Page 30 of Risky Match
“This will take work, and time is tight. Do you have ideas for a plan?”
“Today, let’s focus on the basics. First, if I move toward the sideline during a return, you shift toward center. Second, mostdoubles players stand farther from the centerline to serve. That’s your decision though. And finally?—"
I interrupt. “I know the last part. Don’t play hero. We’re a team.”
“You got it. Let’s make this work.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” I say, saluting. I can’t resist swatting her cute bum with my racquet as she jogs past me on her way to the net. Turnabout is fair play. I smile.
Erin storms toward us, eyes flashing, but Bri waves her off.
Apparently, my racquet on Bri’s arse summoned her bodyguard. I shake my head, amused that no one flinched when Bri did it to me.
We start talking more, before and during points. The awkwardness slowly fades. We’re still not perfect, but there’s progress. We’re starting to gel, so there’s hope. We’ll work together even better when I get over my infatuation with watching her move around the court.
By the end of practice, we’re teasing, bumping shoulders, and fist pumping when we win a point.
Finally finished, we plop down on the benches at the side of the court.
I grab a towel, wipe my face, and down a bottle of water while chatting with my coach.
A couple of minutes later, I turn to Bri. “Are you ready to go?”
“Almost. First, I have a question about your racquets,” she says, grabbing one from my open bag.
“How do you like this one? It’s a new brand for you, isn’t it?” she asks, spinning the racquet in her hand, testing the weight and feel.
I reach across to take it back. “Hey, put that down.” Annoyance sharpens my tone.
She switches the racquet to her other hand, holding it farther away, flashing one of her wide, infectious smiles.
“What’s wrong with you? I’m not going to steal your precious racquet. I’m just looking at it,” she teases.
I shrug, chuckling at myself as I run my fingers through my hair to hide the heat rising in my cheeks.
“I don’t like people touching them,” I mumble.
“That’s weird. You do know how many people handle your racquets when you send them for restringing, right?”
“That’s a brand new one. I haven’t even tried it yet. Never mind. Forget it. It was an involuntary reaction. I usually don’t let other players handle my racquets.”
“I promise not to steal any secrets.” She winks.
“I doubt those racquets will be winners anyway, so I’m not worried about anyone copying them.”
“What do you mean? Why use them if you don’t like them?”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m happy with the power and control overall. But that specific one just won’t work for me.”
“Huh. That’s strange. It’s heavier than I expected. Let me hold the one you played with today.”
“Here.” I hand it to her.
“Wow. There’s a huge difference.”
“My coach wants me to experiment with different weight distributions. He adds tape on the head and grip. Your coach must do the same, right?”
“She does, but your coach is making larger weight changes in your racquets.”
