Sam and I hit ball after ball, and by the end of fifteen minutes, I’m hitting perfect balls over the net. My legs scream for a break, and Frank must notice our heavy breathing, because he sends us for a drink.
“Okay,” Sam grunts and picks up my water bottle. “You didn’t tell me we’d be doing twenty-minute wall sits.”
I laugh. “Your next party trick?” I wait for my turn with the water, wiping the sweat from my face onto my T-shirt. With the smaller court, I wasn’t expecting to get much of a workout, butmy stomach’s already grumbling. The protein bar I ate in the car isn’t cutting it. I pull out a cinnamon almond butter bar and chomp it down.
After taking a drink, I turn and pause. Frank’s talking with someone over the fence, and I put two and two together since the court across from us is now empty.
Ball Machine Guy nods and grabs his paddle from his bag hanging on the opposite fence, then walks through the gate onto our court.
“Wow,” Sam says on a breath, and I shoot her a look. Yes. The man isn’t unattractive. He’s built like a swimmer, broad shoulders and a tapered waist, tan skin, and hair with a little curl that looks sun-kissed.
But his face is pulled into a permanent scowl, and his jaw is tight. He looks like someone who’d honk at an old lady who paused too long at a stoplight.
“Ladies, this is Calder. One of the pros like me here at Smash Point. He’s going to help us with a little drill.” Frank motions for Sam to pair up with him across the net, which leaves me partnering with Calder.
Oh, goodie.
“Transitions,” Frank says. “You two at the baseline. We’ll be at the kitchen. Your goal is to drop the ball into the no-volley zone.”
Sam whispers, “Ten bucks says I get a compliment before you do,” and prances to the line opposite Frank. The little skank.
I itch my cheek with my middle finger, then turn and say, “Hi. I’m Alecia.”
Calder nods once, then rolls me a ball under the net with his shoe. “Serve.”
I bounce it, breathe, and do an underhand serve. At first, it looks nearly perfect, then it lands against the net and rolls back to me in slow motion. “Sorry.”
His brows pinch, but he doesn’t respond, just stands there waiting, not even preparing to hit the ball. Like he’s sure I’ll screw it up again. Meanwhile, I hear, “Excellent, lean into it a bit more, and that will be a perfect shot,” from Frank next door.
I hit the ball. This time nearly sending it over his head.
“Too high,” Calder says, smacking the ball back to me.
I can’t help myself. “Oh, really? Looked great from here.” I snap the ball back with a thwack, and it flies low over the net, taking Calder off guard. He throws his paddle up, but the ball skids and hits his knuckle. He curses under his breath, then jogs over to grab the ball now bouncing at the baseline.
Frank leans over the net. “Try to take a little speed off of that, and it should drop right on that line. Excellent work, Alecia.”
I give Sam a self-satisfied smirk, then turn back to Calder. “Sorry about that. Thought you were ready.”
Calder stares at me a moment, then hits the ball deep enough, I have to shuffle back. Oh, he’s pissed. That sends a thrill through me.
After I successfully send three balls in a row into the kitchen—a beginner miracle—Calder starts hitting it harder. I can’t help but pop it up, and he makes a show of lazily patting it back into the court. Sweat runs a ticklish path down my spine, and my shoulder’s aching, but I refuse to ask for a break.
Frank finally forces the issue, and I stalk to my water bottle. Calder stops next to me and pulls his from his bag on the opposite side of the fence.
I take a swig. “Do you teach much?”
Calder gives me a look, but before he can answer, Frank does. “Calder’s working to get his coaching certification. He’s been shadowing me, and now he just has to get his own coaching hours in.”
Wow. This was him after shadowing Frank? He was going to need a hell of a lot more coaching hours.
I lower my voice. “Is teaching what you want to do?”
He frowns, dropping his water bottle back in his bag. “Why?”
Umm, because you look like you’d rather lie on a bed of nails than drill with me?I shouldn’t say it out loud, but it comes out anyway.
His mouth opens, then closes, and I’m a little worried about what’s going to happen to the ball he’s gripping in his hand. “Not everyone can be Frank.”
