,” Trinity says, wrapping her arm around Slade’s waist. She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek, and then backs off.
Vaughn sets his plate down on the table behind him. “Are you okay?” he asks me.
Trinity rests her hand on her hip. “Yes, she’s okay. I’ve been taking care of her since she got here.”
He looks at me for final confirmation.
“Yes, I’m good. Trinity’s been great.”
She beams at the praise. Jeffrey and Tessa sidle up to us, and Tessa hands keycards in pouches to Vaughn and me. “Your room keys.”
“Don’t stay up too late,” Jeffrey says. “We’re leaving at eight. Nancy will have my ass if I don’t get the two of you back early tomorrow.” He turns to Slade. “Can you take them back to the hotel? Tessa and I are having dinner with some people here.”
“Sure thing.” Slade turns to Vaughn and waggles his eyebrows.
Tessa puts her hand on my arm. “Text me if you need anything. We’ll be back to the hotel early. We’re just a few doors down. Room 312. Where are you, 308?” She indicates the keycard in my hand.
“Oh,” I say, trying not to seem surprised, but I am. Tessa and I were supposed to be rooming together tonight. I look at the card. “Yes. 308.”
“Great!” She narrows her gaze. “Is that okay? Did you want me to sleep in your room? I just assumed.” She makes a motion between herself and Jeffrey. Everyone in the group stares at me, waiting for my answer.
“Of course,” I say, and Tessa rests her head on Jeffrey’s shoulder.
“All right, then. I’ll see you two in the morning,” Jeffrey says and then turns to Slade. “Nice showing today.”
“Got my ass kicked,” Slade says.
“7-5, 7-5 isn’t an ass kicking.”
“If it doesn’t go three sets, it’s an ass kicking,” Slade says, and Jeffrey concedes with a nod. Vaughn is suddenly interested in a grape on the plate of food I brought him.
Jeffrey turns to Trinity. “Did you take care of Carlyn today?”
She smiles at me. “I think so. We’ve added a foot to her toss.”
“Need another six inches,” Jeffrey says.
“We’re on it,” Trinity says dutifully.
Jeffrey turns back to Vaughn and me. “See you both tomorrow.” And they’re off.
“Well,” Slade says. “Looks like we know where the party is tonight.”
Vaughn ignores him, meeting my gaze. “Are you hungry? Do you want to go to dinner, or…”
“No, actually, we ate a minute ago.”
Trinity claps her hands together and holds them in front of her chest. “I’ve got an idea. Slade, you and Vaughn grab those plates of food and go eat in the tennis lounge. Car
lyn and I will run a quick errand and then pick up the two of you out front in a half hour. Sound good?”
“Sounds good to me,” Slade says.
Vaughn looks at me like he’s not sure.
“Great,” Trinity says, and we’re off.
“What’s the errand we’re running?” I ask as we head toward the front door of the club.
“I want to grab a bottle of wine, just one. I don’t know about you, but none of us drink too much. Still, it’s fun to have a little something to break the ice, don’t you think?”
I’m not one to falter to peer pressure. In all honesty, I’ve never really been faced with it much. My friends are a gang of nerds. We enjoy goofy stuff like paintball wars or bowling. I’m not invited to parties where there’s beer, and I’ve always been fine with that. And it’s not uncommon for my Saturday night to consist of my dad and me eating popcorn on the couch and bingeing the latest season of Stranger Things or some show like Breaking Bad. Have I mentioned how much I love Walter White?
But there’s something about Trinity’s way that makes me really not want to oppose a bottle of wine. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t seem like she’s trying to be cool or fit in. It’s more about sophistication or something. One bottle for four people. That’s not the end of the world. My dad’s lovable, gullible face as Tessa was duping him populates my brain, and I shove it back out.
“That sounds good,” I say. “Where are you going to get it?”
“My house. It’s just around the block. My parents have a cellar. I think we’ll go with a good Cab this evening. Does that work for you?” She’s totally serious right now. I wonder what she would do if I asked for something else. I wish I knew the different kinds of wine so I could do that.
I straighten my posture. “Yes, I think that would be nice.”
She grins. “Perfect.”
Chapter Seventeen
Carlyn
I look down both sides of the hallway, checking for anyone who might be watching before I let two boys into my hotel room. It’s not like Jeffrey or Tessa care. Still, it feels…sneaky.
Courting Carlyn Page 12
