Game, Set, Match (A Humorous Contemporary Romance) (Love Match) (7 page)

How the hell had they found out?
 
Had Michaels gone to the press? For weeks since he fired Michaels, Jason had anticipated him airing his grievances in the press. But he had nothing to gain by doing so, unless some rag wanted to pay for the sordid story.

Not that it mattered, because someone had leaked the story to the media. He scanned the cover for a clue. There wasn’t one.
Just allegations and innuendo. As he glanced around to make sure no one noticed him, he picked up the magazine and scanned the article.

“A high ranking men’s tennis player has been named as a key witness in
tennis’s biggest drug case. An investigation by the…”

The article went on to talk about some vague items related to a DUI of the Australian number two seed, but not a word about him or Michaels. He thanked God for small favors and put the magazine back where he’d found it. Enough procrastination, he needed to face his demons.

An hour later, Jason stared at his opponent across the net, analyzed his stance, mentally calculated the serve, and anticipated his return move.

Jason told himself he wasn’t nervous despite the tremor in his hand as he held his racket.
His first day back at training. His first day back at seeing if he had a snowball’s chance in the Sahara of a comeback.

His new trainer, Brian, raised his racket high and sent a spin serve over the net. Jason anticipated the serve, sliding with his good knee for a strong return. Brian ran for the ball, hitting a forehand return to Jason’s right side.

Instinct urging his muscles into action, Jason started the full out run before his brain and his nerves could kick in. As his brain came online, he registered the slide and pivot he’d need to return. The instant he registered the pivot, his knee locked, and refused to cooperate. Slowing himself down, he trotted to a stop just before he could crash with the court wall. “Shit.”

Brian ran to the net. “You okay, Jason?”

He gritted his teeth against the pain. “Yeah. I’m fine. Let’s go again.”

“Your
knee’s not up to it, we can take it easy.”

Jason felt the scowl tighten his upper lip. He’d had enough of people telling him he couldn’t do this. “What part about let’s go again wasn’t clear?”

Brian narrowed his eyes, but didn’t argue. He took his position back at the base line.

Never mind a long day. Judging by his knee, it would be a long-assed cross-country journey to victory. Good thing he had a stubborn streak.

Chapter Six

The screech of tires filled the car as Izzy swerved to avoid the twelve-year-old Lindsay Lohan wannabe at the helm of the BMW. She squinted a mom look at the offender to deaf reception, the teen too busy yapping on her Bluetooth.

Taking a long breath to steady
herself from the near miss, Izzy checked the clock on the dashboard as she pulled the dark green Corolla into a guest parking slot at Emerson Academy. As she hit the brakes, she strained to listen if the odd noise she heard was a bump or a thud. She knew she had to take the car in again, and mentally calculated her monthly budget.

Uniformed students milled around the entrance to the main hall and the parking lot. A few came off the tennis courts in their pristine white tennis uniforms. None of them Nick. She peeked through the windshield, trying to get a better view of the court, the slow setting sun a glare in her eyes.

The school fees were killer, but they had the best in-school coaching program in the country. Add to it twenty percent of the students went to ivy leagues, and she happily wrote that check at the beginning of every term. She could pay an arm and a leg to get Nick into one of those special training camps, but she couldn’t afford that and a top notch school like Emerson. And as far as she was concerned, his education was more important than his tennis aspirations. That kind of thing had mattered to her father. Not that he’d ever met Nick, she thought with equal parts sadness and bitterness.

After a twenty minute mental check of the photos she wanted to use for the gallery, trying not to think about Sabrina, and trying even harder not to think about Jason, there was still no sign of Nick.
 
Maybe I got the time
 
wrong?
 It was his first day back to practice, and she’d wanted to be there to pick him up, and to talk to Coach Tisdale.

She considered getting out
to find him, but took in her ripped jeans and unmade up face, and thought better of it. The last thing he needed was embarrassment when he wanted to fit in. She’d wait until practice was over and there were fewer students around before she got out to speak to Tisdale.

Star Wars music filled the car and had her digging around for her phone.
 
Thanks Nick
. Lately, she never recognized her own ringtone. Nick always changed it to something silly.

When she rescued the phone from the clutter of her bag, she checked the screen but didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“You know, I recognize a rescue when I see one.” The deep voice on the line sent shivers chased by a warm flush through her body.

Jason
.

She didn’t like the giddy sensation running through her. For Pete’s sake, she wasn’t a teenager anymore.

“How did you get my number?”

Her brusque tone didn’t dissuade him. “Ouch, that doesn’t sound like happiness to hear from me,
Iz.”

She sighed and reminded herself he was a client and
, like it or not, she needed him. “No. It’s not like that. Just wondering how you got my number.”

“Your receptionist gave it to me.” He paused. “So why were you in such a hurry to get away from me the other day?”

He sounded so endearing and wounded, she almost softened, until she reminded herself why she needed a rescue. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t need an excuse, Jason. I—you didn’t just call to harass me, so what do you need?”

He seemed unsure and faltered before he continued. “I meant what I said the other day about catching up, you know, getting reacquainted. It’s been a long time.”

The last thing she needed was to fall for that charming ‘Don’t mind me, I’m sweet and harmless’ routine again. How many Hollywood starlets had fallen for that same shtick? Besides, how could he think they could just hang out and chat like old buds? 
He’s Jason Cartwright, that’s why
. She scanned her brain for something diplomatic to say.

Cautious, she said, “Yeah, it has been a long time. But, I’m slammed with work. I’m actually waiting for an appointment now. We can catch-up at the shoot.” Maybe that would be enough.

Or, maybe not. “Izzy, are you still upset with me about—”

She rushed to cut him off before he could thrust her into the throws of mortification. “Jason, I’m sorry, I have to run.” Hanging up quickly, she stared at the phone. How the hell would she get through the photo shoots if she could barely talk to the guy?

Movement by the courts caught her attention, and she saw the familiar fair-haired lanky form exit with an older man in tow. She recognized the coach from the parent open house earlier that year. At fifty, Coach Tisdale could have passed for late thirties. 
Benefits of living in Los Angeles.

Nick indicated to the coach that she was there, and Coach Tisdale gave a perfunctory wave. Izzy waved back, but didn’t bother with a real smile. They’d never hit it off, but he’d been a supportive of taking on a transfer student like Nick, so she cut him some slack.

Nick tossed his gym bag in the back before he slid into the front seat. “Hey, Mom, can I go over to Matt’s for dinner? His sister can come get me and everything.”

Izzy knew she was selfish for relishing every moment he called her Mom, but she couldn’t help it. “Sure, as long as your homework is done.”

He scrunched his face in the same way he always did when he was about to lie. “I don’t have any homework.” Taking note of her disbelieving expression, he amended his statement. “Well, not real homework anyway. I can get it done before school. It’s only French.”

Izzy raised her eyebrow.
“Only French? Didn’t you get a B minus on the last test?”

He shrugged. “Well yeah, but—”

Izzy didn’t enjoy these types of struggles with Nick. She didn’t want to be a soft parent, but the truth was she hated conflict and would do anything to avoid it. But she had to be firm. Just because discipline gave her nightmares of her strict father didn’t mean it wasn’t necessary.

“You know, there’s been something I’ve been trying to remember.” She gave him a look of mock forgetfulness. “Oh yes. There it is. I seem to recall a rule about homework. May I remind you, that you’re the one that asked to go to France with the school this summer?” A trip she still wasn’t sure she could afford.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. But it’s just this one time. And I—”

Izzy shook her head in stubborn defiance and started the car. “Sorry, Nick. No dice. Besides, I thought we had plans tonight?”

His eyes widened, followed by a look of chagrin. “Ah, sorry, Mom, I forgot all about family night. With practice and all, I got caught up.”

She gave him a soft smile. She
didn’t want him to feel bad. “It’s okay.” Then looking back at the coach, she unbuckled her seat belt. “Can you hang out for a minute while I talk to your coach?”

Nick wrinkled his brow.
“About what?”

“Parent stuff.”
She climbed out of the car and walked over to Tisdale. As he finished talking to one of the parents, he looked up at her. She noted he didn’t look too pleased to see her. 
Right back at you, Bub
. She wasn’t exactly eager to speak to him, but she was a parent first. If Nick wanted to hang out with Samantha Tisdale, then she wanted to make sure it was okay by her father.

Izzy clamped her teeth on one of her fingernails before she could catch herself and halted the action. She only reverted back to the old habit when she was nervous, like now.

There’s no reason to be nervous.
 She was the parent. She had every right to act like one. Then why did she feel physically sick with every step? 
Because you’re a chicken shit.

“Miss Connors, I don’t have a lot of time today. Can this wait?”

Hello to you too
. He needed a lesson in manners. She wouldn’t slink away and hope she didn’t have to deal with the situation

“This won’t take long. I wanted to chat about the kid, well, kids really. I hoped to invite your daughter Samantha over to dinner sometime. I know, left up to Nick, it’ll never happen.”

His already thin lips set in a flat line. “Any particular reason you think my kid is interested in dinner at your house?”

She sighed. Neither his tone nor his stance leaned toward civil. “I just figured if she and Nick were going to spend so much time together, it would be nice if I got to know her better and you and your wife...” She looked back toward the car. “I like to know where Nick spends his time. Helps keep him focused.”

Tisdale shortened the distance between them and crossed his arms. “Just what are you inferring? That my daughter is up to no good with Nick?”

Izzy backed up a step. “I think you mean implying.” She stuttered as she added, “I-I didn’t mean to imply anything like that. She was over at the house the other day and mentioned you didn’t know where she was. I figured if we got on the same page about what the kids were up to, we could avoid future confusion.”

The frown line in his forehead deepened. “Well you can rest assured, you have nothing to worry about. I keep an eye on my kid.”

This hadn’t gone the way she’d planned. She’d annoyed him. “I’m sure you do. I wanted you to be aware that she’s welcome anytime and for us to keep the lines of communication open.”

He huffed and worked his jaw. “Well, I’m aware. I’ll handle my kid, you handle yours.”

Hell
. That was the last thing she wanted. She prayed he wouldn’t take it out on Nick.

As she climbed into the driver’s seat, Nick looked back at his coach for a moment but didn’t ask about their conversation. He shook his head. “I was going
to try out my Death by Burrito recipe tonight.” Not usually one to sulk, he’d already let go of the fact he couldn’t see his friend.

Izzy cringed at the Death by Burrito reference. “Food isn’t meant to burn a hole in your mouth or your stomach.”

“You’ll like it, I promise. I think I used too many habaneras last time.”

“If you say so.”
Izzy rubbed her stomach. She didn’t think she’d recover from the last death by burrito she’d eaten, but she’d make an effort. He was a great cook. If only he hadn’t had a penchant toward the deadlier spices.

They drove in companionable silence for several minutes. As they approached their exit to the artist nook of Pasadena, a more sober Nick asked, “When is she coming?”

It broke her heart. After the age of nine, he’d stopped asking about Sabrina. He usually enjoyed the times she was around, but never asked when she would blow in to their lives, or blow back out. “I wish I knew. I tried calling the number she left, but it was disconnected.”