Losing at Love

by Jennifer Iacopelli

  Sixteen-year-old Natalie Grogan, long limbed, with a frizzy brown ponytail and a baby face, was in London for Wimbledon Juniors and from the army of business attire lining the fences, it seemed she was looking for an agent. Penny didn’t know much about her except that she beat Jasmine during the French Open junior tournament, and pretty decisively at that, and that Jack had his eye on her as a potential client and had been in contact with her parents. So she’d called her brother and given her two cents, for whatever her opinion on the girl’s potential was worth. Her game was solid, no real strength, no real weakness and her playing style actually reminded Penny of her own, doing whatever needed to be done in order to win the match, throwing whatever the opponent sent you back in his or her face, only better.

  She watched as the younger girl handed her bags off to her father/coach/manager, and Penny frowned. There was something about girls who didn’t carry their own bags that always bothered her, almost as much as parents who insisted on coaching their own kids, but she wiped the frown from her face when Natalie climbed over the low wall separating the stands from the court and headed in her direction.

  “Um, hi, you’re Penny Harrison, right?” Penny slid her sunglasses off her eyes and placed them up on the bill of her cap. So much for that disguise, as if the walking boot didn’t give it away.

  “That’s me.”

  “I figured that was you. I mean, I know Alex Russell is scheduled after me so it would just make sense that you were here. I’m Natalie. Um, like, would it be okay if…will you take a picture with me?”

  Penny blinked, hoping Natalie would take a breath. She did. “Sure, no problem.”

  Natalie sat down in the seat beside her and fiddled with her phone before extending her arm out in front of them. They tilted their heads together and Natalie pointed at Penny, feigning a look of surprise before taking the picture. “This is awesome. Nobody would have believed you came to my practice session. You know, like pics or it didn’t happen.”

  “Seriously, no problem,” Penny said. “You looked great out there. Keep it up.”

  “Really? I mean, thanks. I um, I hope your ankle gets better soon. It was amazing, watching you beat Lutrova like that. I couldn’t believe it. It was like out of a movie or something, just unbelievable. And now that commercial too, so cool.”

  There was something about this girl’s enthusiasm that made Penny smile. “I couldn’t believe it when I first saw it. They didn’t even tell me before so it was a complete shock.”

  “Nat, let’s go!” her dad shouted from the court below.

  “One second, Dad!” And then to Penny, “Are you gonna play at Wimbledon? They were saying on ESPN that your ankle won’t be ready in time. I had a grade 2 sprain once and it sucked. I had to miss Nationals and like all the scouts were there so no one saw me and they were saying before the tournament that I was going to win it and then I had to just sit and watch the whole thing and it just sucked. I really hope you’ll be ready.” Natalie paused and Penny cut in, the girl’s words hitting far too close to home.

  “I’ll definitely be out there.”

  “Natalie,” her father said, this time making his way up the stairs toward them.

  “Good. I can’t wait to see you kick Lutrova’s ass again.” Natalie practically skipped away, tapping at her phone’s screen and most likely blasting out the picture. She felt her own phone vibrate in her pocket, notifications that she’d been tagged in the post.

  ~

  Alex and Paolo stepped out onto the court as she scrolled through the alerts on her phone and she saw Natalie dart over in their direction. There was a message from Teddy, her twin brother, that made her smile, OMG UR SO FAMOUS!11! It was a running joke in her family to make fun of just how much people would freak out around her sometimes. It still blew her mind that people wanted her autograph or to take a picture with her. Less than a year ago, she hadn’t been anyone special and it could just all go away one day. That’s why she needed to get back out there, show everyone that she was fine, that she was still the best.

  “Hey, you gonna sit all the way up there the whole time?” Alex shouted at her from the court and she rolled her eyes, before standing and slowly making her way down the stairs, the plastic edges of the boot scraping on the concrete. She finally settled on a closer seat.

  “You will watch as I destroy him, Penny,” Paolo called from the far side of the court.

  They weren’t really playing a match, just working on different aspects of their games that needed attention in the approach to Wimbledon. Playing on grass was different than playing on clay and you needed time to adjust a little. Time she wouldn’t have even if her ankle was ready to go by the first day of the tournament. The pain was manageable now, not nearly as bad as when she first injured it. She could feel pain when her weight was on it, but that wasn’t any different from other small injuries she’d had over the years. She just needed to be able to get through matches on it. A fortnight, as they said in this country, would be grueling on a newly healed injury, but she could deal with it if it meant winning her first Grand Slam. She’d been able to fight through the pain in France. Why should England be any different? A little voice in her head, one that sounded suspiciously like her brother Jack’s, grumbled the many reasons why not, but she ignored it. She needed to be out on the court in the next few days and that was that.

  Alex and Paolo started to hit in earnest and for a minute, Penny watched them, her eyes traveling with the ball back and forth, the satisfying thwap of contact was string music to her ears. And then she let her mind drift, felt the ground beneath her feet, no pain in her ankle, just the soft give of the grass, firmer than the clay she’d just played on in France. She could feel the ball in her hands, fitting perfectly in the cradle of her fingers, one bounce, two, three and four, then lifting her arm up to the sky, pushing her weight down to the ground as the ball rose over her head. Then the racket, slashing through the air, perfect contact, barely feeling the ball leaving the strings over the net, landing balanced, keeping her feet under her and waiting for the return, a crossover step, to a slice back hand down the line, drawing her opponent to one side of the court before taking the next ground stroke and firing it to the opposite court with her forehand for a winner.

  By the time she opened her eyes again, she’d played a full match in her head against various opponents in the women’s top ten, all with their unique challenges and weaknesses. Women she could come face to face with at Wimbledon, women who were standing in her path to the title. She knew how to beat them all, even when they were at their best. She just had to make sure that she was at her best.

  “Did you fall asleep over here?” Alex asked, flopping down in the seat beside her and taking a sip from his water bottle, a blue concoction that was supposed to replace electrolytes lost during a practice session.

  “Visualizing,” she mumbled, a slow smile spreading across her face as he leaned in and pressed a sweaty kiss on her cheek but didn’t pull away. He hovered for a moment and let his breath slide over her skin.

  “Visualizing, hmm? What’s been going through that pretty head of yours, love?”

  Penny turned so her lips were just a hair’s breadth away from his. “Well, I was thinking about tennis, but now that you mention it…” she trailed off and was about to close the space between them when a catcall made them both jump and pull apart.

  “Are we training or not, lover boy?” Paolo called from the court, whacking a ball in their direction.

  Alex caught it deftly and stood, grinning, a hand running over his head, sifting through his hair. “Duty calls. Check out my slice serve, would you?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  He jogged out to the court and Penny leaned back in her seat with a sigh, settling in to watch. She slipped the walking boot off her foot and the ballet flat off the other before stretching her legs out in the sun. She tried to keep her eyes on him, to check out his slice serve and see what was giving him an issue, but the warmt
h of the day and the steady rhythm of the ball soon had her eyes drifting closed again. Her opponent was Zina Lutrova this time, like in France, and on grass, Lutrova’s game would be even more formidable, the speed of her serve and groundstrokes amped up by the fast surface. Beating her on clay was one thing, but beating her on grass to win Wimbledon, that would be something else entirely.

  ~

  Alex’s match that afternoon wasn’t much of a challenge. A win, 6-3, 6-4 without need of a third deciding set had them finished at the tournament well before their dinner reservation that night.

  “You played well,” Penny said, sliding into the back of the car service that would drive them home from the courts.

  “No thanks to you,” he quipped. “My slice was crap.”

  “Your slice was fine. I’ve never been a good coach anyway.” She sighed as he lifted her feet and deposited them in his lap, unclasping the boot and letting it fall to the floor of the car. His thumbs massaged the area gently.

  “How’s that feel?”

  Just a few days ago, that area had been extremely sensitive to the touch, the slightest pressure sending spikes of pain through her leg. Now it had faded to almost nothing upon contact and actually felt good, hovering over that borderline between pleasure and pain.

  She moaned, leaning her head back against the car window and sliding closer to him as his hands trailed up from her ankles over her calves. “You just played; shouldn’t I be giving you the massage?”

  “Make it up to me later,” he murmured as his fingers slipped beneath the skirt of her dress, grazing the inside of her thighs just as the car pulled to a stop in front of his house. The driver’s eyes widened in the rear view mirror as they straightened themselves quickly, Penny grabbing her shoe and boot, Alex opening the door and then helping her out. The driver retrieved his bags from the trunk and then sped off into the night.

  “I think we shocked him a bit.”

  Penny laughed as they climbed the stairs and he unlocked the door. “I’m sure he’s seen worse.”

  “Look at that,” he said as they climbed the stairs.

  “What?” she asked, looking around, seeing nothing but the white townhomes and tree-lined gardens of his street.

  “You’re not limping.”

  She glanced down at her feet and smiled. There was only a twinge of pain, nothing crazy, so small she’d barely noticed it as she walked up to the house. Putting all her weight on her good foot, she rotated the ankle. “Feels okay.”

  Alex slung his bag across his back and then swooped in, pulling her into his arms, bridal style, her shriek echoing down the nearly silent street. “Let’s keep it that way, shall we? The rest must be doing it good.”

  “Or you have magical healing powers in your hands.”

  “I’ve been saying that for years and finally I’ve found a girl who believes me.”

  Kicking the door shut behind him, he carried her into the kitchen and set her down at the kitchen table.

  “What time are they expecting us at Cecconi’s?” he asked, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and then one for her as well, before leaning on the island at the center of the room.

  “Seven,” she said with a sigh, looking down at her dress, fingering the ends of her windblown hair. “I should change. There’ll be cameras and sponsors there tonight.”

  “Do you really want to go?” he asked, putting down his bottle.

  Penny wrung her fingers together as she looked up at him. Was she that easy to read or did he just always know exactly the right thing to say, voicing what she wanted before she even had a chance to do it herself. “If I said I didn’t…”

  “A night in with you sounds absolutely perfect. I’d spend every night in if I could spend them with you. I love you, Pen.”

  He’d said those words before, just moments after winning the French Open, but she hardly thought he remembered saying them. Neither of them had mentioned it since, but now the words hung in the air between them and it felt like the first time. No adrenaline, no crowd losing their minds in the background or cameras capturing every moment, just the two of them in his kitchen deciding to stay home rather than head back out into the London night.

  Her ankle didn’t twinge at all as she stood and crossed the tiled floor or maybe it did and she just didn’t care. He offered her his hand and she took it, letting him pull her into his arms, her chest pressing into his as she let herself fall against him. She raised her head and he met her half way, swooping down and sealing his lips over hers, his hands gripping onto his hips and the kiss shifted from soft and sweet, the non-verbal response to his declaration, to something a little different, a little rougher. The scruff of his beard rasping against her skin in that deliciously familiar way.

  Sliding her tongue against his, she was suddenly weightless, his hands under her thighs lifting her and spinning quickly, sitting her on the kitchen island, skirt pushed up around her waist. Fingers, calloused from hours upon hours of training danced across her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the counter. Penny reached behind him and tugged at the back of his shirt, pulling the soft cotton over his head before lightly scratching her nails down his back, around his sides and then up over the smooth muscles of his chest.

  He groaned into her mouth before pulling away, a hand tilting her neck to just the right angle to run his teeth toward the sensitive skin of her neck. His fingers twined into the chain of the necklace he’d given her in France, the one with the 1936 British penny attached, the one she always wore.

  “Like that?” he asked, though he had to know the answer.

  Her hands flew to the button of his pants, fumbling with it for a moment before releasing the clasp and pulling down the zipper as he fisted his hands in the skirt of her dress. She lifted up a bit to free the material and as she rose up, bracing herself on his shoulders, a motion just behind them caught her eye. Light brown hair, eyes just like the ones belonging to the man still tugging at her dress and a hand over her mouth. Alex’s mother was standing in the doorway.

  “Alex,” Penny said, tensing; he must have felt it, because he pulled away and then followed her gaze behind them.

  “Christ! Mum, what are you doing here?”

  Penny slid off the counter and winced as she landed a little awkwardly on her ankle, but more in anticipation of the pain than anything else. She straightened her dress and tried her best to hide a little behind Alex as he pulled his shirt back over his head, sending his hair in all directions.

  “I’m so sorry,” Anna Russell said, in a soft English accent, different from her son’s but Penny couldn’t quite pinpoint how. “I thought you two would be gone. I wanted to take back that book I loaned you and I…I am…oh my goodness, my dear, I can’t apologize enough. I’m Anna.”

  She peeked out from over Alex’s shoulder and tried to make her feet move, but they felt like she’d just played a five setter. Despite being all the way across the room, it felt like his mother was standing just inches from her, taking in the bite mark on her shoulder and the wrinkles in her dress, the insanity that must be her hair.

  “Mum, just give us a minute, okay?”

  “Of course,” she said and spun around back into the hallway.

  “Oh my God,” Penny said, her feet finally moving as she paced the small space between the table and the island, back and forth, until Alex’s hands on her waist stopped her. “Oh my God, Alex.”

  “It’s fine, Pen. She didn’t really see anything and she doesn’t care, I promise.”

  “I care. She’s your mother and she just saw us almost…oh God.”

  “Love, you’ve got to calm down. She’s going to love you and this will just be a funny story one day, something to tell the grandkids, eh?”

  “You’re hilarious. This isn’t funny. I wanted her to like me, to know that I wasn’t just another…”

  “She knows.”

  “How can…

  “Penny, she knows because I told her so. I told her I wanted her to m
eet you. That she was going to love you, like I do.”

  “I can’t. I just want to die.”

  “Right, okay. I’m going to go out there and tell her you’re too embarrassed to come out, all right? She’ll understand.”

  “She’s going to think I’m a coward.”

  “No, she won’t. I know my mum. She’s as red as a tomato out there right now too. Gimme a minute.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll…I’ll come with you.”

  Penny ran a hand through her hair, smoothed down the line of her dress, straightened her shoulders and took a step forward.

  Alex’s warm hand slipped into hers. “You’re not walking to the gallows, Pen. She’s just my mum. Relax.”

  “Right,” she muttered between her teeth as she forced her mouth into a smile. “I can’t wait for you to meet my dad.”

  His hand tightened around hers, but she slipped free as she stepped through the doorway. Her smile became genuine as she heard a murmured, “Fuck,” from behind her and the thought that however the next few minutes went, it was going to be easy as pie compared with what her dad would put Alex through.

  As soon as they made it into the hallway, they realized it was too late. Alex’s mom was gone. There was a note on the side table, neat scrawl across it. Alex read it and then passed it to her.

  So sorry. Still on for dinner tomorrow night. Be safe!

  “Your mother thinks I’m a…what do they call it here? A slag.”

  “Pen, no she doesn’t. I promise you. We’ll all go out to dinner tomorrow and be laughing about this by the time dessert comes.”

  Chapter 7

  June 18th

  Indy was up early. Usually it took two different alarms and multiple snooze buttons to get her out of bed in the morning, but the last few days, her eyes had popped open just before the sun was peaking out over the horizon. In the corner of her room, her bags were stacked neatly. She packed the night before, making sure she had enough clothes to last her the two weeks in London. Penny had texted her strict instructions not to just bring shorts and t-shirts and had even told her to raid her closet if necessary to find some nicer dresses for nights out in the city. She hadn’t done it yet, but she’d left some room in her bags to do so after training.