I tried to focus, nodding along, even as my pen went rogue, sketching a very unflattering caricature of my opponent with steam practically shooting from her ears. By the time I closed my notebook, the plan had morphed from words on paper into a game in my head, a match I was already itching to play.
When they left, I sat there for a moment in the quiet, staring at my notes. Tomorrow it wouldn’t be about plans or bullet points; it would be about stepping onto that court and making it happen. And honestly? I couldn’t wait.
I flicked off the overhead light and settled back against the pillows, phone in hand. I told myself I was just going to check the weather for tomorrow, maybe peek at my match time again. Instead, my thumb somehow found its way to Instagram.
The first thing that popped up? A photo of Olivia from earlier, hair pulled back, laughing at something just out of frame. Probably her manager.
Then her story caught my eye, a photo of a hopelessly crooked car parked outside the players’ hotel with the caption:Tennis players and parking... It’s a tragedy.
Without thinking, I hit reply.
Three dots appeared instantly, like she’d been waiting for someone to bite.
Shecannotmeanthatmoment. The one where I collapsed onto the couch after training, possibly leaving a faint impression of drool like some kind of abstract modern art. And my mom didn’t even have the decency to wake me up before Olivia saw me? Truly, the universe has a twisted sense of humor.
My brain does a double-take. Cute as in “harmless” or cute as in “I didn’t mind watching you sleep”? And why does that second option make my heart feel like it just skipped a set?
Three little dots appear. Disappear. Reappear. She’s thinking. This is torture.
She could’ve said “asleep” or “tired” or literally anything else, but no, she went with soft. And now my brain is short-circuiting like a faulty scoreboard.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard. Say something witty. No, say something normal. Or say nothing before you accidentally propose.
Before I can choose, another bubble pops up.
I set my phone down, but my brain didn’t quiet as easily. Her last message replayed in my head, warm in a way I didn’t want to think too hard about right now. My heart was still doing this weird fluttering thing, the kindthat didn’t happen on court, didn’t happen during interviews, didn’t happen anywhere else except with her.
I tried to force myself to focus on something else; the ceiling fan, the faint hum of the air conditioner, even the rhythm of my own breathing but every little thing reminded me of her words. Cute. Not just any cute, Olivia cute. And that was the worst, most distracting kind of cute.
I rolled onto my side, phone still warm in my hand, and silently cursed her. And maybe, just a little, thanked her too.
CHAPTER 13
OLIVIA
I’d barely kicked my shoes off before Maddie’s voice floated from the bed.
“So… mind explaining what I just saw?”
I raised an eyebrow, unzipping my jacket. “What do you mean?”
“You were actually smiling with Alex in the gym,” she said, casual, but that smirk made it clear she was enjoying this far too much. “Alex… smiling? That’s the first genuine smile I’ve ever seen from her.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re making things up.”
“I’m making observations,” she countered. “Friendly ones.”
“It’s called sportsmanship, Maddie. You should try it.”
She snorted and went back to scrolling, but I could still feel her grin from here. I ignored it, instead, I reached for my phone, telling myself I was just checking the schedule.
Then, checking the schedule quickly turned into me just scrolling through the afternoon and evening, letting myself relax for once. I flipped between Instagram, TikTok, and random articles, laughing at memes and watching challenges I didn’t understand but secretly enjoyed.
That’s when I remembered the parking disaster outside the players’ hotel earlier. I’d snapped a quick photo of it and couldn’t resist sharing. Sliding into my Instagram story, I posted it on my stories because, honestly, it was too funny not to. Cincinnati Open really does expose tennis players who shouldn’t be trusted behind the wheel.
I wasn’t that bad at parking, thank you very much. But somehow, watching everyone else struggle made me feel a little superior and amused all at the same time.
Then a reply came in. Alex was somehow teasing me about that park story, we went back and forth for a while, the kind of light, easy exchange that made me forget how late it was. I didn’t even notice how much time had slipped until the screen dimmed in my hand and my thumb hovered over the keyboard with nothing else to say.
