Page 22 of Double Fault

She pulls out a chair and plops into it. “It’s my lucky number.”

“Three?” I shudder in an exaggerated way. “I hate odd numbers.”

Amusement lightens her eyes a hue. “Anoddfear to have, but who am I to judge?”

She peeks under one cloche and forks a pancake, then spoons scrambled eggs from another before dousing both in syrup.

I can’t help but wrinkle my nose. “Now who’s the strange one?”

With a shrug, she uses the side of her fork to cut a hunk of pancake. “Plain eggs are gross.” She holds the utensil aloft and points it at me. “Thanks for getting my hair products back.”

I wave a dismissive hand. “You’re welcome.”

“I don’t know what that guy’s problem was.” Despite her words, the hurt in her eyes tells me she does.

Fuck. The sadness there makes me thankful I got the guy fired. “He’s always been a dick. Don’t take it personally.”

“I just wanted you to know I appreciate it. My hair is thankful too.”

With a laugh, I spear a piece of pineapple. “You’re welcome, and your hair is as well.”

She picks up her coffee and takes a sip. When she closes her eyes and exhales, it looks like she’s experiencing some sort of heavenly enlightenment. It occurs to me then, how early it is. “Have you slept at all?”

She lowers the mug and opens her eyes. “About three hours. I’m exhausted.” Attention averted, she cuts another piece of pancake. “But my body can’t seem to sleep.”

“You should try.”

“Maddie will probably be up soon. It’s fine. I’ll deal with it.”

“Jetlag can be rough. Some people never get used to it, but the first time is always the worst. Go back to bed after you eat. Practice isn’t for a few hours, and my first game isn’t until Monday.”

“How long does all of this last?” She circles her fork in the air.

“If I make it all the way to the final, then it’s fifteen days, though most are fourteen.”

Her mouth forms a perfect O. “That’s longer than I thought.”

I shrug. “There are a lot of players.”

“Will you fire me if I admit to knowing nothing about tennis?” Her lips quirk up on one side. “I could identify a racket and a ball, but that’s it.”

I lean back in the chair and bring my mug to my lips. “Nah, I’m stuck with you now.”

The sound of her responding laughter makes my stomach flip. Fuck. I lose my balance and my chair comes slamming back down into the carpet.

“Or is it that I’m stuck with you?” she counters, a mischievous glint in her dark eyes.

I shake my head, my shoulders tensing. “I guess we can agree that we’re mutually stuck.”

For the rest of breakfast, I watch my words and my thoughts, unwilling to allow my body to react to this girl. After we’re finished, I assure Sabrina one last time that I’m more than happy to keep Maddie with me for the morning so she can nap.

My little girl is still sleeping deeply when I enter our room. I grab a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, then sneak into the bathroom to change.

Once I’ve returned to the main area, I snag my phone from the dining room table, discovering I have a text from Fisher waiting.

Fisher: How’s it going with Sabrina? Liking her any better?

My throat tightens.

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