Page 46 of Double Fault

He shoves his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “You need something safer.”

“Then you buy it,” I quip. “It’s four. I’m off, so if you’d let me go…”

He steps back, hands held up in defense, but doesn’t say a word.

Teeth gritted, I take off and I don’t look back.

“Sabrina,” I say to myself as I speed toward Lucy and Alyssa’s, “you absolute fool.”

CHAPTER 13

NOAH

When my headis in the game, when I’m entirely focused, time tends to speed by far too quickly.

Today, there’s only one match standing between me and the Delray Beach finals.

I jump up and down, shaking out my nerves. I haven’t been keyed up like this over tennis in years. But right now, I feel like I might throw up in the nearby trashcan.

“Hey.” Fisher grabs my shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“Just nerves.” With a huff, I shake out my arms.

He grasps me by the shoulders, forcing me to stand still. “Look at me. Your game has been amazing. And most importantly, you’re having fun out there. Don’t forget that. Win or lose, enjoy yourself.”

Heart pounding in my ears, I stare back at my friend. “I want to win.”

“I know you do.” He chuckles. “That’s what everyone wants. But don’t focus so intently on winning that you forget to play the game.”

On a long exhale, I nod.

I’m up against Konstantinos Aetos from Greece. He’s a year younger than me and has incredible potential. Until recently, hedidn’t have his head in the game. Now that he’s focused, he’s a real threat to my standing. And if I win, I’ve still got to make it through finals.

“You’ll be fine,” Fisher says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Take a breath and do the damn thing.”

From there, he and the rest of my coaching team leave for the player boxes, and I grab my stuff and head for the tunnel.

When the announcer calls my name, the applause is deafening.

That’s one advantage I’ll have over Konstantinos. We’re on American soil, so the majority of spectators are here to root for me.

As I step out into the sunshine, I wave at the crowd and head to my chair. Once I’ve set my bag down, I sit and retie my shoelaces—a dumb quirk I’ve always had—then pull out my racket.

It’s showtime.

Two hours in, I’m drenched with sweat. My black shirt and shorts, thankfully, hide most of it. Though it’s February, the Florida heat is doing its thing.

I’m fighting to get the tiebreak for the second set. If I lose this set, then Konstantinos will move on to the final. If I win, then I have a chance at redemption in the third set.

With a grunt, I send the ball flying back over the net.

“Set point.”

As Konstantinos prepares for his serve, I sway back and forth, studying him, trying to anticipate which direction he’ll send the ball.

He makes his serve and I dart to the left, but the ball hits the net.

Once the ball girl has removed it from the court, Konstantinos pulls another ball from his pocket and bounces it. The whole time, he shakes his head like he’s annoyed.

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