Crossing the Line(3)

"Would you like a drink, Sir?"

Sir? Seriously? Even the staff in this joint acted like they had a pole stuck ten-feet up their arse.

I stared at the waiter, who looked roughly twenty-two like me, and automatically reached for a beer. A coldie would take the edge off.

A coldie would also make me crave another, then another, to help me forget every godforsaken reason I was stuck in this hellhole for the foreseeable future.

In the first wise decision I'd made in months, I chose a soft drink instead. I downed it in three gulps and set the glass on a nearby table. I should mingle. I should do a lot of things according to my dad: lose the temper and the attitude, don't waste my talent and don't screw up.

Guess I should be grateful he hadn't disowned me after I'd busted that dweeb's nose back in Sydney. But even though we'd only known about each other for the last seven years, Dad stuck by me. He understood why I slugged the prick. No one got to call my mum a hooker, among other things, and get away with it.

"Drink, Sir—"

"No." I didn't want a frigging drink. I wanted to get the hell out of here. "Thanks," I said, softening my tone when the waitress stared at me with genuine fear.

Looked like I was failing with the change of attitude already. Not wasting my talent? Remained to be seen.

I could hit a ball around a court. Very well, according to the top coaches in Australia. The thing was, they didn't understand why I played tennis. Ironic, that the very attitude they wanted drummed out of me was what drove me to smash the shit out of that furry green ball.

When I saw another waiter bearing down on me with a sushi platter, I headed for the nearest exit. A locked French door leading out onto a semi-dark terrace. Seclusion. Perfect.

I flicked the lock and stepped out onto the slate tiled terrace that overlooked the pristine grass courts. Ten in total, with another ten clay and ten indoor surfaced behind the clubhouse. I couldn't fault the facilities here. The rest? Remained to be seen.

I propped against the wall and stared at the first court, the one I'd toured earlier with Dirk Cresswell, the academy's CEO. Dirk may be legendary in American tennis circles, with his record Grand Slam wins and golden boy charm, but from the fifteen minutes he'd taken to show me around today, he seemed like a self-absorbed, pompous prick. Who I had to play nice with if I didn't want to be turfed out on my arse.

"Hey."

I turned toward the girl's voice as she stepped out of the shadows, not sure what annoyed me most. The intrusion or the way she sauntered toward me, all long legs and cocky smile.

She was just my type: tall, sexy brunette with enough hip sway to make a guy wonder what made her so confident, and bedroom eyes that hinted at sin.

Sadly, this devil had just landed in the City of Angels and sin was the last thing on my agenda.

"I'm not in the mood for company," I said, expecting her to head back inside.

She didn't falter as she strode toward me. "Too bad, because I needed some air and this terrace is big enough for the both of us."

I could've left but there was something in the way she was staring at me that had me intrigued: like she wanted me but wouldn't have a clue what to do if she got me.

"Mia." She stuck out her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"Kye." I reluctantly shook her hand. "Wish I could say the same."

"You don't like girls?" She slid her hand out of mine, the insolent quirk of her lips making me want to do something I shouldn't. Like kiss the smirk off her smart mouth.

"Love women." I took a step back, staring at her feet and slowly sweeping upward in a deliberate perusal meant to make a point. I wanted to make her squirm. It backfired, as I noted red nail polish matching her towering shoes, slim ankles, long legs, tight black dress that ended mid-thigh and hugged her lean bod, and pert tits. The frigging dress had a front zipper that just begged to be undone. Beyond hot.

By the time I reached her face, she was blushing.

"So which am I?" She leaned forward, giving me a generous glimpse of cleavage. "Girl or woman?"

If I were in the mood to flirt, Mia would've been perfect. I knew her type in a heartbeat. Good girl wanting to dabble. Her country club folks were probably inside sipping martinis and kissing arse. And Mia wanted to flirt with the jocks for a night, without the pressure of having to put out. I'd love to see how far I could push her, call her bluff. Instead, I had to drive her away before I did something stupid.

I'd had these moods before. I was better off alone.

"Honestly?"

She nodded, so I gave it to her straight.

"You're a college girl on spring break looking for a little down and dirty fun. Your folks probably drive a SUV, have dinner at the country club every night and play piss-poor tennis here weekly."