Indy moved to the other side of the court. She checked the match clock in the corner of the court—2hr 45min—definitely not pathetic, more than respectable, bordering on epic. There were no announcers, no ESPN crew sitting in a box high above the court, analyzing the match, but she could hear their voices in her head, talking about how her power serve was a major advantage in a tiebreak, but that Jasmine’s better conditioning might cancel it out.
Blissfully, cloud cover and a soft breeze swept in off the water. The cooler air was a relief against her skin after baking under the sun for nearly three hours. Indy looked up into the sky. Just a few more minutes, she pleaded with the clouds. She needed just a few more minutes of shade. She couldn’t last for much longer; it was time to take a risk, go for a line and hope it landed in.
Jasmine stood on the other side of the court, readying to serve. It was the weakest part of her game, and the longer the match went on, the weaker it got. Indy was ready to expose that weakness one more time. Jasmine leaned back, then pushed up and out, the ball hitting her racket with a soft thwack.
The serve was slow and flat, bouncing up to the perfect height for Indy’s forehand. She stepped into the shot and rifled a forehand up the line for a winner.
The crowd erupted, people leaping to their feet, screaming and cheering, applauding like crazy, but it wasn’t over yet.
“Miss Gaffney leads the tiebreaker, six points to five.”
Indy tried to ignore the wall of sound crashing down onto the court; it was almost as oppressive as the heat. Match point.
“Thank you, players are ready,” the chair umpire said. “Thank you.” The crowd quieted, though not entirely, the energy still reverberating through the court, waiting to ignite again.
In a tiebreak, the players alternated serves and it was Indy’s turn. She had enough energy in her tank for one more. It was time to end this. She took her time, making sure her rhythm was perfect. Her muscles bunched and then snapped up and through the air, sending a low-lying missile across the court. Then with a final burst of energy, she sprinted forward, meeting Jasmine’s return with a sharp-swinging volley. The ball hit the blue hard court just inside the line. Jasmine’s sneakers squeaked against the ground as her quick feet raced forward to get to the ball, but before she could reach it, it bounced again.
“Game, set and match, Miss Gaffney.”
***
Indy sat on the trainer’s table in the center of the room trying to slow everything down, but her head was still spinning. Showered and dressed, she was ready for the party at Deuce about to be held in her honor. She had brought a dress with her, just in case, along with a pair of sweats and T-shirt she would wear back to the dorms had she lost.
It was all a blur after that last point. She remembered shaking hands with Jasmine and the chair umpire, then moving back onto the court and applauding the crowd, clapping her racket against the heel of her hand, thanking them for their support. Dom brought the trophy out to her, congratulating her on the win, and he hadn’t seemed all that surprised at the result. Then she floated back to the locker room, the trophy held tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around it.
She won. It was one thing to wish it or to imagine it, but it was totally different to have done it. She beat Jasmine Randazzo and a handful of the best junior players in the world. That made her one of the best, right? No, that made her the best. This was everything she and her mom had dreamed about, and now, it was real. A prickling of tears edged out of the corner of her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she let them fall. Just a week ago, she was sitting in physics, getting a detention, and now she was at the top of the junior tennis world, a major steppingstone toward a professional career.
“You’re going to freak everyone out if you show up at the party sobbing,” Penny said from the doorway.
Indy wiped at her eyes quickly. “Sorry, I just, it’s a lot to take in.”
Penny pulled a tissue from the container on the trainer’s table, holding it out for her. “Don’t try. You might hurt yourself. After all, you are pretty thickheaded. It took you an entire set before you figured out you had to go serve and volley.”
Indy took the tissue, dabbing under her eyes and laughed. “You coming to the party?”
“Uh, no, sorry, tonight’s about you.”
“It’s okay. I get it,” Indy said, standing up and smoothing down the skirt of her dress. If Penny went to the party, she’d be a distraction to the sponsors and media.
“Anyway, I just wanted to be the first to congratulate you,” she said, opening her arms and Indy fell into the hug gratefully. “You should get up to Deuce. Everyone’s waiting for you.” She stepped away and turned to leave, but paused at the door. “Oh and, Indy? Good luck.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll see. Welcome to the big time.”
Penny’s meaning was crystal clear as soon as Indy stepped through the doors at Deuce.
A group of fellow OBX juniors rushed her, pulling her in for hugs and congratulating her.
“You were awesome, Indy,” Addison said, hugging her tightly.
“Beyond amazing,” a girl whose name she didn’t know said, grasping her hand and squeezing it. She even saw Lara standing at the edge of the crowd, though she wasn’t quite brave enough to join in. Could they be any more superficial? She was suddenly grateful for the way they acted when she first arrived. There wouldn’t be a struggle to weed out the genuine people from the fakes.
“Thanks, guys,” she said, pulling away from them, only to be intercepted by Dom. Her coach’s arm came around her shoulders as he led her to a group of gentlemen, the rep from Solaris Beachwear among them. Jack was there, chatting with a man she didn’t recognize and just a step or two away, Caroline stood all smiles next to Harold Hodges, chatting with her hands flying around her as the reporter nodded along with whatever she was rambling about.
After more handshakes than she could count and hearing more names than she’d ever be able to remember, Indy was practically swaying on her feet. She had no idea where Dom had vanished to, but she was caught in a sea of well wishers, all of whom seemed desperate to congratulate her.
“Indy, what a win,” yet another man in a suit said. She had no idea who he was, but that was par for the course. She had to get used to people she didn’t know knowing who she was, “I’d love to talk to you about representation.” Apparently he was an agent. He held out a business card. Indy took it, but before she could even glance at the name, a hand snatched it from her grip.
“Now, now, Mark, you know better than that,” Jack Harrison said, shoving the card back at the man, whose mouth turn down into a scowl, but then he nodded sharply and walked away.
Indy looked up at Jack, brow furrowed, but before she could speak, his hand cupped her elbow and with the gentlest of pressure, he steered her away from the group.
“Sorry about that,” he said when they reached an empty corner of the room. He stood in front of her, blocking her from view. “Mark D’Angelis is the worst kind of agent. He runs his clients into the ground, sucking every dollar from them and then drops them as soon as their play suffers. Signing with Caroline Morneau is one thing. She’s a shark, but she wants what’s best for her clients. D’Angelis is just a snake.”
“Oh,” she said, the tension that had been building in her shoulders since she arrived at the party suddenly loosened when she realized no one could see her. “Thanks for getting me out of there. I was…This is just so…”
“Overwhelming? You looked like you were about to keel over,” Jack said. “All this can be difficult at first.”
She laughed a little. “Yeah, I think Penny tried to warn me, but I wasn’t expecting…I don’t, I guess I wasn’t expecting anyone to care.”
“Of course they care. You won. Congratulations, by the way.”
Shrugging, she said, “It doesn’t seem real. I can’t believe it yet.”
Jack laughed, his green eyes sparkling at her, hyp
notizing in their intensity. “I can.” The soft tone of his voice sent her back to the night before the tournament. Just thinking about the kiss on the cheek he gave her made her toes curl. It was so innocent. If his lips against her cheek felt like that, what would it feel like to really kiss him?
“What are you doing here anyway?” she asked, trying to keep him talking, hoping he wouldn’t shut down on her again.
“There were a couple of sponsors I had to firm things up with before they left town and I wanted to congratulate you.”
“Indiana!” Caroline’s voice carried into their corner, even past Jack’s broad back.
She groaned, not thinking and leaned forward, her forehead landing against Jack’s chest. He stiffened for a moment before a large, warm hand came up to rest against her back, not quite an embrace, but close enough for Indy to pretend. She let herself relish the closeness for a second and then she stood, taking a deep breath and straightening her shoulders.
“Ah, there you are,” Caroline said, reaching out to drag her away again, but Indy pulled back.
“Just a second,” Indy said and Caroline stepped back a few feet, keeping her eyes locked on Indy.
Jack cleared his throat. “I should get going.” He hesitated for a moment before he stepped closer, pressing his lips against her cheek. Indy tried to fight the instinct to tilt her head just a fraction of an inch and end this torturous game he insisted on playing. It was a losing battle. Just as he began to draw away she turned, letting her lips brush against the corner of his mouth.
Instantaneous electricity snapped through her veins at the ghost of a touch, her entire body reacting to him.
He pulled back and stared at her wide-eyed, mouth opening and closing, but not uttering a word. Then after a few silent, tense moments, he nodded a farewell, turned and left.
Indy watched him go, pressing her fingers against her still-tingling lips.
“He is very handsome,” Caroline said.
“Yes, he is,” Indy agreed.
“He is Penny Harrison’s brother and agent as well, no?” Her tone was casual, too casual to truly be so. Caroline was a shark. Jack was right. Of course he was right. He was brilliant and she’d kissed him—kind of.
“Indiana?” Caroline said, looking at her expectantly.
“Sorry, were you saying something?”
“Yes, I was congratulating you again on a wonderful performance out on the court today. Simply fantastique.”
“Thank you.”
“I have been speaking to several sponsors tonight. I do not have to tell you that you are very interesting to them. Your looks and the potential they see, it is an excellent combination. I will be speaking to Dominic. This win, it will mean wildcards, Indiana, and wildcards will put you on the biggest stage in the world. These companies will be willing to pay to see their brand showcased on that stage, but my hands are tied until you make your decision.”
Caroline gestured out into the party where men and women in business attire were working the room. Tennis was a high-end sport and its sponsors leaned toward the ritzy side of the market. Which companies were interested in her? Rolex? Longines? Nike? Lacoste?
She bit her lip, suddenly feeling guilty. Caroline had been working on her behalf without any guarantee that Indy would forgo her NCAA eligibility, drop her amateur status and pursue tennis professionally. She was a shark, but maybe in a world where people treated you like shit one minute and then smothered you with attention the next, maybe she needed a shark.
“Okay.”
Caroline tilted her head. “Okay?”
“Okay, I’m in. Where do I sign?”
The agent’s smile was as wide as her stiletto heels were tall. She pulled a file folder from her large clutch purse and then offered Indy a pen.
“Your signature here, below your father’s.”
She signed her name beneath her dad’s bold, confident scrawl and smiled.
“Magnifique,” Caroline said, adding her own signature. “You will not regret this decision, Indiana. You are talented, very talented, more so than you even realize, I think.”
“I think I’m starting to understand.”
Chapter 11
May 20th
Rivulets of sweat dripped from her forehead as Penny attacked the ball. Air pushed through her lungs, she grunted from the effort of playing the ricochets off the wall. She counted in her head, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred backhands. She let the ball fly by her after the last stroke, her eyes slipping closed as she tried to regain her breath.
Her hands fell to her hips. “Damn it.”
With the rhythm of each solid shot against the wall, she could hear Alex calling her “love,” his voice in that half-sarcastic lilt, the smallest touch setting her entire body on fire, then that other way he spoke sometimes, the earnest, deep tones telling her she was the most incredible-looking girl he’d ever seen. They hadn’t even spoken since their almost kiss, not even during training. She wasn’t sure if he was avoiding her or the other way around, maybe both. Pushing herself to near exhaustion just wasn’t working. No matter how hard she went at it, it was impossible to clear her mind. It was like Australia all over again and she couldn’t let that happen. They left for Paris in five days.
She tossed her racket against the fence surrounding the small half-court used for groundstroke drills and grabbed a towel from her bag, wiping the sweat from her forehead, down her arms and across her midriff. Her sports bra and shorts were soaked through.
Her breath came back to her and she took a small swig of water before picking up her racket again—one hundred forehands and then she’d call it a day.
***
Wandering to the locker room, muscles aching pleasantly after her long workout, Penny hesitated at the door. She didn’t want to go home. She turned around and walked down the path, away from the locker rooms and toward the beach. Glancing up at the sky, the sun was just beginning to set. She could get in a quick run on the sand before it got too dark.
Her thoughts turned into a complete mess as her feet pushed through the sand. She stayed close to the water where the ground was firmer, but her calves still burned with effort. Her focus needed to be completely on tennis and not on Alex Russell or his stupid meditation exercises or their almost kiss or why he was almost kissing her if he was going to dinner with Caroline Morneau or how four months after their night together she could still feel a thrill surge through her body at the mere thought of those moments in his arms.
Up ahead, she saw a dark lump sitting in the sand, the setting sun reflecting off something next to it.
Jogging closer, the lump took human shape, a man hunched over, knees up, and a glass bottle wedged into the sand beside him. It was Alex. He caught sight of her as she drew near and he held the bottle aloft, saluting her, before taking a long draught from it.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, stopping a few feet away.
“I live here,” he said, jerking his thumb back to the house a few yards up the beach. “What are you doing here? Come back for that kiss, did you?”
She ignored the biting tone in his voice. “Just trying to clear my head.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that head of yours foggy, would we? You might do something stupid like give me the time of day.”
“You’re drunk.”
“A little,” he admitted, standing up and dusting off his jeans. “This is how I clear my head, love. You know, when the meditation doesn’t quite do the job.”
“It’s a stupid way,” she said, though she was vastly tempted to throw herself onto the sand, steal the bottle and just drown her problems in alcohol.
“You run until you’re so tired you pass out. I drink until I pass out. Don’t see there’s much of a difference.”
The conversation was going nowhere fast. “Fine. Enjoy your bottle.” She wanted to turn around and keep running, but there was this inexplicable need inside of her to be near him. When he wasn’t around, it was a tiny a
che, a constant reminder that something was missing. Now that he was there, standing just inches away, close enough to reach out and touch, it was so much worse.
“Penny?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re still here.”
“Yeah, um,” she said, her mind racing to come up with an excuse.
He reached out a hand and she stared at it for a split second, hesitating as if it might burn her. She pressed her hand into his and shivered as the calloused tips of his fingers slid across her skin. Looking up, she saw he’d moved closer, close enough to bend his head to hers, if he wanted, close enough to— “Penny,” he murmured, his warm breath ghosting over her lips. He slanted his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss immediately. She could taste the alcohol on his tongue, but it barely registered as she pushed up onto her toes, winding an arm over his shoulders, hooking a finger into the belt loop of his jeans, anchoring herself to him. His stubble scratched against her cheeks and his hands fell to her hips, pulling her body into his, their hips colliding, before one hand slid up to her neck and the other down over her backside. A jolt surged through her as a low moan escaped the back of her throat.
He broke away then and trailed his hot, open mouth across her jawline and over her neck. Penny shivered in his arms as his lips hovered over her pulse point.
“Stay with me,” he mumbled, his teeth scraping lightly against her skin.
“What?” she asked, trying to force her mind to focus on his words and not the feeling of his fingertips slipping beneath the hem of her running jacket, brushing against the skin of her waist.
“The house I’m letting, it’s right there. Stay with me tonight,” he whispered, cupping her cheek and pressing a soft kiss to her lips again. His eyes softened. “Penny,” he started again, but she stepped away from him, cutting him off. He was drunk. Who knew if he would even remember this in the morning?
“I’m sorry.”
Game. Set. Match. Page 12
