Losing at Love (18 page)

“What if I want a say?” he asked, stepping a little closer.

She stepped back, keeping the distance between them. “It’s too late for that.”

“Since when?”

“Since you decided it would be a good idea to sleep with Amy again. Since you asked Indy to keep it from me. Since you told me we were better off as friends. You can’t have it both ways, Teddy. It’s not fair.”

“I didn’t know she told you. You didn’t say anything.”

“What was I supposed to say? That you’re an idiot for going back to her? You are, but it’s not any of my business, right? I’m not your girlfriend. I’m your
friend
. You’ve made that perfectly clear, so me and Paolo, whatever we are, that’s none of your business either.”

“Jas,” he said, running a hand over the back of his neck and focusing his eyes down at the concrete sidewalk. “You’re right.”

"I am?"

“You are. You’re right. I can’t just…I’m sorry.”

An apology. That was something, at least. “Okay,” she said and moved toward the front gate. He didn’t follow. “Are you coming inside?”

“No, I’m going to take a walk around the block. Clear my head.”

“Oh, okay. Good night, Ted.”

“Good night, Jas.”

He spun on his heel and headed down the curving street, hands shoved in his pockets again and Jasmine couldn’t help but feel like that good night had felt an awful lot like a goodbye.

June 24th

“I have a match this afternoon. This is a really, really bad idea,” Penny managed to say between gasps for breath as Alex dragged his tongue along the line of her neck, his hands gripping each thigh, holding them firmly around his waist. She’d fallen back against the pillows, completely spent just seconds before, her body singing notes that would make Mariah Carey jealous.

“Yeah, you said earlier,” Alex murmured against her neck, his body shuddering against hers and then finally falling a little, catching himself on his elbows above her, their skin, slick with sweat sticking together.

She ran a fingertip down his back and he shifted to the side, falling back onto the mattress, dragging her with him as he went.

“Sorry Dom, I faded in the 3rd set because Alex couldn’t keep his hands off me.”

He snorted and kissed the top of her head. “Sorry Dom, Alex is a sexy beast. I couldn’t help myself this morning. Either time.” She laughed and pressed a kiss to the nearest skin she could find, his collarbone. “You feel better now?” he asked, wrapping his arm more tightly around her waist, adjusting his bicep under her head.

“There wasn’t anything wrong.”

“Try again, Penelope,” he said, swatting her backside lightly.

“Mmm,” she hummed, “okay, maybe I’ve never…I haven’t….” She sighed, trying to put into words what she was feeling. “Even though we’re fighting or whatever, Indy’s my friend.”

“She is,” Alex agreed.

“I’ve never played a friend in a match this important before. In fact, I’ve never played a match against a friend, ever.”

“You been holding this in since you found out?”

Penny shrugged. “Maybe.” It wasn’t that she was afraid of Indy on the court. Practice had been going well and her reactions were much better than the day they’d practiced together, but still, something was niggling away at her, something she’d never felt before going into a match.

“Does it help that you’re hacked off at her?” Alex asked.

“I don’t know, maybe? Is that bad?”

“You don’t have a bad bone in your body, love. Not one.”

“You’re biased,” she said. “Very biased.”

“I thought it before any of this. Everyone knows it.”

“Fine, we’ll debate that another time. How do you do it then?”

“What? Play against your friends?”

“No. Win against your friends.”

“Simple. You want to win. So does she. Go out and play your hardest. Don’t disrespect her and your friendship by allowing it to get in the way of what you both want. You really never played against any of your friends when you were little?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t really have a lot of time for friends until recently and now…”

“And now you have one and she lied to you.” She nodded against his chest. “People let you down quite a lot, don’t they?”

“I think I expect too much.”

“You don’t,” he said, forcefully, his hand gripping her hip a little bit tighter. “You don’t expect too much, not from your brother, not from Indy and certainly not from me. No argument, okay?”

She wanted to argue and she wanted to know why he felt this way about her, why he’d put her up on such a high pedestal, but his voice was so fierce and so fragile at the same time, she couldn’t do anything except say, “Okay.”

“Good, now come on,” he said, “up you get. You’ve got a match this afternoon.” He released her and she rolled away, scooting off the bed, not bothering to grab a sheet to cover up as she walked toward the en suite bathroom. She could feel his eyes following her as she walked away, so she stopped at the door and glanced back over her shoulder.

“Coming?” she asked and then kept walking, knowing in a moment she’d heard the creak of the bed springs as he got up to join her.

~

Penny sat on the trainer’s table and checked her rackets, running her fingers slowly over the strings of each one before placing them in her bag, white with a gold, glittery Nike swoosh across the side. Her outfit matched, a white fitted tank and a traditional white pleated tennis skirt, both with the same gold, glittery Nike swoosh logo. Wimbledon’s dress regulation of white only on the court fit well with her own personal preferences.

“Are you sure about this?” Dom asked from across the trainers’ room.

“Your ankle really feels okay?” Jack asked anxiously.

She looked back and forth between both of them and then let her eyes slide over their heads to where Alex was leaning against the wall in the far corner, arms crossed over his chest, mouth firmly shut.

“Why don’t you guys go check on Indy?” she suggested, deliberately not answering either of them. It had nothing to do with her ankle, they were just stressing out. “If I know her, she’s freaking out right about now and could use a little of your support.”

Dom rolled his eyes, but nodded and patted her on the shoulder as he walked by. Jack didn’t move.

“You sure?” he mumbled. Now it had nothing to do with her ankle. She could see the battle raging across his face, a war between being there for his littler sister and checking on his girlfriend.

“Bro, go see her before she throws up on her new white dress.”

Jack exhaled sharply through his nose and nodded. “See you after, Pen.”

The door clicked shut behind him and Alex finally pushed off the wall, moving straight for her. “I won’t ask how your ankle feels and I won’t ask if you’re sure you want to play. I know you and it’s not in you to withdraw. So I’m just going to say good luck.”

Penny reached out and took his hands in hers. “Thank you.”

He lifted one hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, then stepped away, leaving the room without a backward glance. She knew he was heading for the stands on Court 1, the second largest court on the grounds. She’d only have a few more minutes to wait before they’d be ready to march out for the match.

Just to be sure, she rotated her ankle and didn’t feel anything then she twisted it in the other direction and again, nothing. With no pain to worry about, at least not yet, she let her mind drift to her practice session with Indy just a few days ago, before she found out what her friend and her brother had been keeping from her. Indy’s serve had been particularly good that day, but there’d been no pressure, no urgency for the inexperienced player. They’d just been out there having fun and getting their work in.

Today would be a different story entirely. She didn’t expect Indy to revert completely back to the bundle of nerves she’d been on the court when she first arrived at OBX, but first round at Wimbledon would definitely unnerve her. Beyond that though, Penny knew she hadn’t been at her sharpest that day. A few practice sessions with Alex between then and now had gotten her to where she wanted to be for the match. It was possible, just based on that last training session that Indy would be a little over-confident. The mental game was important, especially at this level when physical skills were so often equal.

A knock at the door drew her from her thoughts. “Miss Harrison,” a court attendant called, “we’re ready for you.”

Slinging her racket bag over her shoulder and adjusting her ponytail, she slipped through the door, nodding to the attendant, a heavy-set, red-headed woman in an official Wimbledon blazer who smiled and said, “This way, please.”

She followed her down the long corridor and then briefly out onto the grounds where a security official joined them for the walk to Court 1. The crowd meandering down the paths toward the courts parted for them, some fans wishing her luck as she went by. Penny caught a glimpse of Indy’s long blonde ponytail up ahead of her as she followed her own security guard onto their court.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” an announcer called to the fans already at the court. “Miss Indiana Gaffney, a tournament wildcard and Miss Penelope Harrison, our number four seed, both ladies of the United States of America.”

The crowd hadn’t fully arrived yet and those who were there hadn’t completely settled into their seats, but Penny ignored them. She might have some fans cheering for her because of her connection to Alex and what happened in France, but most tennis fans, especially in the early rounds of a tournament, wanted one thing, a long match and the underdog coming out on top. She couldn’t rely on fan support. She needed to just go out and play her best. It was time to focus.

The ball boy brought her a few options and she nodded at Indy across the court as they both began to warm up their serves, falling easily into the pre-match routine they learned while training at OBX.

Her muscles loosened up easily and, as was normal during a match at a Grand Slam, time sped up. Before she knew it, the chair umpire called them to the center of the court. Penny grabbed a quick drink at her chair and then headed to the meeting at the net.

Indy was already there, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her extra energy radiating off of her in waves.

“Ladies,” the umpire greeted them. “Miss Gaffney, please call it in the air.” He flipped the large silver coin into the air.

“Heads,” Indy called out.

Tails never fails, Penny thought to herself and grinned when the coin landed on tails.

“Miss Harrison?” the umpire asked, picking up the coin.

Penny flicked her eyes to Indy. “You can serve,” she said, the first words she’d uttered to her friend since the other day. When she found out she’d be playing Indy, it had felt a little like the walls were closing in on them at Alex’s. Running into each other in the hallways, in the kitchen, going to and from practice sessions and poor Jack caught in the middle, even though that was his own damn fault. He should have told her right away; they both should have.

Indy tilted her head, confusion slipping over her features, but then she smiled. “Let’s go.”

“Let’s,” Penny agreed and offered her hand. They shook and then they both shook the umpires hand before retreating to their respective baselines. As she did, examining her racket closely, Penny felt something loosen in her chest and shoulders, something she hadn’t realized was knotted tightly until that moment. She kept her back to the court, pulling her necklace out from beneath her shirt, letting the dull bronze penny sit in the center of her palm. Squeezing it in a fist, she kissed the fingers wrapped tightly around it and then tucked it back inside.

She turned as Indy was tossing a ball back to the ball boy and the chair umpire looked up from his score sheet and said, “Play.”

Keeping her toes at the baseline, Penny shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, rocking gently from side to side before bending over slightly at the waist. Most of Indy’s opponents would give the hard serving player a feet few of space beyond the baseline. Those extra feet would give Indy’s serve room to travel a little longer, slow down just a few fractions more before having to return it. Penny wasn’t all that concerned with reaction time. She knew she could catch up to whatever Indy threw at her. She was more worried about getting her return back to Indy before she had time to react. Indy wasn’t used to people being able to return her serve and her return game was a major weakness because of it.

The first serve was Indy’s bread and butter, a screaming rocket down the center of the court, skimming neatly off where the lines met in a T, but Penny bounced out of her crouch in perfect position for a return and with a short, fluid forehand, an equally fierce groundstroke clipped the far baseline and sailed past a stunned Indy for a clean winner.

The crowd was silent for just a split second and then let out an almost collective sigh of appreciation and then applause. Penny could feel Indy’s eyes on her from the other side of the court, but she didn’t look up. This wasn’t time to think about her friend or how they weren’t friends anymore or anything else other than the perfect return she’d just hit and the statement it had made. For the best of three sets, Indy was her opponent and nothing else.

“Love–15,” the chair umpire said.

Three more serves yielded similar results, though Indy managed to get her racket on the latest, starting a short rally that ended when Penny raced up to catch a poorly placed backhand in the air and slam it back for a winner.

“Game, Miss Harrison,” the chair umpire said.

She had her break. Now all she had to do was keep it.

The ball boy sent her one ball and then another. Both were still looking good, so she pocketed one beneath her skirt. The other she bounced beneath her racket, getting a feel for it and keeping her feet moving underneath her, before stepping up to the baseline.

Indy lined up across the court, bent at the waist, twisting her racket between her hands. Penny took the ball in hand, rolling it over her palm before bouncing it once, twice, three and four times. Then bringing her hands together, coiling down toward the ground, she let her body gather power through her legs before exploding up and out, through the ball. A hard, flat serve directly into Indy’s body, handcuffing her return, the ball hitting the racket frame and bouncing away weakly on the wrong side of the net. Just as the ball bounced for a second time, she felt a small twinge in her ankle. “Crap,” she muttered under her breath but kept her face blank.