Chapter Eight
The fact that Isaac could make sweatpants and an old t-shirt look good was about the most unfair thing ever, as far as Julian was concerned.
Especially since he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and not in the sexy, effortless way Isaac managed it.
He always looked ridiculous in a t-shirt, his arms practically noodles compared to Isaac’s. Generally, Julian didn’t get self-conscious, but right now…
Isaac looked like he belonged here, and Juliandefinitelylooked like he didn’t. There was no getting around it, and he was starting to worry that other people would know he had no business squaring off against a man ranked fourteenth in the world at this.
But he couldn’t have refused Isaac. Not when he’d looked so excited about the idea, not when he’d told Julian how much he was enjoying hanging out.
Julian was enjoying hanging out, too. He just would have preferred to do it in a situation where he didn’t have to be good at sport.
“Hey, catch,” Isaac said, tossing a tennis ball over the net to Julian.
By some miracle, Julian caught it one-handed. Even though he’d been distracted by the strip of skin exposed between the waistband of Isaac’s sweatpants and the hem of his t-shirt, which had ridden up while he’d been stretching.
Stretching was probably important, but Julian hadn’t done it. Too late now.
He gripped the ball tightly for a moment, feeling the weight of it in his hand. Isaac grinned over at him, clearly waiting for him to serve.
“Before I die of old age,” Isaac prodded.
Julian snorted, but tossed the ball in the air and batted it over the net.
Isaac hit it right back at him—and past him—without even moving his feet.
“I told you not to expect much,” Julian called as he chased down the ball. He didn’t expect tobeatIsaac, at all, but he had thought he might be able to provide some meaningful opposition.
Apparently not.
“We’re just warming up,” Isaac said kindly. “You’ll get into the rhythm of it.”
Julian sincerely doubted that, but he tossed the ball back over the net to let Isaac serve this time. He wasn’t confident that was the right way to do things, but it seemed sensible to take turns.
Isaac hit the ball over the net in a wide, slow arc, giving Julian plenty of time to get his racquet under it and smack it back over. He grinned as it bounced on the other side, and watched Isaac hit it back.
Going easy on him, as promised.
He managed to return it again, but on the third attempt, fumbled the hit and ended up knocking the ball with the very edge of his racquet, sending it bouncing off to the side.
At least chasing it down every time he missed was good exercise.
They followed the same pattern for a few more rounds, though Julian could feel himself getting better at it as time went on, anticipating Isaac’s moves even if he didn’t even seem to be breaking a sweat.
At least he was learning something. And thiswasfun, like when they were kids and Isaac was just starting to get serious about this. He’d outgrown Julian as an opponent quickly, but Julian had been honored to be chosen in the first place.
He was honored again now. Isaac probably picked his tennis partners carefully, and Julian knew that this morning made him one of a select group.
To his shock, the next time he hit the ball over the net, it bounced once, too far away for Isaac to get to it in time, and hit the back fence of the court.
Julian stared, his mouth hanging open, shocked at what he’d just done.
“Hey, you’re getting this,” Isaac said enthusiastically.
Julian’s whole face broke into a grin. His muscles ached, he was dripping sweat, and he was sure he’d looked ridiculous the entire time, but… he’d gotten a ball past Isaac.
That was worth celebrating.
