Dom nodded. “Yeah. I want you to focus on your defensive game and building up your endurance. You saw what it was like in Australia this year. Two weeks of tennis is no joke. You can’t fade at the beginning of the second week.You need to be peaking for the semis and finals, not for the round of sixteen.”
“Right,” Penny said, clenching her teeth. She wanted to tell him that endurance or lack thereof had nothing to do with the end of her run at the Australian Open. It was the only time her mental focus had slipped. At the highest levels, the mental game was even more important than the physical.
“I am still the world’s number one.” Zina’s Russian accent reverberated through Dom’s office. Penny’s head snapped to the video screen in the corner and everything else flew straight out of her head. It was an interview from the tournament in Rome where Zina was playing this week. “Harrison played a good match, but I did not play my best. It was a fluke,” the young superstar said from the press conference desk.
Dom paused the video as the interview ended. Penny focused on the smirk Lutrova managed to wear even while discussing a decisive loss at the hands of a player she was claiming to be better than. That expression alone was enough to make Penny want to grab a racket, fly to Rome, and take Lutrova’s ego down a notch or fifty again.
“These next weeks are critical. Zina will be gunning for you in Paris. You’re going to face her down and you’re going to win,” Dom said.
“I’ll be ready.”
“Good. Now go. I’ll be out in a few. I’ve got to pull together the Classic rankings by this afternoon.”
A wave of nostalgia hit her. For the first time since she’d arrived at OBX, Penny wouldn’t be competing in the Classic, a tournament Dom arranged every year for the bestup-and-coming young stars tennis had to offer. Since it was his tournament, the player rankings were up to his sole discretion. Penny had never not been ranked number one.
And she’d never not come out on top.
“It’s that time of year again, huh? Feels like yesterday I won my first one.”
“Yeah, well, three in a row was a good run, but looks like we’ll have to find a new champ this year.”
Penny was halfway to her practice court, one of the very few clay courts on campus, before she realized she hadn’t asked Dom who her new hitting partner was. He’d said it was an old friend, but Dom had been in the tennis world for nearly thirty years. That didn’t exactly narrow down the field. Whoever it was, they were sure to be damn good. Her coach would only let her train with the best.
She opened the gate and dropped her bag against the fence before tilting her head in confusion. There was a man sprawled across the court, eyes closed, face to the sun, completely relaxed, except for his hands, which were firing through the air, drumming along with the music she could hear buzzing through his headphones even from the other side of the court.
“Excuse me,” Penny said sharply. “This court is reserved.”
The man didn’t move. He was tall and broad, making the large playing surface seem much smaller than it actually was.
“Excuse me,” she repeated when he didn’t so much as twitch in response, “this court is…” Frowning down at thecourt squatter, she immediately recognized him, especially since the last time she’d seen him he’d been in a similar state, totally relaxed, eyes closed—though he’d been wearing much less clothing.
Alex Russell, the best men’s player in the world—or at least he used to be—and the guy she’d been dreaming about, remembering, really, just this morning.
Seven years before, when he was only seventeen, Alex Russell was the first English man to win Wimbledon since 1936 and the youngest maneverto do it, breaking a record from 1985. By age twenty he’d added French, US, and Australian Open trophies to his mantel, completing the career Grand Slam. Then, in the handful of years since, his game had gone to hell. Too much partying and not nearly enough training sent his ranking free-falling from number one in the world down into the mid-twenties, and only that high because of his insane natural talent.
He also held the distinction of being the only thing to distract Penny Harrison from tennis and the last person she ever wanted to see again.
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?” PENNY KICKED ATthe sole of Alex’s sneaker and his eyes flew open.
He pulled the headphones off, the notes even clearer now as a heavy bass beat echoed against the court.
“Sorry, what was that, love?” he asked with a wink, his eyes lighting up in recognition and then slipping over her form quickly, his tongue darting out against his bottom lip. And shit, she could practically feel his mouth against hers, stealing her breath and her sanity.
The air crackled between them as the low timbre of his voice sent shivers down her spine and her mind reeling back nearly four months, to the Nike event at the Australian Open she hadn’t wanted to attend in the first place.
She was midway through the most important tournament of her life and not in the mood for a party, but Jack insisted it was a chance to mingle with her potential sponsors andget her face out there. Plus, it was all for a good cause as proceeds were going to the fight against pediatric cancer. Jack had pulled that last part out of his hat after she flat-out refused to go.
Twenty minutes in she’d been ready to go back to the hotel. She’d lost Jack in the crowd and was steadily making her way to the exit when she ran headlong into a chest and narrowly avoided the drink that sloshed out of its accompanying hand.
Penny blinked herself back to the present and looked at the same chest now as Alex stood, running a hand through his sandy hair, his jawline covered with stubble, just enough to give him an edge. His eyes shined down at her.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she repeated through clenched teeth, crossing her arms. Her throat started to close because she suspected she knew the answer already. He was wearing a white T-shirt streaked with red clay stains, and dark shorts that hugged around his thighs in a way she definitely wasn’t thinking about.
“Dom didn’t tell you?”
Suspicions confirmed.
He wastechnicallyan old friend of Dom’s. When Alex started on tour, Dom was finishing up his long career. They’d met up on the court more than once, and Dom’s final match—in the second round at the US Open—was against the much younger man, who was on his way to his very first championship.
