“How many?” Jasmine asked.
“Until I tell you to stop.”
The trick with Einsteins was to not think about how awful you felt, to clear your mind of the burn in your legs and the shortness of breath, and to try to focus on something else. Dom was leaning against the fence, watching them to make sure they ran to each line and not short of it. Jasmine didn’t count as their feet pounded down upon the hard court; she focused on Dom and ran her apology over and over again in her mind like a penance for her sins.Sorry, grateful, second chance, sorry, grateful, second chance; the words were like amantra to the thuds of her sneakers.Sorry, grateful, second chance, sorry, grateful, second chance.
“Okay, grab some water,” Dom called, and they skidded to a stop. Jasmine glanced at Indy. She wasn’t huffing and puffing, not like she did on her first day. Still, her breath came hard and quick, while Jasmine wasn’t all that winded. At least that was one thing she had over her new partner. No, that wasn’t actually a good thing. Indy’s weaknesses were her own weaknesses now.
They both grabbed their water bottles and sipped slowly.
“What’s he doing here?” Indy said eventually. Jasmine turned to see Alex Russell striding up to the court and waving Dom over. The two men spoke for a few moments, keeping their voices low, then Alex shook Dom’s hand and left.
“All right, ladies, footwork, on the service line, no rackets,” their coach said, ignoring the curious looks they were both shooting him.
The drill was pretty straightforward. They stood where the service boxes met, halfway between the net and the baseline, with Dom opposite them, a ball in his hand. He moved his arm left and right, and they would mirror the action with their footwork until he released the ball. Without a racket, they were expected to catch it before the ball could bounce twice. Jasmine loved this drill. It played to her strengths: quick feet and quicker reactions.
She felt Indy’s eyes on her and she met her gaze for the first time all morning. Jasmine motioned out to the court and said, “After you.”
Dom kept Indy’s feet moving—short, quick steps against the clay court—before he tossed her the ball and she lungedto her left and caught it with the tips of her fingers. Indy tossed the ball back to Dom.
“Beat that,” she muttered.
“Game on,” Jasmine mumbled back as they switched places.
“What was that?” Dom asked.
“Nothing,” Jasmine said, setting her feet shoulder width apart and waiting for Dom’s first cue.
Twenty minutes later, they were both dripping with sweat, but neither had dropped a single ball.
“Okay, take ten.”
“No,” Indy protested, dragging her wrist across her forehead, then over her knee, which she’d scraped when she laid out for a ball.
“Not yet,” Jasmine agreed, hands on her hips, bent slightly at the waist to try to regain her breath.
Dom laughed at them outright, clearly satisfied with their performance. “Take ten and rehydrate.”
He began to walk away and Jasmine saw her opportunity. “Dom, hang on a second,” she said, jogging to catch up with him. “I wanted to—”
“I know what you want to say, Jasmine, but I don’t want to hear you’re sorry. I want you toshowme you’re sorry.”
The laughter and smile from seconds before were gone, replaced by a stern glare and a set jaw.
“I will,” she said. “I promise.”
“Good. Now try not to start another fight while I’m gone.”
After Dom walked away, Jasmine made eye contact with Indy for a second, but Indy looked away, bent and dugthrough her racket bag, pulling her phone out and shooting off a rapid text.
“Dom’s been pretty tough so far, huh?” Jasmine said, swallowing back her pride.
It was bland as hell, sure, but it was the best she could do, and at least she was trying.
Indy looked up from her phone, disbelief written across her face. “Yeah, I guess.” The phonebingedand drew her attention.
Jasmine watched as Indy wandered to the opposite end of the court, tapping away at her phone screen. “Or we could just not talk.”
“Hey, Randazzo.”
