Page 3 of Broken Play
"Sutton, I'm kissing you now."
She rises onto her toes, and with a simple nod, I take her lips with mine. This woman in the champagne-colored dress, which shows only her long legs, returns my kiss with sweet but sensual strokes. One hand is on my neck and the other on my forearm, making small movements. It may sound cliché, but I feel a connection to this confident, classy woman.
I don't know how long we kiss before Rick interrupts, "Hey, man, Devon needs us. He sent an SOS to my phone."
"Take care of it."
He stares at me, waiting for me to snap out of it. SOS means Save Our Sac. A few years ago, we came up with a code word for when we needed all hands on deck to stop one of us from landing in jail. These women don't lead withI have a boyfriend, and we never know until one shows up out of control, wanting to prove he's a tough guy.
I lower my lips to hers, and in the space where we touch and our heartbeats merge—a promise pulses between us. "I'll be right back."
I breathe a heavy sigh. Having to leave this beautiful woman because a woman is cheating on her man ticks me off. It's exactly why I don't do relationships. Who wants a girl who wants to be with someone else?
TWO
SUTTON
One touch. One kiss. One million goosebumps.
Why am I thinking about that one scintillating kiss with a stranger when Anna is serving? I know her game like the back of my hand, but on the flip side, she knows mine too. We take competition to a whole new level. Off the court, we listen to music, watch movies, and dance in our pajamas, but, having competed against each other every day for ten years, we each want to beat the other.
Get him out of your head. She's throwing the ball up, for God's sake.
I'm bouncing on my toes, knees bent, and ready as Anna Vitrilova smashes a slice out wide at a jaw-dropping angle, and I sprint after it, stretching my arm and the racquet face toward the ball. As I skid across the gritty red clay, my foot slides, and I hear a pop as my hamstring gives way. I let out a blood-curdling scream as I roll to the side, gripping my leg.
Anna dashes around the net, her voice calm as she motions for a trainer. "Are you okay, Sutty?" she asks, genuine concern pasted on her face and in her voice.
Overwhelming pain makes tears spill from the corners of my eyes. I gasp, "It hurts," my voice trembling as I clutch Anna's hand, desperate for relief. The trainer rushes to my side, and amidst the murmurs from the crowd, I know this injury will sideline me for months.
After forfeiting the tennis match, the medical staff takes me to the hospital. For the next three months, my life isn't as busy as I'm used to—just physical therapy and rehab. And I have too much time on my hands, causing me to consider leaving the European tour.
Being alone, depressed, and realizing I can't do what I love takes a toll on me. Especially when all I see on the Tennis Channel are the announcers who can't get enough of my ex-boyfriend, saying, "He's singlehandedly saving American tennis."
But they don't know about Bodhi's actions out of the public eye.
I grapple with what I'll do if I can't play tennis. It's all I've known since I was eight years old, when I was living at the Florida Tennis Academy. Anna and I bonded at the academy and have been inseparable ever since. When we were younger, she had a speech impediment and struggled with words ending in "on," and ultimately gave me the nickname Sutty. And when we started devouring romance novels while waiting in the locker room, she gave it a teasing twist—Smutty Sutty.
My hamstring will heal, but at thirty years of age, it will be a mountain to climb to get back to being ninth in the world. I'm not even sure I want this life anymore. I'm tired of being Bodhi's ex and of reporters asking me about him. Growing up together at the academy makes him a part of me.He and Anna are the people I rely on. But after what he did, I need to blaze my own trail.
While my dad's visiting me and encouraging me to come back to the States, my tennis coach recommends that I enter the coaching profession. He says, "Your technique is impeccable. You love kids. You're the perfect candidate for the girls' coaching job at Ace Tennis Academy in Austin."
Dad's eyes light up. We've not lived in the same city since I was seven, and he recently moved to Austin. "It's your decision. What do you want? Where do you want to be?"
After discussing my options with my team, I apply for and accept the coaching job at Ace Tennis Academy in Austin.
Nervousness twists in my stomach when Anna hugs me at the airport. Now I'm questioning my decision. Anna sees the worry etched on my face and says with her signature smirk, "Look on the bright side: you're closer to your mystery man you met in Denver."
I keep telling Anna that I'm over Bodhi, but the truth is—I'm not sure I ever will be. The only time I've stopped thinking about him was when I was with my Denver mystery guy, and that was short-lived.
"Austin and Denver aren't close," I remind her.
She cocks a brow and says, "But he may have been from Austin. You don't know. We still aren't sure of his name. At first, you thought it was Braxton; then you thought Greyson. The one thing you were sure of is that it ends in 'on,' of course."
"Love you big, Anna."
"I love you. Weekly video calls required."
We give each other another squeeze before I wait at security to board the plane. My dad offered me afirst-class ticket, but I told him it was a waste of money. At least that's what I thought until I was forced to hold my breath while sitting next to a man with body odor.
