Indy grabbed her bag from the locker, stuffed with textbooks and her laptop. There were just a few weeks between her and her high school diploma. Just a few more tests and she’d graduate in absentia from her former high school back in California, so instead of a nice, relaxing, mindless lunch, she’d be tackling her off-the-court nemesis, AP Calculus. It wasn’t something she had to do as she’d easily qualify for a GED at this point. Her course load was completely made up of classes above and beyond the requirements for a high school diploma, but Indy was done quitting things. She’d given up tennis for a year and nearly lost her dream because of it. So she’d slog through calculus and all the rest and get that diploma even if the equations made her brain melt inside her skull.
Stepping into the sunshine, she shouldered her bag and turned toward the OBX library, running through the assignments she still had to complete, when a shadow crossed over her path, a large body falling into step with her, close, but not touching, their strides matching.
“Jack,” she said, glancing up at him sideways, a small smile threatening at the corners of her mouth.
“Indiana,” he said, echoing back her name, sending a shiver down her spine. He was the only one allowed to call her that, the only person who made the name she’d hated since forever sound friggin’ good.
They walked together in silence, turning the corner that separated the courts from the residential area of the complex, but her stride was suddenly cut off when Jack shuffled his feet, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her into a shady walkway between buildings. Her bag slid off her shoulder, but he caught it before it crashed to the ground and smashed her laptop to smithereens. He let it settle on the ground gently before leaning over her, forcing her to step back into the wall.
Walls were their thing. Their first kiss had been against a wall in a random hallway at Roland Garros, their second pressed against the wall of their hotel in Paris and now that they were back in North Carolina, they found any excuse to push each other against a wall and kiss until they were gasping for air and their bodies begged for relief. Jack’s lips trailed from her temple, using the wall behind her as an anchor before bending his head to hers. Pushing up onto her toes, Indy met him halfway. She’d never been so grateful for every millimeter of her five feet ten inches as she was when she was kissing Jack. His hands slid through her hair, twisting it around his fingers, then cradling the back of her head, drawing her mouth more firmly against his. Indy brought her hands to his torso, gripping his t-shirt, letting her palms press against the cut of muscle that disappeared into his cargo shorts. The skin-on-skin contact made his breath hitch, his mouth opening just enough to allow her tongue to slide in, deepening the kiss, before letting her teeth nip at his bottom lip. A groan rumbled in his throat as he stumbled forward, pressing his body full length against hers. He wrenched his lips from hers, trailing his mouth over the line of her jaw to the spot just behind her ear. It was her turn to gasp and her head fell back as she arched into him. No one had ever kissed her there before. Jack smiled against her skin as her fingertips dug into his sides and she let a moan slip free as he focused his attention on that spot, scraping his teeth against it, then soothing that small pain with a flick of his tongue. Her hands scrambled to get purchase against his shoulders, desperate for some leverage, anything to help her slide her body against his. Then it was over, his hand gone from her hair, his mouth gone from her neck and his body inches then feet away. Indy blinked at him, trying to figure out why he pulled away when the voices echoing down the pathway toward them finally reached her ears.
Bending down, he lifted her bag as she ran her fingers through her hair, knowing he’d made an unholy mess of it. You’re fine,” he muttered, handing her the bag and stepping further away from her as a group of junior boys stomped past them, none giving them a second glance.
“You have good ears,” Indy said, biting her lip at the close call. If those boys had seen them, the news would have spread like wildfire through the OBX campus and everyone would have known by the end of the day. She was only seventeen for another few months, but that wasn’t really the problem, seventeen or eighteen wouldn’t matter to other people. She was a young tennis pro, he was an up-and-coming agent. The last thing either of their careers needed was the heightened publicity of a controversial relationship, even if Jack Harrison was far more of a gentleman than any guy she’d ever met. Sometimes, a little too much of a gentleman, truth be told.
Jack shrugged, glancing back over his shoulder again before facing her fully. “I’m sorry about this.”
She reached out and took his hand, “We both agreed,” she said, entwining their fingers, “it’s just between us for now. It makes sense for both of us.” Pressing his lips together in a thin line, he nodded, but she knew he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Jack, we talked about this. You said you were okay with it.”
“I just wish it were different,” he said, tugging her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. His hands released hers and dropped to her hips, the edges of his thumbs brushing against her hipbones in slow circles, sending shivers over her skin.
“Me too.” She wanted to scream it from the rooftops that this amazing guy was hers. That he had deep green eyes and a smile that brightened whenever he looked at her. That he was brilliant in ways that she couldn’t even fathom with his degree from Harvard. That he’d fought their attraction for so long because of that ingrained sense of honor, like one of those heroes in a fairy tale, except Jack was real, flesh and blood.
"Have you thought...maybe we should tell Penny?" Indy asked, her fingertips landing on his forearms, gently stroking up to his elbows and back down to his wrists.
Jack let out a heavy breath. "Penny has a lot on her plate right now."
"I know. I just feel funny keeping it from her. Jasmine knows."
"We'll do whatever you want to do. This is your show, baby."
"I don't need a supportive…" she hesitated, almost using the word boyfriend, but that didn't really fit, did it? Not if they were keeping it a secret, "I need honest, Jack."
He leaned back, looking her in the eye. "Honest? Honestly, my sister doesn't do well with change. It freaks her out and right now, I'm not sure that the idea of you and me will go over that well. On the other hand, if we don't tell her and she finds out?"
"She'll be pissed."
"Yep."
"Maybe we should wait a little longer. We could tell her in London."
Jack nodded, "Face to face instead of over the phone."
“There’s always Skype,” she said, not really sure if she wanted to know what Penny, the only girl who’d made an effort to befriend her when she first arrived at OBX, would think if she found out she and Jack were together.
“There’s that.”
Indy shook her head. They should do it in person. They should have done it before they left Paris, but Penny had been so devastated by withdrawing from the tournament that it hadn’t felt like the right time then either. “In London. We’ll be there in less than a week. We’ll tell her then.”
“Okay, in London.” They stood there for a moment, just breathing each other in until Jack leaned away. “I’ve gotta go. I have a meeting with a potential new client this afternoon and I’ve got to prep.”
Indy snorted a laugh. “Right, like you don’t already have a complete profile worked up along with potential sponsors to contact if they sign.”
“You know me so well,” he said, leaning around the building, checking the pathway for any more unwanted spectators. “I’ll go this way.”
Indy nodded back in the opposite direction. “And I’ll go that way.”
With a wink, he was gone, around the corner and out of sight, so she turned and adjusted her bag over her shoulder, heading out from between the buildings and toward the library. She’d have about half the time to get her Calc done than she originally planned. Fingertips pressing against that spot on her neck lightly recalling the feel of his mouth and the way her ent
ire body was lit on fire by his touch, it was totally worth it.
“Are you sure that is a good idea?” a voice rang out from just a few steps behind her, the French accent giving its owner away, if the superiority and condescension weren’t enough of a clue. Indy spun around and came face to face with her agent, tall, blonde, perfectly put together in a silk blouse and linen skirt, somehow looking completely cool and calm despite the blaze of the sun. She was in town before they all left for England, mostly to go over her plans for Indy’s future off the court.
A denial formed on Indy’s tongue, but she knew it was useless. Caroline had seen them and it probably just confirmed what she’d suspected for a while. Her agent was damn good at her job and it wasn’t like she and Jack had been super careful about keeping private moments behind closed doors. “Good idea or not, it’s none of your business.”
Raising her eyes to the sky and shaking her head, Caroline said, “You are my business, Indiana.”
“How many times do I have to say it? Don’t call me that, and my tennis is your business,” Indy corrected. “Keep your nose out of everything else.”
“It is not that simple,” Caroline insisted, her voice inching up in pitch.
“It really is.” She turned on her toe and walked away, wanting to look back, hoping that Caroline’s brow was furrowed and her hands were on her hips, lips pursed in aggravation. But looking back would ruin the moment because despite getting in the last word, Caroline now had the upper hand and it was only a matter of time before she used it to her advantage.
Chapter 2
June 14th
The student lunch crowd had emptied out of Deuce, OBX’s restaurant, by the time Jasmine arrived, scanning the nearly empty tables for her parents, who’d asked her to join them for lunch. She’d been in such a hurry to get to training that morning she hadn’t thought much about it, but now that she was walking into the restaurant it struck her just how weird it was that they’d asked her to meet them at Deuce when she could have just as easily walked across the beach and had lunch at home. Instead, they wanted the white table clothes, the stunning ocean views and the wait staff — witnesses.
As she rounded the corner, it all became clear. The man from the party the day of the French Open final, who’d been talking about the dozens of universities that would love to have her lead their teams to the NCAA Championships, was seated at the table. She caught her own reflection in the glass, an OBX t-shirt and jean shorts; her long, dark hair, nearly black thanks to her shower, was pulled up at the top of her head in a messy bun. Not exactly dressed for a business meeting, but if they were going to spring it on her, that wasn’t her fault.
Her father and the man stood, politely waiting for her to sit down and join them. She did, plastering a smile across her face, the same smile she wore whenever she met any of her parents friends, the ones who expected her to be something. What that something was, she wasn’t ever sure, but they expected it. That’s what happens when you’re the only child of two tennis greats; people expect things.
“Jasmine, you remember Felix Wolner from Elite Recruiting?” her dad said, smiling that same bright smile that he’d worn as he held up all five of his grand slam trophies.
“Of course, Mr. Wolner. Sorry, I didn’t know you’d be joining us for lunch,” Jasmine said, quirking a saccharine smile at her mom.
“It’s Felix’s last day in town and he mentioned that he never got a chance to finish speaking with you at the party,” her mom said, with raised eyebrows and smiling that same sarcastic smile Jasmine still had plastered across her own face. She’d learned from the best.
She shrugged. “Well, it was a party to watch the final and since no one else was, I thought I’d catch the last bit of the match, just to keep up appearances.”
“It was amazing, wasn’t it?” Felix cut in. “Everyone had written Russell off as finished. Nice to see he had more tennis in him.”
“Not so amazing,” Jasmine said with a shrug. “He worked his ass off and he got results. It’s simple.”
“His physical gifts are tremendous though, you have to agree. Natural talent like that, plus hard work, that’s what makes a great pro.”
“Natural talent will only get you so far,” Jasmine retorted. The conversation had ceased to be about Alex Russell, almost from the moment they’d started. “And all the talent in the world is worthless if you don’t work at it.” She took a sip of her water, trying to hide her smirk. This was too easy.
“Precisely,” Felix said and Jasmine nearly choked on an ice cube.
“You agree?” she asked, setting her glass down and looking over at her parents. She hadn’t expected that. At all.
“I do. It’s usually a combination of talent and hard work that makes a great pro, that and timing,” he said, eyeing her father, who nodded. “Some players are ready as young at sixteen,” he gestured to her mother, “others, seventeen or eighteen, and then others, perhaps not until they’re twenty or so. Women tend to hit their physical peak a little earlier, but not all of them. More recently, with new training techniques, we’re finding twenty or twenty-one to be the optimal age for a professional tennis player, though really, it’s up to the individual.”
Damn it. She’d walked right into that one. “So what are you saying?” she asked, tired of beating around the bush.
“Your parents asked me to talk to you, Jasmine, because this is what I do. I look at all the young tennis talent the world has to offer and I assess their abilities, figure out where they belong in the scheme of things so they have the best career they can.”
“That’s Dom’s job,” she countered.
“Dom’s job is to make you into the best tennis player he can given your physical abilities. From what I can see from your recent play, in my professional opinion, he’s done that and schools like Stanford, Harvard, Duke, they’re all lining up to have you lead their teams for the next four years. And they’d like to give you a world-class education in return.”
“And that’s the best player I can be?” she threw up her hands and looked her dad in the eye. “That’s what you’re saying right? That right now the best player I can be is a college athlete? I disagree. I’ve been around tennis my entire life, Mr. Wolner. Indy and I just played against the best doubles team in the world, we forced them into a tiebreak and in a couple of weeks, I’m going to be playing at Wimbledon. Don’t you guys get it? This is happening now. College is great for some people, but that’s not what I want.”
“Jasmine, mija, we’re just trying to show you all the options,” her mom said, reaching across the table for her hand, but Jasmine yanked it away, standing up.
“And this isn’t an option for me and if you can’t understand that, maybe you should stay out of it.”
“Stay out of it?” her dad asked.
“Yes. I’m going to Wimbledon and it’s going to be amazing and if you can’t support that, if you can’t get behind it, then maybe you should just stay here.”
She didn’t stay to watch her parents’ reactions; she didn’t even know if she meant the words that spilled out, so she just kept walking.
She made it to the video analysis room almost an hour early, determined to put everything that just happened out of her head. The only way to prove her parents wrong was to win in London. Indy would be holed up in the library with her calculus books so she had plenty of time to kill. Dom would insist they go over the day’s training footage, but something about the way that the recruiter spoke about her recent performance was eating away at her. She’d played really well at the OBX Invitational up until the last set and at the French Open, she’d been at the top of her game during the doubles matches. The only thing that was left was how she’d done in the French Open Girls tournament; her first round match had gone fine, but that second round, that’s when things went to hell. She’d been knocked out by a fellow American a couple of years younger than her, someone she’d never even heard of before named Natalie Grogan. Grogan played an old
school serve and volley game, similar to Jasmine’s own style of play and something you rarely saw anymore. She hadn’t been prepared for it. If they met up on the court again, she was sure she’d do just fine.
She was just about to pull up the footage when Indy came flying through the door. “Hey, you’re early.”
Indy ran her hand through her hair, her long blonde curls spilling over one shoulder. “Yeah, I - uh - couldn’t focus on math. It just doesn’t make any sense at all, so I figured I’d come down here, see if you were ready.”
Jasmine scoffed, unable to keep the grin off her face. “Please. You couldn’t focus on math or did something else distract you?”
Indy collapsed into the chair next to her, bumping her shoulder roughly. “Shut up.”
For a second, Jasmine considered telling Indy what happened at lunch, but her gut twisted at the idea. Indiana Gaffney’s physical talents were the kind guys like Felix Wolner drooled over, but from a distance. There was no way she would waste four years of her prime at college, not when she could match her serve up against the best players in the world and come out on top. Indy would be nice about it, but she wouldn’t understand, not really. So instead, Jasmine said, “You two have to stop being so obvious if you want to keep it secret. Not everyone who accidentally stumbles upon you two sucking each other’s faces off is going to keep quiet about it. I’m just saying.”
There were a lot of people who would love to have that kind of information on Indy, mostly the catty girls she’d put to shame the day she stepped on the OBX courts. Jasmine had been one of those girls and there was a time when stumbling upon Jack Harrison and Indiana Gaffney wrapped up in each other’s arms, mouths fused together, would have had her making some phone calls to any media outlet that would listen. Now though, things were very different.
Losing at Love Page 2
