Scottie shot me a flat look. “We can all act like assholes on the court,” she said in defense.
I took another drink from my glass. “Speak for yourself.”
“Now, now, you are no exception,” she pointed out. “Especially on a clay court. I always dread having to play you there.”
I shrugged, feeling a slight smug smile grow across my lips. “It’s my best surface.”
“But just because she won in Paris, it doesn’t mean you get to hate her.”
“I don’t hate her.” She arched her eyebrow, but I rolled my head back, wishing I could somehow escape this conversation. How was I supposed to feel about her? She wasn’t exactly the most likeable person I’d encountered, and then the history, and the mess.
“Hateisn’t the right word,” I added. “Strongly dislikeandavoid at all costsis really the vibe.”
“Well, she’s staying here. Maybe that’s a little bit of a reason to get to know her a little better.”
My features crumpled. “I know her well enough.”
“How? Because she’s won against you a few times?”
“It’s notjustthat.”
Scottie’s head tilted with suspicion. “Are you saying it’s notat leastpart of it?”
“Of course it is, you’ve seen how she plays. It’s... hard not to take that personally.” I took a deep breath, trying to forget the severity of her strikes, the speed in her returns. If I wasn’t on the court with her, I might have found myself a fan. “But trust me on this. I know enough to not want to be her friend. It’s not something I’m interested in.”
Scottie looked at me long and hard before she said, “It was interesting... earlier.”
“When?” I asked, wondering why she was being so cryptic.
“When she drank.”
I forced my shoulders to shrug. Forced myself to remain casual as I took another sip. To meet her assessing gaze. “I’m not surprised. People experiment all the time.”
“I got the sense it was a thing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied.
Judging from the look across her face, I was fooling nobody.
“I just had a feeling,” she said.
“Well, feel something else,” I suggested, staring her down. She didn’t need to know the truth.Nobodyneeded to know the truth.
“Fine,” she relented. “But if you need somebody to talk to, even vent—”
“You’re there. I get it,” I said, finishing her sentence for her. I pulled back at how harsh I sounded, correcting my tone as I said, “Thank you, I appreciate it.”
Scottie’s sunshine warmth was unrelenting—her friendship too, apparently.
“Now, come on.” She stood up. “There’s a dance I could teach you for social media.”
“Really?” I grimaced at the idea, shaking my near-empty glass. “I don’t think I have the coordination for this.”
She waved me off, setting her phone up on the counter, a pop song bursting into life through the speaker.
“Come on, I’ll teach you.” I wanted to fight back, but given the other option was reappearing on the patio, Scottie won.
And that’s how we spent the last few hours of that night, the rest of the group slowly following us inside, dancing around the kitchen island, learning stupid dances, drinking the beach house dry. And even when Chloe and Henrik joined us, I tried not to care and focused on my friends instead.
