Page 113 of Beg Me

“How did they know?” I ask Jory. “I told them last night that we weren’t playing.”

“Long story.” He half smiles. “Your brother called me this morning, and then called Mira, I think.”

“Miles called me last night, too.”

His brows pull together. “How’d that go?”

“I’ll tell you about it later.”

“We’re ready to get started on Court 3,” George says into the microphone. “This is Match 13 on your brackets, ladies and gentlemen. We have Jill Jenkins and Darrin Beren taking on Markie St. James and Jory Plath.”

The crowd cheers as the four of us meet to shake hands. George reminds us of the rules as we take our places on the court. We do our best to loosen up in the small amount of time that we have to work with. It’s not enough, but it’ll have to work.

A bubble of anxiety starts to pop in my stomach. I’m usually so good about not getting nervous. This is my dominion, after all. But this all happened so fast, the tide changed in the blink of an eye, and I didn’t have time to prepare. My game face got left in the car.

The ball is handed to Darrin, and he takes his position behind the baseline, waiting for the instruction to begin.

George raises his hand and then lets it fall dramatically to his side.

The crowd roars in applause.

Darrin drops the ball and drives his serve diagonally across the court toward Jory. Jory handles it easily, firing a deep return down the sideline.

Jill’s next shot comes up short, but I dig it without any trouble, dropping a soft dink into the opposite corner. By the time they react, the ball is already bouncing twice.

I lift my hands, a burst of excitement ripping through me, as I turn to Jory. He gives me a high five and takes the ball from George.

“Good job,” Jory says. “Let’s keep it going.”

I face our opponents, ready to work. My nerves are gone. I’m in the zone.

The crack of Jory’s serve echoes behind me. Darrin struggles with the power but manages to get a paddle on it. I send it back with interest, painting the sideline.

Jill reaches it, but her shot hangs.

Rookie mistake.

I scoop it up, and feather another dink into the open court, winning the point.

The crowd goes wild.

“There we go,” I say, clapping my hands. “We got this.”

Jory fires another serve to Darrin’s backhand. He twists, trying to recover, but the ball lands just inside the baseline before he can get his paddle on it.

“That’s a point,” George announces. “That’s 3-0, Team St. James.”

Jory lifts a brow. “Team St. James, huh?”

“I don’t know where he got that,” I say, laughing, too.

“Sure, you don’t.”

“I guess this means you need a shirt with my name on the back.”

He narrows his eyes playfully.

“I could have so much fun with this,” I say, teasing him.