“I know it sounds silly, but I really want to give it my best. Prove to myself that I can do it. It’ll really help to have you by my side,” I add, reaching out and squeezing her fingers with mine.
Maggie softens and nods. “Okay, I guess we’re in thisnow.”
An hour and a half later,Maggie and I are watching a romcom on her TV. Her feet are in my lap, covered by a throw blanket and Archie is curled up next to her, his nose by her face. As soon as I ate my breakfast sandwich, I suggested we watch a movie, but Maggie wanted to come to my house.
I’ve been so paranoid that she would find the ring hidden in my bathroom that I told her I’d go pick up Archie and hang out at her place instead. I may have claimed my living room was messy and not up to her standards, which is a blatant lie.
Her living room space is smaller than mine, the floor not as open, but there’s a certain cozyness about it. Her couches are covered in pillows and blankets, making the place seem like a home. She’s got a variety of knick-knacks and candles above the fireplace and her TV is backlit by LEDs. At the moment, they’re a soft green color.
“So—” I say, trailing off when she glares at me. I pause the movie first, and try again. “So, about the doubles thing, I know I was excited earlier and pressured you into saying yes, but if you don’t feel comfortable with it, we don’t have to do it.”
Maggie studies me for a moment and moves her toes around in my lap. I smile down at them and capture them in both my hands, kneading the arches of her feet.
“I think I’d like to try it,” she says.
I grin and tackle her in a hug, spooking Archie in the process. He huffs and moves to the dog bed in the corner of the room and I resume the movie with my head in Maggie’s lap.
“Thank you,” I say, closing my eyes against the feel of her hands running through my hair.
CHAPTER 19
Maggie
March - Palm Beach
Why the helldid I agree to a doubles exhibition match? Especially knowing that I would have to spendmoretime with Rowan. Every time I think that I can finally bring up our agreement and put an end to it, I do something stupid like this that brings me even further into his orbit.
He even gave me an out, and instead, I brought him even closer and spent the day with him and Archie like we were a family. What’s wrong with me?
After seeing too many couples fail in their relationships, including my parents, I told myself I would never go down that path. Not to mention the added pressure of the media. The last thing I want is to lose Rowan.
I’m in a sour mood by the time I get to the country club, where we’re supposed to meet with our new doubles coach. It might be a little over the top to hire a coach and put this much work into an exhibition game, but if Rowan truly wants to givedoubles a shot, we might as well give it everything we’ve got. Then he can find a permanent partner to play in championships with.
The thought of Rowan playing and practicing with someone else brings up my jealousy, but I push it down and plaster a smile on my face once I reach the court.
Rowan is already there, volleying back and forth with Anthony, our new coach. I stretch and get my racquet out, joining them on the court. Anthony’s curly hair is dark and wild, with a few white strands visible in the sunlight. I shake hands with him and Rowan gives me a side hug, throwing an arm around my shoulder.
“Ready to do this?” he asks and I nod and smile even though I’m terrified on the inside. What if he actually prefers playing doubles? When our agreement ends, I’ll lose parts of him. I can't lose him as a tennis partner too.
“Let’s start with some groundstrokes. We’ll ease into it,” Anthony says and moves near his baseline. Rowan and I do the same and we begin the drill.
The ball goes to Rowan and he lets it bounce on the court once before using his forehand stroke to send it back. The next time Anthony volleys it, it comes to me. Since I’m on the left side, I need to use my backhand. We go back and forth like this a few times until Anthony increases the pace. He sends a ball down the middle and both Rowan and I go for it at the same time. Me with my forehand, Rowan with his backhand, our racquets meeting in the middle.
“Shit, sorry,” he says, shaking out his hand from the impact.
“That’s my bad,” I mumble, even though it was both our faults.
“Okay, lesson number one. You need to communicate. Call the ball if you’re going after it.”
We both nod like two chastised little kids, and try again.This time, Rowan does call the ball, but only after I’ve already swung my racquet. His flies out of his hand and I grimace. “Sorry.”
“Jesus, are you trying to kill me?” he says, flexing his hand. “It’s just warm up, you don’t have to hit so hard.”
His comment annoys me and I snap back, “Well, I’m sorry that I can’t control my swing. Are you in this to practice or in it to win?”
He blows out a frustrated breath as he bends down to pick up his racquet and pins me with a hard stare. I straighten my spine and puff out my chest. Rowan’s gaze drops to the tops of my breasts that poke out of my yellow tennis dress, and his nostrils flare. I shift in my spot, rubbing my thighs together. Is he just as turned on as I am by our bickering?
We rarely fight when it comes to practice, mostly because we’re on opposite sides of the court. But being on the same side and not having the flexibility to do or move how we want is adding some tension between us.
