by Lola Keeley
They wanted, essentially, to ask the same questions as every other time. I bit my tongue, kept my answers brief, and waited for an opening. If nobody dared bring up Xavi and the doping, I’d have to force it into the conversation myself. Not exactly my strong point.
It took a little help from home in the end. Ulrika from C More Sports, who brought sports coverage to most of Scandinavia, started her question with a familiar “Hej.”
“Elin, you must have seen the coverage that at least one coach has been suspended for offering to supply weight-loss pills containing a banned substance.”
“Yes, I know who you mean.”
“Is it true this man, Xavi Arrigo, approached you as well?”
That sent the room into a frenzy. Thanks for nothing, Ulrika.
“No, he did not approach me about any kind of pills or substance. He did offer his services as a coach, which, as you can see, I had no interest in. I happen to think I have the best coach working in tennis today. And no, my mother didn’t order me to say that.”
Some polite laughter.
“I want to address the larger issue, though, here on the women’s tour. There’s information out there to support what many of us have suspected for a while now. There’s an unfair selection process when it comes to in-competition testing.”
“Are you saying you get tested too much?” Ulrika asked, coming right along with me even as others clamoured to ask their questions.
“No, quite the opposite. I’ve won entire tournaments without being tested once. I’ve had some tests, sure, but I’ve since found out that other players are being tested after every round, even if they’ve lost the match. And sadly, there’s a pattern.”
“What’s the pattern, Elin?” The guy from ESPN asked. I looked up, catching Celeste’s eye.
“Well, white players like me are skipping through with minimal testing, almost none. Women of colour are being tested heavily, too much probably, and it’s happening too much to be a coincidence.”
“Elin—” He started again, but I stood to leave.
“It’s not just gossip between players; the numbers are out there if you investigate. I know you guys can do that, so you can tell the story, okay?”
I left with the room in uproar. It might not even make a headline, but I hoped they’d at least start looking.
I was settling down for the evening with my one glass of wine and a mindless action movie cued up on the television in my hotel room. I could have driven home again, all two or three hours of it depending on traffic, but it quickly got too tiring during the hustle and bustle of the championship, so I’d taken up the suite set aside for me at the Hyatt. I’d had plenty of offers to go to dinner, to hang out with some of the other girls, but I’d blown it off in favour of a long bath and a few hours with my brain hopefully in neutral.
So, of course, then came the knock at my door. Getting on to this floor meant getting a special key card, and hotel security had a very short list of who was allowed one. I debated not answering, since almost all the lights were off in preparation for the film. Still, what the hell. If someone needed to interrupt me, they’d have to live with my pyjamas-and-robe combination.
“You did it,” Toni said, pushing right past me as soon as I opened the door. “I can’t believe you actually did it.”
“Called out people being racist? Yeah, I did. I’m not expecting a medal for it.”
She stopped long enough to glare at me. “I mean, you’re going to get tangled up in my mess. They all think it’s just a matter of time until something shows up in one of my tests, and then someone’s going to start asking why you’re getting involved at all.”
“Because my friends are being targeted,” I replied. “It’s not just about you, but I’m glad your ego is surviving this difficult time in one piece.”
“It’s already online, you know that? It’s making all the other stuff come right back to the front. I don’t want to be a story, Elin.”
“I’m not making you one,” I pointed out. “I’m okay just running this through Celeste and Keiko and anyone else who wants it out there. You can stay out of it. It’s not my story to tell; I’m just stepping out first to take any early shots. Once we prove this is happening, nobody can say it’s being a sore loser when Celeste takes over talking about it.”
“Elin—”
“So congrats on making the quarters, is what we should be saying to each other. Glad I avoided you in the draw this time, all that shit.”
Toni circled the sofa and came back around to where I was standing. “You’re dressed for bed. I’m interrupting.”
“Did I complain?” I reached for her, brushing my fingertips along her upper arm, bare beneath the short sleeve of her running top. She was dressed for the gym but didn’t appear to have worked out yet. If she pulled away, I would respect that.
Instead, she reached for the ends of the belt on my robe and toyed with them a little. “You looked good on TV. Righteous anger works for you.”
“I suppose this is where I have to point out that we’re in the middle of a competition and still avoiding distractions?” I had never sounded less sincere in my life. Toni’s only response was a smile that had a downright predatory quality. A very pleasant shiver went down my spine.
Slowly, deliberately, she untied the loose knot at my waist, slipping her hands beneath the cotton of the robe to take hold of my hips.
“It’s lucky you taught me your trick for shutting out distractions, really. Isn’t it?” Her voice had dropped to something approaching husky, and if I had been weak before, I was absolutely defenceless by now.
“I was, uh, happy to share.”
“I should thank you properly. Instead of yelling at you for standing up for me in public. Just so you can’t tell how touched I was to see you out there defending all of us.”
“Oh.” I didn’t get a chance to comment further. Toni kissed me this time like she’d been waiting ten years to do it, like if we stopped we’d never be allowed to start again. I already knew I couldn’t let that be an option, so I kissed her back with the same fervour.
We made short work of our clothes, and Toni had me naked while she was just down to her underwear. She pushed me down onto the couch, straddling my hips as she stripped off her sports bra, tossing it somewhere across the room. My hands were already wandering, but as her breasts bounced ever so slightly with the motion, I couldn’t focus on anything else. I had to touch her, had to cup each one in my hands and feel the slight weight of them, rounder and fuller than my own.
Not that she seemed disappointed, taking her own touches in turn. More direct, she grazed her thumbs over my nipples, working them quickly into harder peaks. Each touch sent a low-level current through me, ramped up my excitement by one more notch until I thought I might burst from anticipation.
“Let me,” she said, maybe because she could tell I was overwhelmed. She stood just long enough to slip off the last piece of clothing, kicking her underwear away as soon as it hit the floor. Fully naked, she was like something out of a fantasy, but a moment later we were lying together, our fronts pressed against each other like we’d fit that way a hundred times before.
We took our time about kissing each other, letting our fingertips trace and squeeze and massage. I wanted to remember every touch, even though I knew it wasn’t possible. Taking charge without being bossy, Toni directed my hands until our touches mirrored one another. One hand between each other’s legs, revelling in the wetness we both found there. The other trapped between us, and the way she rolled my nipple between thumb and finger worked so well for me, making my back arch. She urged me to be a little rougher, pinching hard enough to make her gasp against my lips as we continued to kiss.
It was almost too intimate, to touch each other that way for the first time, but when I came under her hand it took away the last tiny whisper of fear. She climaxe
d moments later, my fingers still thrusting inside her. Only when we’d ridden out a second orgasm each did I relent, wrapping my leg over her and caressing her cheek with damp fingers.
She laughed softly, kissing me all over my face in a dizzy, distracted sort of way. “I thought it would be different, the first time. More throwing each other around.”
“Oh?”
“But this was so much better, don’t you think?”
I nodded, utterly high on the endorphins. Any way would be perfect, if we ended up like this. “You know, there’s a bed with a lot more room than this,” I reminded her. “Plenty of space for throwing around if you want to compare.”
“Hmm, maybe in a minute,” Toni muttered, her voice a little raspy. We should drink something. Pull something over us to prevent a chill. Later. Neither one of us wanted to move, not when being this close was an option.
“Morning,” I whispered as Toni finally shifted in my arms. “We should probably think about how you’re going to sneak back to your room. I’m not playing today, are you?”
“Later,” she said, grumbling into my side. We had made it back to bed in the end, with a much more physical round that had been every bit as enjoyable. I didn’t think I’d dislike any way of being with her at this point. “No sneaking. No hiding.”
“Really?” I felt the familiar flip of panic go over like a pancake in my stomach, and yet just as suddenly the feeling passed. I didn’t have to hide, and more importantly I no longer wanted to. Let people talk. How could I be anything other than proud to be with someone like Toni?
“If you’re okay with it,” she lifted her head enough that I could see one dark brown eye watching me from beneath her messy fringe. “I’m not pushing, but from what you said last night…”
“I’m ready,” I said. “There might be a bit of attention, I don’t know. They kind of gave up on getting anything on my love life, so let’s hope they don’t care.”
“Or…” Toni suggested, sitting up fully and letting me drink in the lines of her back. I traced the short line of her scar with one finger, before bending a little to place a kiss over it. “We could just take a shower and worry about the press later. If we have to. There are no cameras in here, babe.”
“Babe? Really? That’s all I get promoted to after last night’s performance?”
“Keep up the good work and all kinds of nicknames can happen.” Toni slipped out from beneath the sheets, pulling me along with her. I thought about token resistance, but she was strong enough to carry me in there if she put her mind to it.
“I’ll settle for babe,” I said, following her into the white-tiled room and whacking the shower into life. “Now let’s get wet, shall we?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The quarterfinal snuck up on me quickly, having spent a second night with Toni, this time in her room. Although we hadn’t really been out in public together yet, or had much chance to show any public affection, I still felt the whispers whenever I moved around the complex. They would only grow. When Celeste and I had first started dating, it felt like everyone else knew before even we had.
I walked out to the court with an unfamiliar young woman in my wake, clearly still in her teens. It took a moment to register that this was my opponent, and not someone I’d once briefly met and forgotten. She looked like she should still be in the Juniors, those awkward years before the real winning kicked in. Had I looked that young when I’d started out?
“Elin,” I said as we waited to be announced, extending my right hand.
She didn’t take it. “Yeah, I know. Everyone knows.”
“Sorry, but I don’t think we’ve been introduced?” I withdrew my hand, a little embarrassed.
“Sarah,” she said, like I’d asked for a kidney rather than her name.
“Well, it’s great to meet you, Sarah,” I said, offering my hand again. She just stared it down without staying anything at first. I resisted the urge to flip her off instead, but she finally relented, and our hands met for a limp split-second.
“I don’t really go in for the touchy-feely crap,” she replied, before turning and marching out ahead of me.
I saw a distressing amount of myself in her at that age, that almost impossibly young age, right down to the flippy blonde ponytail. I had never been rude, at least not on purpose, but my awkwardness had been taken as thinking too much of myself by some people. Especially Mira, who should have understood my situation as a young champion suddenly in the world’s spotlight, still struggling a little in my second language. I still carried those feelings with me, so I was determined not to write Sarah off the way others had with me.
Despite the attitude over a simple handshake, she was perfectly meek during the coin toss and the warmup. But the minute the umpire called our match to begin, she came out of the traps like one of those angry little devils they have in Australia. I weathered the initial storm, but damn if she didn’t make me work for it.
As we changed ends, I muttered a genuine, “Well played, Sarah,” but whether she misheard or thought it was sarcasm, her mood seemed to darken. From that point on, she started losing her temper at double faults or missed shots. First it was just groans of annoyance or stamping a foot, but the cursing soon got close to being audible. I didn’t mind so much, since it broke her concentration and made my march to winning the first set more of a procession.
Then I started to worry for her. I’d seen plenty of promising young players burn out or rage their way out of the rankings and out of the sport before they ever really got going. When she spoke back to the umpire, we were both called over for a warning word. I resented that a little, as though blame were somehow to be shared here. Bill, an umpire who’d been on the tour longer than I had, gave me a brief wink to mollify me, the joint warning being for the kid’s benefit.
Sarah didn’t calm down.
She got into an argument with one of the line judges next and had a point deducted for her trouble. I fudged a couple of winnable points, trying to let her play her way through it, but the red mist had truly descended.
The ball boy didn’t get out of her way quickly enough, and as he scurried back to take position at the net, Sarah started telling him off. Enough. I would take it directed at me, and the umpires were more than used to it. Upsetting the kids was a step too far. The crowd had grown restless with her bad behaviour, so I intervened.
“Do you want to talk? Or are we going to play tennis?”
Some of the crowd laughed, which I hoped would diffuse the tension. Others seemed to dissent, as though I was part of the problem. Bill leaned into the microphone at his umpire’s chair.
“Quiet, please. Players and spectators.”
We played more of the second set, but Sarah in all her spiky rage had decided the ball boy was the root of all her problems. He scurried across my side of the net to pick up a shot that hadn’t made it over, and she shouted something at him. The kids who staffed all the tournaments—usually for free or just the promise of some nice sports gear—were almost always the best-behaved, polite little people, and they really didn’t deserve to be yelled at.
“Hey!” I called back at her. “Leave him alone.” The crowd applauded, but I didn’t really care what they thought anymore. This was something primal, to the point where I moved across the court and placed myself between the boy and Sarah. Just as well, since she’d picked up a stray ball to hit in his direction. This damn match was going to make sports news the world over.
“Get out of the way!” she snapped at me. “If he wants to catch every last ball, he can have it.”
“Sarah, don’t!”
Where the hell were the officials in all this? Everyone was just standing there watching.
Luckily she thought better of swinging her racquet, letting that arm drop, but the temper stayed with her just long enough to hurl the ball towards the poor kid, only it bounced off my
hip as I turned to shield him better.
That did it. The place was in an uproar. I vaulted the net in one stride, ready to challenge her, but catching my mother’s eye in the stand stopped me short. The damage was done. I didn’t need my own disciplinary problems, especially not if I was going to help the other girls on the drug testing problem.
Some of the line judges had surrounded Sarah, so I looked back to comfort the boy. He’d been taken care of by some other officials, so I stood there by the net, hands on hips and waited for Bill to call it.
“Code violation. Unsporting conduct. Default, Miss Harrow. Game, set, match Miss Larsson.”
The crowd cheered, but it had a nasty, ironic tone to it. I shook my head, jogged over to shake Bill’s hand, and gathered up my things. No need to sit and drink, put on my jacket, or even put the racquet back in its cover. I wanted off court, and away from all those eyes on me. It was a crappy way to win, but the rules were clear. Any unwanted physical contact with anyone in the court area was a disqualification. Sarah was probably in a world of trouble, even as I heard her still making her case to unsympathetic officials.
I felt my phone vibrate as soon as I got out of the shower and read Toni’s blow-by-blow commentary with a smile as I sat there in my towel.
Is she really doing this?
Someone get the kid her pacifier, this is wild.
My hero, saving the children. Tell me, Miss Larsson, does that outfit come with a cape?
I rolled my eyes and fired off a reply.
If that’s your way of saying you’re into role play, I’ll consider it. Good luck for yours. See you back at my room.
What better way to roll off the stress of the day than with some quality time in bed, or on any other piece of furniture for that matter, with Toni? I could hardly wait.
