“Okay?” he asked, pulling her from her thoughts, but not enough to make her forget the last time he’d asked that question, leaning over her, one hand gripping her thigh, the other holding himself up against the mattress, his body cradled by her hips, slick with sweat, straining with the effort of holding back, waiting for her permission.
“Penny?” She pushed herself out of the fog of the past and stood up, brushing the clay from her shorts.
“Let’s just do a short warm-up,” she suggested, hoping he’d agree.
“Yeah,” he said, a wicked grin blooming across his face. “Then let’s play.”
A few practice serves, forehands, backhands and some net work later and they were both geared up for a set.
“Go on then,” Alex said, “let’s see what you got.” He chucked a ball at her from across the net and she plucked it neatly out of the air.
Bouncing the ball down at her feet, Penny let her weight fall back and then explode forward through the ball, sending a flat bee-bee down the center of the court. He blocked it back, but she raced forward, putting away a short volley, totally out of his reach.
“15-Love.”
And so on and on it went, trading point and after point, breaking serve, breaking back, forcing deuce and losing at love, their level of play rising with every stroke of the racket for nearly an hour. They stopped keeping score early in, recognizing the need to just play.
“Next point wins,” Alex called out finally as they caught their breath between points.
“Tired?” she challenged.
“Nah, I’ve got somewhere to be and you owe me a bit of a chat.”
“Fine, next point.”
It was his serve. He stood tall then coiled his body down, his back bending as he lifted the ball up into the heavens. Then, like lightning, he sprang, the ball a missile, but she was ready, pouncing on it, returning it deep into his side of the court.
“Out!”
“Bullshit,” she called back at him, jogging around the net. It was a clay court; there would be a mark where the ball landed. He met her there, pointing to the skid just past the white line with his racket head.
“Out,” he repeated. “Shame you refuse to take me at my word, love.”
Penny’s head snapped up. “And why should I trust you?”
“Have I ever given you reason not to?”
It was a fair question, she admitted to herself, not that she’d ever tell him that, so she just shrugged. It’s not like it mattered. Whether she could trust him or not wasn’t the issue. She couldn’t trust herself to keep her focus if she was with him. If it happened in Australia, it could happen again and Penny wasn’t willing to take that risk.
“I think I know what the problem is. You don’t know me.”
“I know you as well as I ever want to.” She made for the edge of the court, sliding her racket back into its bag, zipping it up.
He waved away her response and kept talking. “I mean it. I like training here. I like working with Dom and God help me, I actually like training with you, but if we don’t figure out some of the shit between us, it’s not going to work, not long term.”
“Yeah, you not around to torture me, that would be tragic.”
He ignored the sarcasm and nodded. “Indeed it would, so come here and lie down on the court with me.”
Penny squinted at him, the request coming out of nowhere. “What? No.”
“This will help your game.”
She shook her head, unconvinced, lifting her bag over her shoulder, ready to leave.
“Jesus, do you fight everyone like this or is it just me?”
If only he knew it was only him. No one had ever made her feel the way he did. “I’m not lying down.”
“Do you want to win the bloody French Open or not?”
Did she want to win the French Open? Of course she did. So she put her racket bag back down. “Sounds too good to be true,” she said and watched him as he reclined back on the court. “Was this what you were doing on your first day here?”
“Yes. It was something I hadn’t done for a long time, but if you’ll trust me for half a second, I promise it’ll work. Now get down here.”
She kneeled down, the dirt shifting beneath her and sticking to her sweaty knees. Then she rolled over onto her back, careful to keep a body width of distance between them. “Okay, now what?”
“Now close your eyes and just let your mind go blank.”
“That’s not possible. I’ll just be thinking about not thinking.”
“Penny,” he said, reaching out, his fingers wrapping lightly around her wrist. She wanted to pull away, but something about the way he said her name, a desperate note in his voice she hadn’t heard before, kept her still. “Just close your eyes and breathe.”
He inhaled deeply and she followed him, matching his breathing pattern. A soft pressure on the inside of her wrist kept time for them, back and forth, his calloused thumb stroking against the sensitive skin.
“Do you really hate me?”
The question startled her so much, she actually answered, “No.” She didn’t have to open her eyes to know he was smiling. “I don’t hate you.”
“Then why did you leave?”
“What?”
“That morning, I woke up and you were gone.”
It was so much easier to talk with her eyes closed, when she couldn’t see him, it was almost like no one could see her, it was so easy she decided not to be pissed off at him for tricking her into talking. “I was embarrassed.”
“Of me?”
Penny shook her head, feeling the clay beneath her pasting itself into her hair. “No, not you, of me. I don’t do things like that, one-night stands.”
“Oh,” he said simply.
“And then you grabbed the nearest supermodel, got drunk and crashed your bike,” she said, the dots finally connecting in her head. Had he gone out and gotten himself drunk because she left? Had he wanted her to stay?
“Something like that.”
“So it’s my fault. It happened because I left.”
“No,” he said. The soft feel of his thumb disappeared, replaced quickly by her entire hand being wrapped up in the warmth of his. “That was all me. I was spiraling.”
“You’ve been doing really well here.”
“Like I said, you don’t really know me.”
Penny laughed softly. “Sure I do. The youngest man to ever win Wimbledon, the first British man to do it since 1936, youngest man to ever win the career Grand Slam...”
“All that’s missing is the Olympic gold,” Alex filled in for her.
“Well, the Olympics are only three years away.”
“Yeah, in Rio. Great city. Brazilians know how to party.”
“Is that really all you think about?”
“No,” he said, “I think about you a lot.”
“Alex,” she warned, but it didn’t stop him.
“First time I saw you, it was in Australia.”
“Yeah and look how that turned out.”
“Not this year. Last year, when you won the junior tournament.”
“Oh.”
“I thought you were the most incredible-looking girl I’d ever clapped eyes on, and Christ, you could play too. You reminded me so much of me, of who I used to be, focused, driven, not letting anything or anyone stand in my way.”
“You can still be like that. You’ve been like that since you got here,” she said, growing more and more uncomfortable with each sweet word that spilled from his lips. It was like a confession, one she shouldn’t be privy to even though he was talking about her.
“We’ll see, but we’re not here to talk about me. This is about you.”
“I hate when things are about me.”
His fingers laced between hers and he squeezed. “You put on a good show then.”
“I guess I’m used to it, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Alex grunted. “Speaking of not liking things and
getting back to my original question, you may not hate me, what exactly don’t you like about me?”
“You’re…” She hesitated.
“Just say it, love.”
He was probably the last person in the world she would choose to say these words to, but maybe he was the only person in the world who would truly understand.
“You said I remind you of yourself. I guess I know what you mean and the truth is, you’re what I’m afraid of becoming. I almost…I wanted to be with you that night. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t want to think, at all, for once in my life. I could’ve been on that motorcycle with you and then maybe everything I’d ever worked for would have been gone in an instant and you made me feel like…”
“Like what?”
“Forget it,” she said, ready to jump up and leave if he pushed her to say it. That she’d never felt so alive as she had when she was in his arms, not even on a tennis court. “It’s not important. I was acting like an irresponsible idiot. I lost control for one night and it won’t happen again.” It had practically become her mantra over the last few months.
“You can’t be in control all the time. It’s okay to let go, love.”
“No, it’s not,” she said, pulling her hand free from his and scrambling to her feet. She was halfway to the gate when she heard him call her name.
“It wouldn’t have been you.”
She froze, but didn’t respond.
“I would have got you home safe. It wouldn’t have been you.” His voice was soft, but firm, just like his touch when he took her hand, like he was trying to convince himself that he spoke the truth. For her part, she wasn’t so sure.
“I…” Her voice caught in her throat. “I’ve got to go.”
“So that’s it?”
“Yes, that’s it.” She didn’t owe him an explanation. She didn’t owe him anything at all.
“You’re a terrible liar, love. I want you. You know I do and that scares you, but the only thing that scares you more is that you want me too,” Alex rasped, his voice deep and husky.
Penny’s pulse thrummed in her throat and she closed her eyes, trying to keep herself steady. He was moving closer to her. She could hear his sneakers against the clay and when she opened her eyes again, he was standing right in front of her. He stepped closer, cupping her cheek, tilting her face up to his. He leaned in, his nose brushing against hers before following the path of his fingertips.
“Alex,” Penny said, her eyes drifting closed as she leaned into the touch. “Wait.” She pressed her hands against his chest, though she didn’t push him away. “I’m sorry.”
“Penny…” He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers, his hands dropping to her waist, pulling her closer.
“This isn’t who I am,” she said, twisting her fingers into the cotton of his shirt. “I just can’t…I can’t do this.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Won’t,” Penny whispered.
Alex stumbled backward like he’d been sucker punched. “Fine. If that’s what you want, fine.”
“Alex? Are you finished? We have a reservation.”
Penny looked up and saw Caroline Morneau at the gate. The agent’s timing was as impeccable as she looked. Her blond hair was elegantly arranged in a twist at the back of her neck, a sharp suit jacket and pencil skirt, giving her an air of sophistication and grace that made Penny feel like an underdressed little kid, especially since she had clay sticking to the backs of her legs and rubbed into her hair and clothes. Then she remembered, he had somewhere he had to be and apparently wherever that was, Caroline Morneau was going with him.
“I’ve gotta go,” she mumbled, nodding to Caroline as she passed her, careful not to get any dirt on the woman’s designer clothes.
***
As soon as Penny stepped through the door of her house, she caught sight of Jack pacing back and forth in the living room, his cell phone glued to his ear.
“Who is that?” she mouthed, but he just shook his head. She moved into the living room and plopped down on the couch, waiting for him to finish up.
“Thank you, Frank. I’ll be in touch tomorrow and her schedule will be in your inbox as soon as we hang up. Alright, have a good night,” Jack said and ended the call.
“Who’s getting my schedule?”
“Frank Granholm from Nike Tennis.” He nodded at a stack of papers at the center of the coffee table, brightly colored tabs protruding out of the pile. “They sent over your contract.”
It was the perfect distraction, dozens of pages to sift through that would take her mind off Alex and everything that just happened while they lay side by side on her practice court. They had almost kissed. She wanted him to kiss her and she felt like a total idiot, especially in those last few seconds while Caroline Morneau bugged him about their date or whatever it was. It wasn’t jealousy. There was nothing to be jealous about. Maybe they were having a business meeting; maybe Alex was looking to sign with Caroline or maybe he just wanted to screw her. It didn’t matter. Despite what he’d said, about how beautiful he thought she was, he’d probably thought that Aussie supermodel was beautiful too and Caroline was undeniably gorgeous. Besides, Alex could go out with anyone he liked, why should it make any difference to her?
The contract required her signature in several places and there were three copies, one for Jack, one for herself and one to send back to Nike, and each time she signed it, the small sparks of everything she’d felt for Alex since that night in Australia were pushed aside and eventually, she hoped, they’d be gone for good.
Chapter 9
May 20th
For as long as Jasmine could remember, her dad would give her a last-minute pep talk before a match. It was hard for him, after so many years of playing, to sit in the stands and watch with very little control over the outcome. So he would create a strategy for every match. Most of the time it was helpful, especially if she didn’t know much about her opponent’s strengths and weaknesses. At most tournaments she was too busy playing to scout out the competition, but she watched Indy every day at training and all week during the lead up to the final. She knew what she had to do. Of course, that didn’t stop her dad from giving his traditional pep talk in the locker room just minutes before she had to be out on the court.
“Just keep your feet moving and don’t give an inch on her serve,” John Randazzo said as Jasmine packed her racket bag. “On change-over have a banana, and then after the first set, an electrolyte chew.” He handed her a plastic bag with the items already packed.
“Thanks.”
“If she plays a baseline game, make her move and force an error. She’s got power, but she’s sloppy. Be patient like always and you shouldn’t have any problems.”
“I know, Dad,” she said, trying to hide her exasperation. It was everything she’d observed about Indiana all week and yet, Dom was still gaga over the girl. Jasmine planned to put a stop to that today.
Her mom saw through it right away. “Okay, John. That’s enough, let’s go get our seats.”
“What?” her dad asked, looking at his wife and then back to Jasmine. “Okay. Good luck, Jas. You’ll do fine. Just stick to the game plan.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Jasmine sent a silent thank you to her mom as she led her dad from the locker room.
She let out a sigh of relief and then checked the clock. Her ankle was wrapped up tight. She’d sprained it a few months ago and the wrap was just a precaution, plus it gave her a little bit of extra stability. Her rackets were ready and her bags were packed. Just fifteen more minutes until it was time to step out on the court and win her first Classic trophy. A thrill shot through her body at the thought.
Shaking out her arms and then her legs, she tried to stay warm, but it was impossible. The air conditioning was pumping at full throttle as the temperature outside climbed into the mid-nineties, high for May in the Outer Banks. Jasmine was counting on that as well. She was in better physical condition than Indy
and the heat would expose it. She planned to make the other girl run, blocking back her shots, tiring her out. That would help weaken her serve and whatever advantage it gave her.
She checked the clock again, ten more minutes. A run in the hallway wouldn’t hurt, just a light jog to keep loose. The hall was empty and she could hear the crowd echoing down from the main court through the door at the end of the tunnel. The steady thrum of her heartbeat spiked, the pre-match adrenaline starting to flow. She jogged in the opposite direction, swinging her arms around, trying to keep warm and her nerves under control.
“Hey, Randazzo.”
She turned to see Teddy striding down the hallway from the door to Indy’s changing room. Of course he’d go talk to the other girl first, just one more girl on Teddy’s list of potential conquests. She knew it was mean, but it would just make beating Indy that much sweeter.
“Hey,” she said, avoiding his eye and moving back toward the locker room to grab her bag.
“You don’t call. You don’t write,” Teddy said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Did you get any of my messages?”
Jasmine bit her lip, a small bubble of guilt building in her stomach. She got his messages, all ten of them, and ignored every single one. It was just too hard to pretend to be his friend when she wanted so much more.
“I just wanted to wish you good luck,” he said, hovering in the doorway as she slung her racket bag over her shoulder.
Jasmine’s heart clenched in frustration. He was smiling like nothing was wrong, like he hadn’t just come from wishing Indy good luck and like he hadn’t crushed her heart into a million pieces with one stupid kiss. “Right,” she said, trying to push down the hurt. “Thanks.”
“What’s the matter?”
She used to find his obliviousness charming. Now it grated on her nerves. The hurt wrapped around her frustration creating a knot of anger.
“You really have no idea, do you?”
“No,” he said, shrugging. “Want to fill me in?”
“Don’t be an idiot, Teddy. I know you like Indy.”
He gaped at her, his mouth opening and closing, before finding his voice. “I barely know her. It’s not like that. Plus, even if it was, why do you care?”
Game. Set. Match. Page 10
