Strike to the Heart(10)

“Lots of players compete in both singles and doubles.” Admittedly, not so many top players did both anymore.

Darcy’s lopsided smile held regret. “Yes, but everybody says it’s a bad idea. It saps your singles performance.”

“I don’t care what everybody says. I like playing doubles.” I made my own decisions and, as far I was concerned, playing singles and doubles hadn’t hurt me. If I ever felt differently, I’d have to deal with it at that time. What I would do, I didn’t know. The idea of abandoning my partnership with Darcy brought a lump to my throat.

“Let’s discuss this later. We’re about to play.”

“I agree. I don’t want to think about it, but there isn’t anything to discuss unless you don’t want to be partners anymore.”

“You know that isn’t true.”

The stadium outside erupted. The match before ours was over. It was time to play.





Chapter 6

Jo

I bounced from foot to foot, ready to receive. Darcy’s words cycled through my head on a loop. It’s a bad idea. It saps your singles performance. It’s a bad idea.

The serve came, racket connecting with ball, but I read it and my body was in motion. All thoughts about anything besides the match fled my mind.

My return was good, pulling Gachev wide off the court. The ball came barreling back over the net and Darcy put it away with a well-placed volley. We touched fingertips as we returned to our positions.

Darcy and I played like a single unit. We weren’t crushing our opponents, but we were ahead by a comfortable margin. On the changeover, I glanced up at the box again. Zane wasn’t there. He hadn’t made any promises to show. I knew he had meetings to plan promotion and hammer out his training schedule. But still, part of me hoped. I didn’t want to be hoping. I didn’t want my performance to depend on whether some guy I was seeing showed up to my match. That would be foolish.

I still felt a pang whenever I thought of the French Open. My first appearance in a quarterfinal of a big tournament had been at the French Open. Instead of watching, cheering me on, and offering support, Alex decided he’d pop over to Monaco with friends—since it was so close and all. That was one of about a hundred reasons why he was an ex-boyfriend now.

At the time, I’d let it hurt my performance. I wasn’t going to set myself up like that again.

~ * ~ * ~

Jo

The taxi zipped downtown. The driver had a knack for finding the smallest opening in the traffic, slipping between cars with ease. We held hands, content to be quiet during the ride.

The buildings spun by in a blur—shades of gray and brown interrupted by trees and intersections. I didn’t often get to see much outside my hotel and the tennis center when I was in New York these days, despite growing up here. If I lost, I’d have time for shopping and sightseeing. If I didn’t, I’d be off to the next tournament right after the final. I didn’t want to end up shopping.

I hadn’t asked Zane where we were going, and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe I thought Zane’s choice would give me insight into him. I still didn’t know if I wanted insight into him. I liked him—at least what I knew, but I sensed there was so much more. No one made it to the top of any sport without drive and determination, and I’d only seen hints of those in him. What wasn’t I seeing?

The cab pulled to the curb across from a small park. Zane passed a folded bill to the driver and opened the door. I slid across the seat and Zane offered his hand to help me out. A few steps across the sidewalk and we were inside.

The smell of yeasty dough tickled my nose. On the heels of that came the fresh herbs and sizzling meat of a pizzeria.

We wound our way through the tables to a tiny booth for two in the back. The bench was hard and the tabletop chipped. The surface had been cleaned so many times that the faux wood grain pattern was worn off in spots.

Zane took my hand. “Do you trust me?”

“What?” His question caught me off guard.

“Do you trust me to order for you?”

“Oh, sure. No olives. No anchovies. Anything else is probably fine.”

Zane tapped the table. “I’ll be right back.”

I snuck a look at his ass when he turned. He filled out a pair of jeans in a mighty fine way. I’d held that ass in my hands, and I liked touching it even more than I liked looking at it.

Zane returned quickly, a couple of bottled waters in hand. “Water okay or do you want something else?”

“You called it. Water’s good.”

“I ordered the works. Should be up soon.”

“I can’t wait. I’ve been looking forward to some good New York pizza.”