“Right. Sorry,” he said, pulling away. He shifted his weight back and forth, looking at her but not quite meeting her eye. “I won’t say anything to Dom.”
She stood, stunned, not really sure what to say, so she settled for “Thanks.”
His eyes sparkled at her again. What kind of cruel God would give a man like him the ability to look at her like she was the only woman in the world?
“Purely selfish,” he said, throwing her words back at her and breaking the moment. “Don’t want him to kick me out.”
Penny rolled her eyes and snorted out a breath. “Come on. Let’s go.”
They took the stairs together and then, through unspoken agreement, sprinted the last twenty meters or so to their practice court. Dom was waiting for them, leaning up against the exterior fence. “You two ready to get back to work?”
“Let’s do this,” she said, heading out onto the court.
“What she said,” Alex added.
“Excellent.” Dom followed them through the gate and took a seat at center court. “Penny, you serve.”
“Defensive game, right?” she asked, picking up her racket and taking a quick swig of water.
“Forget what I said earlier, both of you,” Dom said. “You’re thinking too much. Just play.”
Penny furrowed her brow, but then shrugged.
Dom was her coach—if he asked her to stand on her head, she would.
Alex, on the opposite side of the court, lunged from side to side, and for a split second, she thought his face scrunched into a wince, but a moment later, it was gone. He twirled his racket in his hands and then nodded. He was ready.
She served out wide, hoping to catch him expecting her usual first serve down the center of the court, but his body reacted instinctively, striding left and returning the ball back to her as she raced up to the net and put away his return with a short volley.
“Good job, P,” Dom called. “Much better. You didn’t force anything, even when he got that serve back. Good. Alex, let me see one from you.”
Alex kicked at one of the balls at the back of the court, lifting it with his toe and popping it up into the air before catching it on his racket.
Penny sent him a disapproving glare, but set herself. He stretched his neck back and around before settling his feet, bouncing the ball on the clay. A quick inhale and he sprung into the serve, straight up the middle of the court.
She stuck out her racket and managed a return, taking a crossover step to the center of the court as he chased it down. They kept the rally going, neither of them backing down, not giving the other even the slightest opening. Penny hit a slice backhand over the net, hoping to catch him off-balance, but instead, he ran around it and fired a forehand down the line, well out of her reach, for a winner.
“Damn good job, Al!” Dom yelled from the sideline. “Perfect shot selection and you waited for the right momentto strike. Okay, that’s it. I’ll see you two in the gym this afternoon.”
Dom left the court with a spring in his step.
Alex leaned against the net. His hair, damp and darker with sweat, was longer than it’d been in Australia. Penny flexed her hand and then clenched a fist, digging her nails into her palm while trying to quash the urge to run her fingers through it and maybe give it a not-so-gentle tug. If she remembered correctly, he liked that.
He smiled at her and asked, “You want to grab lunch?”
Penny smiled back and said, “No” before walking straight off the court, not having to look back to relish the shock on his face.
She imagined he didn’t hear that word very often.
Instead of heading for the locker room, she made a sharp left as she entered the atrium and made straight for one of the smaller video rooms. Penny turned on the television and quickly found the stream airing the matches from Rome. The tournament was in full swing and Zina Lutrova was making mincemeat out of her opponents, looking a hell of a lot better than she had in Madrid.
The world number one was up a set and two breaks on her opponent, Giselle Beauchamp of France, the eighth-ranked player in the world. Lutrova’s famous high-pitched shriek echoed through the speakers as she powered a forehand past a lunging Beauchamp. Penny shook her head. Even on clay, Lutrova’s forehand was super strong. It was why she could almost forgive Dom for bringing in Alex. He was the perfect practice partner if she wanted to take out the Russian on clay. Obviously, his shots were more powerful, but he waseven more accurate than the women’s number one player, forcing her level of play higher with every rally. If she could get her head together, she would be fine. Easier said than done, though.
Her thoughts were cut short when the scent of melted cheese and pepperoni wafted into the room. Her mouth watered. She craned her neck backward and saw Jack standing in the doorway, a pizza box balanced against his hip.
“I hate you,” she muttered, turning back to the screen. “Did you bring that in here to torture me?” It was one of the last things she grasped about being a great player: You could train as hard as you liked, but if you filled your body with crap, it all pretty much went to hell.
“No you don’t. You love me,” Jack said, plopping down next to her and holding the pizza box in his lap. The smile plastered across his face bordered on clownishly big, his dimple popping out and his eyes nearly closed.
