The camera zoomed in on the stands where Dom Kingston, Penny’s coach, sat, his hands clasped together like he was praying. He was one of the best coaches in the world and he’d wanted Indy to come play at the Outer Banks Tennis Club, his training facility in North Carolina. If she had, that could’ve been her standing across from the number one player in the world right now. Or maybe she would’ve been number one already. Indy bit her lip, wondering if Coach Kingston’s offer would stand more than two years later.
A hand pushed at her laptop, forcing the phone to slip onto the keyboard and send a scrawl of unintelligible text across her document. Her eyes snapping up, she glared at the guy, who immediately sat back in his seat, hands up in surrender, with a smirk that he probably thought was attractive but only gave smarmy creep.
“Could you not?” she whispered to be sure she didn’t disturb the other students around them.
“Your loss,” he said when hefinallygot up to leave as she readjusted her setup. By the time the phone was in place, the camera was focused on the court again as Penny tossed the ball into the air. Her serve was up into Lutrova’s body, an attempt to handcuff the Russian, who managed a sharp return, grunting with the effort, sending Penny scrambling.
It was a furious battle, a blistering exchange from the baseline, as they pounded away at each other like heavyweight boxers, neither giving an inch. Then Penny seized upon a short backhand and sent a rocket into the corner, perfectly placed. All Lutrova could do was watch the ball cut through the air as it passed her by.
“Yes!” the tiny version of Penny bellowed from the screen, pumping her fist, a rare show of emotion from her on the court, now just a point away from the championship.
“Yes,” Indy echoed under her breath. If she wanted it, if she wanted to be on that court in Madrid, then Bio 101 and scaring off college guys wouldn’t get her there.
Maybe she’d put in a call to Dom.
After all, what did she have to lose?
Forty–love.
Harrison Residence
Ocean Hill, North Carolina
“And Penny Harrison has three championship points!” The announcer’s voice roared through the television set.
Jasmine Randazzo grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels by its neck and tried to yank off the cap. As much as she was rooting for Penny, it still stung a little that the other girl was off winning a huge pro tournament and she was sitting at home after losing in the first round. A warm hand surrounded hers and pulled the bottle away from her.
“Easy there, Jas,” Teddy Harrison said, twisting the cap off and handing it back.
“How are you not drunk?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at her friend. “I’mdrunk.”
Teddy snorted softly. “I’m not drunk because I do this more than you. Some of us have actual lives off the court, you know.”
“I have a life, sort of,” she muttered, pouring herself another shot. The whiskey missed the glass, spilling over the table, and Teddy took the bottle away again. He poured out two glasses and handed one to her.
“Yep, sort of.”
“To Penny.” Jasmine saluted the TV set, then sent the burning liquid down the back of her throat.
“You gotta stop worrying about my sister,” Teddy said, settling back against the couch beside her, his arm coming around her shoulders, squeezing tightly.
“I’m not worrying about her,” Jasmine argued. “I’m happy for her and she better watch her back once I get on tour.”
“How many have you had?” Teddy asked, snickering through another shot.
The television camera zoomed in on the player’s box. Their coach, Dom Kingston, was there, applauding with therest of the crowd, and one row behind him were Jasmine’s parents, sitting beside the Harrisons and cheering on Penny.
“God forbid we make it through a match without my parents being on camera,” Jasmine grumbled, leaning her forehead against Teddy’s shoulder. He was so solid and warm. She snuggled closer.
“It’s good for publicity,” Teddy said, probably for the hundredth time that week. “When people see Mr. and Mrs. Tennis out there, they want to come to OBX and train at the place they founded.”
“They aren’t nearly as cool as everyone thinks.”
“They’re pretty damn cool, Jas.”
“They’re my parents. Totally dorky like everyone else’s.”
“Nah,” Teddy said, taking another shot. Jasmine frowned. When had he poured that? “Your Grand Slam–winning, Olympic gold medalist parents are awesome and so are you.”
