“Yeah you can,” Penny said, and then lowered her voice. “They’re only doing this because they’re terrified of you. The tournament starts tomorrow and you’re going to kick Lara Cronin’s ass all over the court in front of everyone. That is so much better than cat fighting her in the locker room.”
Indy nodded. “You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right,” Penny said. “Get dressed.”
Five minutes later, they walked shoulder to shoulder out of the locker room, pointedly ignoring the stares and whispers of the girls surrounding them.
Indy didn’t know what she expected from the Harrison home, but the pretty blue-shingled house with the basketball net in the driveway and two SUVs with Harvard and Duke magnets on the back bumpers definitely wasn’t it.
Penny led her inside, dropping her car keys on a table next to the front door. Indy followed her past a comfortable-looking living room and up a flight of stairs lined with photos of the Harrison kids at various ages. It was all so normal. Indy’s eyes caught on the last picture. It looked pretty recent, maybe last Christmas, if the brightly lit tree in the background was any indication. All three siblings standing beside their parents, the perfect family.
“Come on,” Penny said from the doorway to what Indy assumed was her bedroom. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
“Sorry, I was…” Indy trailed off and followed her into the room, her words failing her as the idea of being inside Penny Harrison’s bedroom hit her full force. They were separated by less than a year in age, but Penny had accomplished so much of what Indy wanted for herself. She’d thought that maybe the room would be lined with trophies and ribbons, evidence of her ridiculously successful career, but the walls were painted a soft lavender, a patchwork quilt rested acrossher bed, and the only indication that the room’s occupant wasn’t a normal girl was the end post of her bed, where dozens upon dozens of tournament player passes hung. It looked like Penny had kept every single one.
“Okay, I’m wearing this one,” Penny said from her closet, pulling out a hanger with a gold silk dress, “but take your pick from the rest.”
Indy hesitated. “Why?” she asked, suddenly not quite sure this was for real.
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this? You barely know me.”
Penny raised an eyebrow. “You think you’re the first girl to show up at OBX and piss people off just by walking on the court?”
“Oh,” Indy said, feeling awful for questioning Penny’s motives.
“Now pick something out,” Penny said, letting her off the hook.
“Seriously?” Indy asked, approaching and staring into the closet in awe. “Where did all these dresses come from?”
“Sponsors and events. There’s a red carpet at all the big tournaments, and designers will give you a dress for free if you get your picture taken in it.”
Indy snorted. “You mean they’ll giveyoua dress for free.”
“Just pick one out.”
“Penny, this is a fucking Versace,” Indy said, pulling out a silver strapless minidress intricately designed with crystal patterns across every inch of the fabric.
“Oh,” Penny said. “Yeah, I wore that one in Australia this year.” Indy bit her lip, wondering if that meant she couldn’twear it. “Go for it. It’ll probably look better on you than it did on me. I left my eyeliner in the bathroom; I’ll be right back.”
As soon as the door clicked shut, Indy shimmied out of her shorts and yanked her tank top over her head. Carefully, she stepped into the Versace and slid it up over her hips. She managed to get the zipper up most of the way but couldn’t quite reach the clasp at the center of her back. Still, it fit perfectly, hugging her like a second skin. She moved in front of Penny’s mirror and smoothed down the satin against her thighs.
“Penny, let’s go. We’re… Indiana.”
In the mirror, she saw Jack standing in the doorway, staring at her.
“Hi,” she said, not turning around, but keeping her eyes locked on his through her reflection.
“Where’s…” Jack cleared his throat. “Where’s my sister?” He took a step into the room.
“In the bathroom.”
He moved closer until he was right behind her. Reaching forward, his hands ghosted over her shoulders before sliding down to the line of fabric across her back.
“What are you…” she started to ask, but stopped as the dress tightened across her breasts. She breathed deeply at the brush of his fingertips against her skin and shivered. His eyes still held fast to hers even as his hands fell away. This wasn’t the same man who’d ignored her on the beach during theAthlete Weeklyinterview and at breakfast the other day. It couldn’t be, not with how he was looking at her.
His eyes wrenched away from hers suddenly and hestumbled back a step. “You missed a clasp,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dress pants.
