Page 21 of Off Court Fix

“I don’t,” I tell her as she leans against the bar top, and I also don’t drop my eyes to her chest like I feel she might wish I would, judging by how she’s pushing her arms closer to her body, giving her bra a second hand. “A statement was issued already.”

The redhead hums, twisting the straw in her short glass. “Something off the record.”

She leans forward now, and I know this type—the type of woman who isn’t afraid to use her body for what she wants but then is the first to call out a guy for accepting the invitation, labeling him a pig.

It’s me, I’m normally that type of pig, but not tonight and not for the petite red head. I’m grinding my teeth, looking at the tall brunette across the bar, the one letting Brandon Summers run a finger up and down her arm, touching skin I haven’t yet explored, given the long-sleeved dress Maxine wore the night we met. It’s messing with my head, considering I’ve felt the race of her pulse frominside.

“I don’t have anything of interest to tell you,” I tell her, wondering if the grimace on my face is evident as the scene across the bar unfolds. Maxine bends to say something into Brandon’s ear, and I swear, if they get up and walk out of this bar together, I’ll blow whatever might be left of our cover.

“Well, if you do have a story to tell,” the reporter tells me, sliding her card along the bar. “I’m ready to listen when you’re prepared to talk.”

My eyes flick to the card.

Samantha McDonnell

Journalist,In Sportsmagazine

I pocket the card to be polite. “You’ll be the first one I call, Samantha.”

She smiles, continuing small talk and finally I can release the tight hold I have on the glass when Maxine walks out of the bar right past Samantha and me—thankfully solo.

I attempt counting to fifteen for a few reasons, but mainly so the fact that I’m about to follow Maxine isn’t so obvious. Thankfully the reporter turns her attention to Brandon, who comes over for another round, and everyone else appears not to notice because I only make it to twelve before I put my drink down and leave with no eyes following.

I’m barely to the lobby when I see Maxine, walking away from a gaggle of young women who have stopped her for an autograph. By the time I pass them, as Maxine has drifted out of sight, one of them calls me a dick under their breath, and I don’t stop to correct them or make conversation because, in all honesty, they’re not entirely wrong.

I get to an intersection in the hallway and look right and left, but hang left before stopping a step later, wondering what I’m doing exactly. Apparently, Maxine wonders the same thing.

“What do you think you’re doing? Following me?” she speaks from the doorway of a room down the hall to my right.

One look at her and I remember what it is I’m doing.

“I should call security.”

“Do it,” I challenge, stalking to her door.

She bites her lip in poor protest, and I’m about to yank it from her teeth with my own. But I can’t exactly make a scene in the hallway, so I push past her into the room.

When the door shuts, she folds her arms defensively, the tautness of her muscles evident. “Get out.”

Looking around the suite, I take in the neatly lined up shoes, the stack of rackets, piles of folded clothes. I peek into the open door leading to the bedroom, the blankets already prepared by turndown service.

I sigh and sink into a chair in the corner, and when it’s clear to Maxine that I’m not leaving she begins to speak.

“You owe me an apology.Multiple,” she seethes.

“Multiple?”

“You lied.”

“I lied,Amy?I wasn’t supposed to umpireyourmatch. Trust me. I still have a headache from Victoria’s squawking.”

A look of disgust flashes across her face. “It doesn’t matter. You should’ve excused yourself the moment you were assigned to it.”

Tilting my head, I ask, “Oh, really? And tell the people what? I got with Maxine Draper when she was stupid enough to get in the car with a total stranger in the middle of fucking New York City and let him hit it from the back?”

That look of disgust blends with a shade of hurt, and I know I’m being unfair, and having this conversation after a few drinks might’ve been a poor decision in hindsight. But how would she expect me to handle it? I can be fair. Iwasfair.

“That penalty was uncalled for.” Maxine’s face is back to ragey, her eyes narrowing. “Men change their shirts on the courtallthe time because they can’t handlesweat. That little girl bumped into me, and what, it’s fine for me to play a whole set soaked with sticky Gatorade? You’re disgusting. You should be fired for that.”

---