"Your down the line forehand needs refining," he said, handing me my racket. "But your backhand is looking strong."
"Thanks." I took the racket, wondering if I'd ever lose the sense of awe I felt in his presence.
Dirk Cresswell was tennis royalty. Fifteen Grand Slams. Held the record for the fastest serve in the world. Churning out world-class winners from his academy here with ongoing regularity.
I was lucky to be here. I knew that. He knew that.
What he didn't know was how close I'd come to throwing it all away by sleeping with his daughter.
I hoped.
"Heard you hung out with Mia yesterday?"
I was so fucked.
Using the poker face I'd honed through years of facing insults about my Mum at school, I nodded. "Yeah. She was kind enough to play tour guide."
"Mia's got a good heart." He stared off into the distance and I was grateful to escape that penetrating stare. "I'd hate to see anyone take advantage of that."
Shit. Was he warning me off because he suspected or he knew what we'd done?
"Mia's aware my focus is on improving my tennis while I'm here. I enjoyed our tour. But no one's taking advantage of anyone." I kept my tone light, devoid of emotion, desperate to get back to smashing balls and avoid any potential slip-ups.
Because unless Dirk was lulling me into a false sense of security before booting me out, he knew nothing and was just giving me the trite warning any father would give a guy like me.
"Glad to hear it." Dirk turned his head to stare at me and I felt the chill right down to my bones. "Because the thing is, Kye, I don't care how goddamn talented you are. And I don't give a rat's ass about your dad’s friendship."
He took a step closer, trying to intimidate. "If you mess with my daughter in any way, I'll personally kick your ass back to Sydney so quick your head will spin faster than my world record serve you seem so determined to beat."
With that, he turned and strode away, and I exhaled the breath I'd been inadvertently holding.
On the upside, he seemed to think I had talent.
On the downside, he'd confirmed what I already knew. Screw with Mia and I was out on my ass.
What if it were too late?
Chapter 16
KYE
Fourteen days into executing my grand plan of pushing Mia away, I wondered what the hell I was doing.
During the first week, I'd lost every single one of my practice matches in a major trial and been the laughing stock of my fellow trainees. In the second week, I'd lost my temper on court when a younger opponent had whipped the pants off me. And when I wasn't serving double faults or missing lobs, I was touchy, grouchy and thoroughly pissed off.
Not to mention the worst case of blue balls I'd ever had.
Wasn't like I'd had a ton of sex, despite what dickheads at school used to say because of where I lived and my access to strippers. But looked like having sex with Mia made me crave more, with her, in a big way and it was seriously putting me off my game.
To make matters worse, I'd deliberately snubbed her. Several times. Once when she'd waited for me after an in-house tournament, another when she'd ambushed me outside my villa.
I wasn't proud of the way I'd treated her both times—cold, aloof, almost cruelly cutting—but it was the only way to keep my sanity and keep my deal with myself, and Dad, unofficially.
Dirk's warning a fortnight ago only cemented what I already knew. Any involvement with Mia would spell the end of my stint here, and the end of my burgeoning tennis career.
The stupid thing? I wouldn't mind so much if it were only me involved, but the prospect of facing Dad's disappointment again? No way in hell I'd let that happen.
"Your game today sucked."
I glanced up from my squatting position where I was packing my bag, to see Mia standing over me, hands on hips, looking like an avenging angel in a mid-thigh white summer dress that made me want to drag her down to lose the halo.
"Tell me something I don't know," I muttered, zipping the bag and straightening. "I've got a post-match meeting with one of the coaches so I'll see you round—"
"You're avoiding me. I get it." She pinned me with a no-nonsense stare that alerted me to the fact this wouldn't be an easy brush-off like the other times. "Didn't pick you for a coward."
I glanced around, not wanting to have this conversation with witnesses. Everyone else had left, leaving me no excuse to bolt. "We've been through this, Mia. You know why we can't—"
"What? Why we can't be friends?" She wrinkled her nose. "Shit, Kye, I get why we can't be involved. You spelled it out pretty fucking clearly that night on the pier. But I thought …"
My heart fissured a little at the bleakness in her beautiful brown eyes. "What?"