How did she like to be touched? Would Sydney’s fingers ghost along Reese’s body to pull her higher and higher, or would Reese reverse the roles, Sydney pinned underneath her as she made Sydney squirm with want?
For the first time in years, she wanted to know the answers to all of these questions. Thesepossibilities.
She didn’t care how it had started—as a chance to allay her own confusion, to see what she’d missed in her years with Grant and whether she should have suspected his infidelity—because Sydney was here now.
And she never missed a good shot when it dropped in front of her.
“Good to see you, Sydney. Give me just a second.” Sara Santiago’s assistant let Sydney into her almost entirely white office as Sara sat behind her desk, typing quickly on her laptop.
Sara’s black hair was cropped short, and she wore a white pantsuit that made her blend in with the office decor. Herlook was juxtaposed with a splash of color from her cherry-red shirt that perfectly matched her lipstick.
“You, too.” And really, Sydney meant it. She’d always felt like Sara was in her corner. Realistic when needed. Shrewd when warranted. But always an advocate for Sydney’s career.
As she waited for Sara to finish up, she scanned the curved window that made up most of the office, providing a panoramic view of the city below and of Biscayne Bay. Her skin prickled, and she wrapped the light jacket she’d brought in more tightly around her. Sara was notorious for the temperature of her office. She’d probably add an igloo if she could get away with it.
Sara shut her laptop and rocked back in her chair, studying Sydney. “You look good, King. Seems like your R&R’s been having the desired effect?”
Sydney nodded as she eased into the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “I’d like to think so.”
She watched as Sara’s lips tipped into a smile. “So, tell me, what’s new?”
“I’ve been up in Stoneport, my hometown, for the past few weeks. I’ve been playing casually at the tennis center I used to train at. I’ve been living in a hotel for the longest period to date, which I never thought would happenafterretirement.”
“That dreaded word: retirement. I wondered if you’d use it.” Sara continued to study her, likely looking for any sign that she wasn’t as okay as she seemed. In another life, she would have made one hell of a psychologist.
Sydney placed her palms down on her jogger-clad thighs and flexed her leg out straight. “I’d like to think of myself as a realist. Especially these days.”
“Well then, realistically, how are you thinking about your future? Facets of your career don’t need to stop just because you’re not playing professional tennis anymore.”
Sitting up straighter, Sydney tried to imagine what that meant. None of her prior brands had wanted to continue their relationship; they’d signed the termination paperwork weeks agoon those endorsement deals when her retirement had been finalized. It was hard to sell a racket or a nutritional supplement when she wasn’t playing at the competitive level.
Still, her curiosity was piqued. “I assume you want me to ask what exactly those facets are?”
Sydney had enough money for a very comfortable life at this point, even if she never lifted a finger again, but sitting back and lounging all day wasn’t ever going to make her truly happy. It was hard to envision a world where she didn’t have a purpose, something that made her excited to get up every morning.
“I got an interesting call last week, from The Tennis Network.” Sara paused, letting her words hang between them. “They wanted to discuss the possibility of you coming on board as a commentator.”
A flood of excitement rushed through Sydney, though it was battling fiercely with other less positive emotions. “Is there a formal offer? Or are we just discussing hypotheticals and gauging interest?”
“I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up with the news, but they’ve had some scandal recently,” Sara said, lowering her voice even though they were alone. She was a professional through and through. “Dan Cody.”
Sydney already had an idea where this was going. Cody was a player turned coach turned commentator who was a veritable energy generator for the rumor mill when it came to inappropriate relationships with the young female players whose careers he’d been helping to mold. It was a disgusting abuse of power, and more common than it should have been.
“So it’s true then? About his relationships with players?” Sydney asked, a sickly feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t imagine, at fifteen or sixteen, having someone she trusted with her life—someone like Brian, who’d been a father figure to her—abuse that power.
“Unfortunately.” Sara’s voice was laced with contempt, and it seemed like this was neither of the women’sfirst point of exposure to the seedy underbelly of the tennis world. “Nothing can be done legally at this point, but he’s out, and the network has deemed him persona non grata.”
“Well, that’s good at least.”
“It’s a small step in the right direction, though whether the network has always known remains to be seen.”
Sydney had met Cody a few times at tournaments and social events over the years. She’d always gotten the feeling that he was smarmy, with his too-charming smile and offers to discuss her career and give her ‘pointers.’ Gross. She’d always stayed as far away from him as possible.
Good riddance. “So out with the old?—”
“And in with theyou, if you’re interested,” Sara said before adding, “There are three US-based tournaments coming up in the next few months. They’d like to try you out as a guest commentator in D.C. and Cleveland, and if all goes well, debut you on a wider scale at the US Open in September. Depending on the feedback as well as your ongoing interest, they’d make a formal offer to join the commentary team for next season.”
Sydney let out a whoosh of air. Commentating and coaching were both possible trajectories she’d considered, but until a few weeks ago, it had felt like she was treading water, trying to make it day to day.
