Page 36 of Off Court Fix

He gives a firm nod and reaches for his car door.

“And Crosby? The day after tomorrow, for dinner, I want a lobster roll.”

Inside, I’m frowning because it seems too far away, but I know I have an event tomorrow.

I try to read the look on his face, the one that goes from shock to intrigue. “Are you rewarding me?”

I shrug and continue to the path leading to the side entrance of my home. “I guess you’ll have to be the judge of that. But I’ll bring dessert.”

I pullmy wet hair free from the towel and hang it up before stepping into my closet. “What do you wear to dinner?”

“Dinner?” Alyssa asks over the phone. “What do you meandinner?”

I run my hand over the dresses hanging, a mixture of linen and cotton, and frown. “Not a sundress, right?” Moving over, I finger the hangers holding blouses. “Jeans. Jeans and a nice top?”

“Depends on what you’re having for dinner and who you’re eating it with. That determines the cut of the top.”

“Lobster rolls.”

“Lobster—what? What are you talking about, Max? Who are you having dinner with?”

It’s right here that I realize I don’t know if I want to tell my best friend I’m a half hour away from having dinner with Crosby King, the same guy the world watched penalize me unfairly during one of the most important moments of my life. But what the world—including Alyssa—doesn’t know is that he did it because he couldn’t stomach the idea that I was sharing parts of my body with the world that he hadn’t seen, only felt. And that was enough to drive both of us mad in different ways.

But now when I think of Crosby, my mind doesn’t automatically go back to Indian Wells, or what happened in his car before that. Instead, I think about the other day, how I didn’t just see, but felt the worry and concern shining through his glasses. Hecared, and that has to mean there’s something good and decent inside him.

Or at least, that’s what I’m telling myself. Because if I believe otherwise, I’m about to have dinner with a sexist pig.

“Dave,” I lie. “The guy who runs the tennis program at the club.”

“Theoldguy?”

I furrow my brow because I think Dave might actually be younger than Crosby. “He isn’t that old.”

“You’re going on a date with him?”

“No, no. There’s a charity match I’m playing in later this summer. We’re going over a few things about that.” It’s a half lie. I feel better about a half lie.

Alyssa hums through the phone. “Casual, I guess. I mean, you’re at the beach. Is it at the club?”

“Yes,” I lie again, pressing a hand to my head before I grab a pair of white jeans and toss them onto my bed. “I should go. Are you coming out this weekend?”

Alyssa groans. “I don’t know, to be honest. I’ve got a wedding on Saturday, but the bride sent me a message saying she found some dirty texts on the groom’s phone.”

“Gross.” I open my dresser, pulling out a nude thong and bra. Nude isn’t sexy. Nude is safe.

“Even grosser,” Alyssa begins, “they were with a student. He’s an assistant professor at Columbia. I mean, kind of hot. Kind of an abuse of power.”

I catch myself biting my lip and quickly release it, balancing the phone against my shoulder as I hook my bra. “I’ve gotta go, really. Sorry for the bride-to-be. Let me know if you’ll come out, I’ll grab you from the jitney.”

“Have fun withDave.” I can’t tell by Alyssa’s tone if she’s calling me out on my bluff—or flat-out lie—or if she’s teasing. “I’ll text you later.”

After tossing the phone on my bed, I slip a white tank top over my head and reach for my brush, running it through my hair as I stare into the mirror.

White says a lot of things—virginal, innocent, nonthreatening.

It also says surrender.

I purse my lips in the mirror and wonder if I’m about to do just that.

---