Figures. It’s the same club his entire family goes to, and I’ve been there several times to play with Sebastian, who uses tennis to let off steam. He’s really good, and I’m one of the few of us brothers who can keep up with him.
–Me: Look, why don’t I play Heath tomorrow? You can go have your date guilt-free.
–George: Really? You don’t mind?
–Me: I have some spare time in the morning.
I’m actually supposed to go to Emmett’s place to see my brothers for brunch, but they can wait. This is more important.
–George: That’d be great. I owe you one, my man.
–Me: Not at all. It’ll be good to catch up.
–George: I’ll let him know you’re coming.
–Me: Actually, don’t do that. I want to make it a surprise. I haven’t hung out with him in ages. It’ll be fun to see his face.
–George: Got it. I won’t say a word, then. Thanks!
–Me: No problem.
And thankyou, George. I’ll have the perfect opportunity to “run into” Heath and make that fucker talk.
* * *
The next morning, I arrive at the club before eight. Its brochure says everyone’s welcome, but what it really means is “everyone who can fork over the five-figure membership fee every year.” The place isn’t just for playing tennis. It also has a huge track for horseback riding, and I keep my horse here. I don’t get to ride her often—no time these days—but the staff ensures my baby gets sufficient exercise.
A lot of people come here to hang out and network. More than half the members don’t really play or ride. They come to chat, while swinging their rackets a few times so it looks like they’re getting some exercise.
There are also people like Sebastian, who comes here to play for real, but he’s an exception. I change into my riding gear, take out Morning Star—a gorgeous Arabian mare I bought three years ago—and ride her hard, needing to vent some frustration.
Aspen hasn’t responded to my texts. I tried calling again, but all my attempts got sucked into voicemail.
Damn it.
Although I couldn’t sleep last night, my head is crystal clear. I rein in my frustration at her continued refusal to talk. Getting the silent treatment doesn’t mean I’m going to sit around wringing my hands until Monday.
I can gather all the data I need before we see each other, so I can get a full picture of what the hell happened. Exactly what was it that Heath said that she didn’t confront me fourteen years ago?
Half an hour before nine, I get off Morning Star, who settles down and stops prancing when I pull out a few apples. She munches happily, nostrils flaring.
I check the time and go into the locker room to grab a quick shower to get rid of the horse smell. Then it’s into tennis whites for my “match” with Heath.
“Grant?”
Speak of the devil. I turn and take in my old roommate. He’s the same—tall, with broad shoulders and mean eyes that assess everything and everyone around him for utility to benefit himself. Unlike in college, the end of his nose now has visible pores, looking like an unripe strawberry. Faint brackets are etched into either end of his thin lips, making him appear parsimonious. And I can see why George said Heath wants to get into shape. His belly is sporting a little paunch.
I fake a friendly frat-boy smile that would make my dad proud. “Heath! Just the man I’m here to see.”
“Me?” He laughs. “For what?”
“George has a hot date, apparently. So I told him I’d play with you instead.”
“That dog.” He laughs harder. “I knew you guys were still tight. When I asked him about you, he was all like mysterious and shit.”
I cock an eyebrow. “You wanted to talk to me?”
“Yeah. I got your info from another guy who got funding from you.” He opens a locker and takes off his shirt, revealing an overly tanned chest. “I have a business idea I wanted to pitch. You’re in VC now, right?”
