Maggie’s breath is warm on my neck when she breathes out. “Yeah, I think that’s a good plan.”
CHAPTER 24
Maggie
One Year Ago - France
I despise the clay courts.It slows the game down, forcing me to rally longer and play more strategically. I have to slide into shots and keep my balance.
Elena is having the time of her life wearing me down. I swear I can hear her gloating from across the court. There’s this controlled aggression about her and so far it’s made her consistent with every shot.
I notice, however, that something is off with her. She winces every time she uses her forehand, and even though deep down I feel a little bad for exploiting that weakness, this is a goddamn championship final and I’m here to win it.
So I force her to use her forehand more and more until her controlled aggression just becomes aggression. She falters and loses her balance sliding on more than one occasion, allowing me to score.
The umpire gives the announcement that makes my heartrace a million miles per minute. “Game, set, match, Maggie Taylor. Two sets to one. Six-seven, six-two, six-four.”
I’ve won plenty of tournaments in the past, and yet—each win brings up the emotions that I try to carefully control. My hands tremble the slightest bit when Elena and I shake hands. I lean in and quietly ask, “Are you okay?”
Elena’s face is stoic and for once, she looks at me with something other than contempt. “Don’t feel bad, I would have done the same thing,” she says, her Polish accent more pronounced than usual. Then, she gives me a brief smile and all I can do is stand there, shocked, until someone hands me my trophy.
Instead of a pub or bar,Rowan and I end up at a fancy French restaurant for dinner. He looks hot as hell in a green button up, his sleeve rolled up to his elbows and his hair wavy and wild, looking blonder now from being in the sun for the past couple of weeks.
Jacob joins us again, a tradition that started last year in London, but this time, he brings a friend. I pick my jaw up off the floor when Elena sits across from me at the table. Both men look between us, expecting a fight. But even though she’s one of my biggest rivals, I don’t have anything personal against her. Truth is, I admire her strength and tenacity on the court, even if we’ve never connected off-court.
“Good match today,” she says first, breaking the awkward silence.
I smile and nod at her. “I thought for sure you’d have me beat. You seem to do really well on the clay courts.”
“I’ll beat you at Wimbledon, don’t worry. Even though it’sgrass,” she says, cocky smirk in place. It reminds me of Jacob and his incessant flirting.
“How did you two meet?” I point between them, holding my glass of wine and bringing it to my lips for a sip.
“At a tattoo parlor, believe it or not,” Jacob says, throwing a casual arm around the back of Elena’s chair. She rolls her eyes but doesn’t tell him to remove it. I can sense the chemistry between them, but I never would have paired the two of them up.
“You got another tattoo?” Rowan asks Jacob, who immediately perks up, rolling the sleeve of his button up shirt all the way up to his elbow and showing us the multitude of his tattoos.
“This is the new one. Elena actually inspired it.” Jacob grins and points at the new tattoo which is a string of words in cursive handwriting. I squint and finally make out what it says.“There’s nothing worse than being ordinary.”
“It’s a stupid one, I told him to get one of an animal,” Elena chimes in and my eyebrows fly to my hairline.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, curious as to how these two ended up getting tattoos together.
“I got a lion,” she says proudly, showing us her forearm which is in fact the depiction of a lion’s head, roaring.
“That’s amazing,” Rowan says, admiring it. “Yours is good too,” he says to Jacob, who frowns at us.
“Well, I’d like to see you two get tattoos. How about a bet? Whoever wins the French open next year—men or women’s singles—has to get a tattoo.” He smirks, looking me dead in the eye. He knows I’m competitive. We all are, but he’s trying to get me to crack and take the bet.
“I’ll do you one better,” Rowan says and my head whips over to him. “The pair of winners have to get matching tattoos,” he says.
I groan and everyone turns to look at me.
“What, afraid of a little needle?” Elena taunts.
“No, he’s been trying to talk me into matching tattoos for almost a decade now. How many times do I have to say no?” I ask Rowan.
“Hey, a bet is a bet. And who said you’re gonna win? Lioness over here might take your Grand Slam,” Rowan says, nodding his head at Elena.
