Finally, my ball went out, allowing her the point.
“Fifteen–love,” Calvin called from the sideline, her parents clapping in support.
Chloe didn’t celebrate; she moved on and retrieved another ball and returned to the baseline. But there was a smirk playing on her lips as she adjusted her grip on the racket, confidence radiating off her in waves.
Frustration at letting her get even a single point simmered under my skin.
The next serve came fast and deep, and I met her stroke for stroke, bringing my play closer to the net, pushing her to the edge of her court. The speed she used to get from one side of the court to the other was unbelievable as she returned every ball, keeping its spin under control, despite my best efforts.
The power in her body, the determination and competition drove me deep, refusing to give in, to let her win. I wanted this. Wanted her to—
“COME ON!” she yelled, cutting off my train of thought, the ball bouncing out of bounds.
15–15
A swing in my direction, and my turn to smirk. Fury was alight in her eyes, replacing the playfulness that had been there.
“Game on,” I mouthed to her. And her expression melted away into a cold look, but I could see behind her mask, the lust for the competition, the addiction. The attraction.
Chloe Murphy was savage, out for blood, and I couldn’t help but hope it was mine.
We continued to play, matching each other point for point.
30–15
30–30
40–30
All the way up to match point. Calvin shouted out instructions from the sideline, but it might as well have been just the two of us here, both locked into the fight unfolding for the final point.
Sweat was dripping off me, the humid air thick. Rain was coming, that was for sure, dark clouds rolling off the Atlantic. It was only a matter of time.
This was winner takes all.
I wiped my sweaty palm on my shorts, rolling my shoulders back as I prepared for the final assault. I leaned forward, ready to pounce.
Chloe got back into position, the ball gripped in her hand, and for a second, the briefest of moments, I could’ve sworn she hesitated, her gaze dropping. I looked down to see what she was stuck on, but all I found was my gold necklace, dangling down over my sports bra as normal.
The ballflewat my feet, clearly out. My brow furrowed. With her accuracy, I didn’t think there was any way she hadn’t meant for that serve to be out.A warning shot.
“Paying attention, Costa?” She grinned.
“Serve again, Murphy,” I shot back.
Chloe struck again, firing the ball across. I was ready this time, swinging my racket low. We rallied, waiting each other out as we senteach other over our respective halves of the court. The sweat on my brow, the heat in the air, every muscle aching with the movement, but all that mattered was this final point.
I hit an overhead, trying to get her out with the spike of the ball. Chloe sprinted across the hard surface, chasing down the milliseconds she had until the ball bounced out of reach.
My heartbeat stumbled in my chest at the flare of her skirt, the way it floated in the air, revealing the tan lines of her legs, where sun-kissed skin met pale.
I wondered how bright I could make that skin with that blush of hers.
She struck the ball, the edge of her racket making up the distance, when the clouds that had been gathering suddenly got darker and heavy rain began pouring down on us.
I was distracted as her mom squealed from the sidelines, using her handbag as an umbrella as she retreated from the court, her father following suit.
“Make sure you clear up!” Calvin shouted as he followed, shooting Chloe a cheeky look. Wilson, who’d been lying by the side of the court, jumped into action, chasing down the balls on the court as if she’d been waiting for her moment to shine.
