Losing at Love (2 page)

“Nice one,” Dom called from the sidelines, actually standing up and applauding with a broad smile slipping over his tanned features. But he then turned his attention to their training partners, two young men from OBX’s Elite Boys squad standing flat-footed and winded, grumbling to each other in low tones. “And what the holy hell do you two think you’re doing? Last I checked, this was the Outer Banks Tennis Academy. We train the best in the world. Did you think because they’re girls they’d be easy pickings? Take two tours and then report back to the Junior Courts, I’m sick of the sight of you.”

The young men trudged off the court still muttering and Dom’s eyes narrowed. “Changed my mind. Three tours. Want to make it four?”

The taller boy nudged the smaller one with his elbow as they both shook their heads and said, “No, Coach.”

“Good. Get lost.”

They took off down the path at a measured jog, conserving their energy for the three laps of the entire facility, a circuitous route that would take them through the maze of forty-five practice courts, finishing up with a sprint across the sandy beach that lined OBX property.

Jasmine raised her eyebrows toward Indy, who smiled back. In her short time at OBX, she’d endured Dom’s wrath enough to simply enjoy when someone else was his target.

“Ladies, that’s enough for this morning. Cool down. Indy, get some ice on that knee before it blows up like a balloon,” Dom said.

“It’s fine,” she said, glancing down at it. “I bruise easy.”

“Fine, video analysis after lunch,” he said before leaving them for his next training session.

Indy grabbed her water bottle and swished a mouthful before spitting it out. Too much water would weigh her down for the rest of the day, but she had to stay hydrated under the hot North Carolina sun as the weather shifted from a warm spring toward what promised to be a humid summer. Though, if she had her way, most of that summer would be spent a long way away from OBX, on courts around the world, starting with the grass lawns of Wimbledon. She swung her arms around in slow circles, letting those muscles slowly recover from the intense workout she’d just put in, before moving further down her body, twisting and bending at her core, then lunging and reaching for her legs.

“Better every day,” Jasmine said, as they left the court headed in the direction of the locker room for a shower and a fresh set of clothes.

Indy nodded, pulling her long blonde hair free from its ponytail and running her hands through the sweaty locks. “I just wish they would make a decision.”

“They” were the Lawn Tennis Association, or LTA, the English equivalent to the USTA and the people in charge of her fate for the next month or so. It was within their power to grant wildcard entries to the Championships at Wimbledon. After she and Jasmine pushed the number one doubles team in the world to a third-set tiebreaker, it made sense that they’d be granted a wildcard into the main doubles draw, but sometimes, sense had very little to do with what went on in professional tennis. They would both be headed there regardless, having earned entry to the Girl’s Singles tournament, and they’d play doubles anyway, but after more than holding their own against the best in the world, playing doubles against juniors again felt like a total waste of time. Now it was just a waiting game and patience had never been one of Indy’s virtues.

“It should happen soon, maybe tomorrow,” Jasmine said as they entered the locker room; the buzz of dozens of girls echoing off the tile floors and metal lockers soon faded. Since their return from France, the atmosphere at OBX had been strange, to say the least. Indy was used to it. She’d been an outsider from the moment she arrived at the Outer Banks Tennis Academy, but her stomach twisted for Jasmine who’d spent her entire tennis career training inside the high fences of the best tennis school in the world. The other girl didn’t know how to handle the silent glares and fervent whispers that followed them everywhere. Their partnership and burgeoning friendship was one of the hottest stories in the tennis world, but at OBX, where everyone wanted to make it to the top and most had the goods, it simply made them the targets of soul-crushing envy.

They walked side by side down the long hallway at the center of the room and made a quick left to their lockers. Indy tapped the second one in as she walked by. Penny’s locker, empty while it’s tenant was off in England recovering from her ankle injury and watching Alex Russell, the newly crowned French Open Champion, destroy the competition at Queens, the main prep tournament for Wimbledon.

“Have you talked to her?” Jasmine asked, nodding toward the locker while grabbing her shower kit from her own locker.

“Yeah,” Indy said, wrinkling her nose. “She’s pissed off that she can’t train.”

“Sucks,” Jasmine said, before walking off to the shower room.

“Totally,” Indy agreed. She’d never been hurt before, but just talking to Penny on the phone told her all she needed to know. She could hear the longing in her voice to get back on the court, to
do
something. Sitting on your ass while the people around you are working hard, getting better, as far as tennis is concerned, Indy couldn’t imagine anything worse than that. Life, of course, that could bite you in the ass over and over again and Indy wasn’t a stranger to that, not with her mom gone for nearly a year from cancer and her father—who barely noticed her existence most of the time—spending his nights with her agent, the high-powered Caroline Morneau.

~

The hot water was heaven after the morning workout. She took her time, letting her muscles recover as much as they could because she’d need them again during that afternoon’s single’s training. The locker room was blissfully empty as she emerged from the showers. Jasmine had headed to lunch with her parents, the facility’s founders. She left her hair alone, knowing the warm air outside would make it curl, and pulled on a pair of white, terrycloth shorts, then a bronze t-shirt with the Nike swoosh blazoned across the chest in black. The shirt was a gift from Penny, who had more Nike merchandise than she knew what to do with after signing a lucrative sponsorship deal to become the face of their tennis line. Indy smiled to herself, knowing that one day soon, she’d have her own sponsorship deal. Caroline had said as much over and over again since they returned from France. She had made contact with all the big tennis outfitters and it was just a matter of waiting for the best deal and negotiating terms that brought in the most money for the most exposure.

Indy grabbed her bag from the locker, stuffed with textbooks and her laptop. There were just a few weeks between her and her high school diploma. Just a few more tests and she’d graduate in absentia from her former high school back in California, so instead of a nice, relaxing, mindless lunch, she’d be tackling her off-the-court nemesis, AP Calculus. It wasn’t something she had to do as she’d easily qualify for a GED at this point. Her course load was completely made up of classes above and beyond the requirements for a high school diploma, but Indy was done quitting things. She’d given up tennis for a year and nearly lost her dream because of it. So she’d slog through calculus and all the rest and get that diploma even if the equations made her brain melt inside her skull.

Stepping into the sunshine, she shouldered her bag and turned toward the OBX library, running through the assignments she still had to complete, when a shadow crossed over her path, a large body falling into step with her, close, but not touching, their strides matching.

“Jack,” she said, glancing up at him sideways, a small smile threatening at the corners of her mouth.

“Indiana,” he said, echoing back her name, sending a shiver down her spine. He was the only one allowed to call her that, the only person who made the name she’d hated since forever sound friggin’ good.

They walked together in silence, turning the corner that separated the courts from the residential area of the complex, but her stride was suddenly cut off when Jack shuffled his feet, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her into a shady walkway between buildings. Her bag slid off her shoulder, but he caught it before it crashed to the ground and smashed her laptop to smithereens. He let it settle on the ground gently before leaning over her, forcing her to step back into the wall.

Walls were their thing. Their first kiss had been against a wall in a random hallway at Roland Garros, their second pressed against the wall of their hotel in Paris and now that they were back in North Carolina, they found any excuse to push each other against a wall and kiss until they were gasping for air and their bodies begged for relief. Jack’s lips trailed from her temple, using the wall behind her as an anchor before bending his head to hers. Pushing up onto her toes, Indy met him halfway. She’d never been so grateful for every millimeter of her five feet ten inches as she was when she was kissing Jack. His hands slid through her hair, twisting it around his fingers, then cradling the back of her head, drawing her mouth more firmly against his. Indy brought her hands to his torso, gripping his t-shirt, letting her palms press against the cut of muscle that disappeared into his cargo shorts. The skin-on-skin contact made his breath hitch, his mouth opening just enough to allow her tongue to slide in, deepening the kiss, before letting her teeth nip at his bottom lip. A groan rumbled in his throat as he stumbled forward, pressing his body full length against hers. He wrenched his lips from hers, trailing his mouth over the line of her jaw to the spot just behind her ear. It was her turn to gasp and her head fell back as she arched into him. No one had ever kissed her there before. Jack smiled against her skin as her fingertips dug into his sides and she let a moan slip free as he focused his attention on that spot, scraping his teeth against it, then soothing that small pain with a flick of his tongue. Her hands scrambled to get purchase against his shoulders, desperate for some leverage, anything to help her slide her body against his. Then it was over, his hand gone from her hair, his mouth gone from her neck and his body inches then feet away. Indy blinked at him, trying to figure out why he pulled away when the voices echoing down the pathway toward them finally reached her ears.

Bending down, he lifted her bag as she ran her fingers through her hair, knowing he’d made an unholy mess of it. You’re fine,” he muttered, handing her the bag and stepping further away from her as a group of junior boys stomped past them, none giving them a second glance.

“You have good ears,” Indy said, biting her lip at the close call. If those boys had seen them, the news would have spread like wildfire through the OBX campus and everyone would have known by the end of the day. She was only seventeen for another few months, but that wasn’t really the problem, seventeen or eighteen wouldn’t matter to other people. She was a young tennis pro, he was an up-and-coming agent. The last thing either of their careers needed was the heightened publicity of a controversial relationship, even if Jack Harrison was far more of a gentleman than any guy she’d ever met. Sometimes, a little
too
much of a gentleman, truth be told.

Jack shrugged, glancing back over his shoulder again before facing her fully. “I’m sorry about this.”

She reached out and took his hand, “We both agreed,” she said, entwining their fingers, “it’s just between us for now. It makes sense for both of us.” Pressing his lips together in a thin line, he nodded, but she knew he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Jack, we talked about this. You said you were okay with it.”

“I just wish it were different,” he said, tugging her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. His hands released hers and dropped to her hips, the edges of his thumbs brushing against her hipbones in slow circles, sending shivers over her skin.

“Me too.” She wanted to scream it from the rooftops that this amazing guy was hers. That he had deep green eyes and a smile that brightened whenever he looked at her. That he was brilliant in ways that she couldn’t even fathom with his degree from Harvard. That he’d fought their attraction for so long because of that ingrained sense of honor, like one of those heroes in a fairy tale, except Jack was real, flesh and blood.

"Have you thought...maybe we should tell Penny?" Indy asked, her fingertips landing on his forearms, gently stroking up to his elbows and back down to his wrists.

Jack let out a heavy breath. "Penny has a lot on her plate right now."

"I know. I just feel funny keeping it from her. Jasmine knows."

"We'll do whatever you want to do. This is your show, baby."

"I don't need a supportive…" she hesitated, almost using the word boyfriend, but that didn't really fit, did it? Not if they were keeping it a secret, "I need honest, Jack."

He leaned back, looking her in the eye. "Honest? Honestly, my sister doesn't do well with change. It freaks her out and right now, I'm not sure that the idea of you and me will go over that well. On the other hand, if we don't tell her and she finds out?"

"She'll be pissed."

"Yep."

"Maybe we should wait a little longer. We could tell her in London."

Jack nodded, "Face to face instead of over the phone."

“There’s always Skype,” she said, not really sure if she wanted to know what Penny, the only girl who’d made an effort to befriend her when she first arrived at OBX, would think if she found out she and Jack were together.

“There’s that.”

Indy shook her head. They should do it in person. They should have done it before they left Paris, but Penny had been so devastated by withdrawing from the tournament that it hadn’t felt like the right time then either. “In London. We’ll be there in less than a week. We’ll tell her then.”

“Okay, in London.”
They stood there for a moment, just breathing each other in until Jack leaned away. “I’ve gotta go. I have a meeting with a potential new client this afternoon and I’ve got to prep.”

Indy snorted a laugh. “Right, like you don’t already have a complete profile worked up along with potential sponsors to contact if they sign.”

“You know me so well,” he said, leaning around the building, checking the pathway for any more unwanted spectators. “I’ll go this way.”