Page 26 of Off Court Fix

“He’s cute. If you’re going to be spending some time here, you might as well have a little fun.”

I shake my head. “The last time I listened to you about having some fun with a guy—” Shutting my mouth, I stop myself. But not before I say enough that Alyssa gets it.

“No way. You slept with someone?”

“Alyssa,” I hiss, my eyes flaring to the women who havealllooked our way.

She clearly doesn’t care. “Who?”

“Ms. Draper.”

I might not have thought bringing Alyssa to the club today totally through. I don’t want to look because whatever I had in mind regarding Crosby at this club didn’t begin here with my best friend. I’m caught off guard. And when I finallydolook at him, I hate myself. Because why does he have to be a sexist, lying pig andsogood-looking?

“Aren’t you...” Alyssa tilts her head at Crosby in question. “You’rethe...”

Guy who railed me in the backseat of his car?

“Crosby King,” he introduces himself to Alyssa. “I’m themanager.And Ms. Draper and I have cleared up the misunderstanding that happened out in Indian Wells.”

I roll my eyes. The only thing Crosby made clear in my hotel room that night was that he’s a pig and still thought he had a chance.

Alyssa takes her sunglasses off and places them on the table, and I know she’s about to throw down.

“Alyssa, why don’t you head down to the beach? I’ll do a quick walkabout with Dave and meet you in twenty.” I hope my tone is insisting enough.

It’s not lost on me that Dave’s name strikes Crosby hard. His jaw flexes when he clenches his teeth.

“Are you sure?” Alyssa asks me but keeps her eyes on Crosby.

“Go ahead. I’m actually looking forward to that walk.”

Crosby’s chest expands when he holds his breath, and he waits for Alyssa to leave until he exhales it, along with words laced with spitfire.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I grab my drink from the table and raise it to him. “Having lunch. Atmyclub.”

“This ismyclub.”

“It’s yours tomanage,” I remind him, looking at the monogram embroidered on his shirt. “As of yesterday, I’m a member.”

This is my nonchalant way of saying that as of yesterday, Crosby—in some way—works for me.

“You—”

“Oh, hey, Cros.” Dave crosses the terrace. “Just left your office. Sorry for all the paperwork. You ready, Maxine?”

I fold my napkin and place it on the table, letting Dave pull out my chair. And then comes Crosby’s next tell—he cocks his tongue against his cheek and gives the smallest shake of his head as I walk away with his coworker.

Dave begins speaking, and I lift my head to him, feigning an enthusiastic smile before I peek back to Crosby with a wink and continue touring the grounds of the club where he’ll be seeing plenty of my body this summer—in sight and unable to penalize.

* * *

“Quiet as hell around here. Thought we’d draw more of a crowd when you told me we’d be hitting at a beach club.”

I take a swig of my Gatorade in between huffs and wipe my face with the back of my sweatband covering my wrist. “I guess school is still going,” I tell Jack before picking up my racket, picking at a piece of short grass stuck in the rim. “When the kids are around, it won’t be so quiet, I imagine.”

“Not complaining. Can’t beat this location.”

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