Page 49 of Off Court Fix

“I just need a few minutes,” I tell him, unclipping my seatbelt and opening the door.

Again, nothing more than a polite nod, and I have to wonder if perhaps he thinks I’m about to participate in a drug deal. Who heads to a park when the sun goes down?

My phone buzzes in my pocket as soon as my feet meet the grass, and I open it to find a message from Crosby.

Swings.

Is this your idea of a date?

Can you just do as you’re told?

I sigh and head to the playground, glancing side to side as I cross the lawn. Even with the help of the distant streetlamps I can barely make out Crosby’s shadow as he stands from the swing and walks to meet me.

“Next time, I’ll meet you at the end of my street.” My feet crunch the wood chips layering the ground. “This feels like we’re doing something illegal.”

“Aren’t we?”

I shrug. “Depends on who you ask.”

“You’re right. I’ll go.”

I reach out and grab his hand.

Crosby looks down at our linked fingers. “I really shouldn’t be anywhere near you.”

I pull back and fold my arms across my chest. “Are we back to thatagain?”

“I said Ishouldn’t,” Crosby emphasizes. “Not that I don’t want to. There’s a difference.” He knocks his topsider-covered foot against my sneaker.

“You said you had something for me,” I remind him as I bounce my knee, letting my finger against one of the buttons of his light blue shirt. I contemplate finding the small opening and brushing the skin of his stomach, imagining its warm and firm, dusted with a trail of fine, soft hair.

“Is my company alone losing its appeal already?”

Not even close.

Crosby moves closer, sweeping me up in a cloud of his scent.

“No, not totally.” I steel myself with toes firmly gripping the insoles of my sneakers when my head sways. “I’m sure your novelty will wear off eventually, just not today,” I tease.

The streetlamp on the other side of the park might provide little light, but Crosby’s smile is so strong I don’t need help seeing it.

Crosby clears his throat. “I was thinking about something,” he begins, and I swear I feel the heat of his body through his clothes.

“What kind of something?”

“Indian Wells.”

I scoff, halfway twisting my upper body away from him.

“No, no, listen for a second.” Crosby catches my hand. “You’re a great player. Aphenomenalone. But you hesitate on the court, and I don’t know why.”

“Hesitate?”

Crosby’s voice softens. “Maybe it’s your ankle or... I don’t know what holds you back, Maxine, but something does.”

“Are you an umpire or a coach?” I challenge.

“I’ve watched enough tennis to probablybea coach.”

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