“You two ready?” Frankie calls from the other side of the net. The attendant has cleared the ball machine and Frankie is bouncing a ball at the serving line.
“Just a minute,” I call. I grab the white club pullover from my bag on the bench and pull it over Chloe’s head. The hem matches the length of her skirt.
“What’s this for?” she asks while I adjust the collar, then roll the sleeves up on both sides.
“This is so I can focus on the game,” I say, pulling the quarter zip up to Chloe’s neck.
“I thought we were going to let them win?” She rolls her eyes at me.
“Not by much,” I reply, knowing the competitor in me will have a hard time throwing the game.
I coach Chloe on the basics and what she can do to appear knowledgeable before we explain to Fred that she’s still recovering from a recent wrist injury.
I instruct Chloe where to stand, the opposite side of where Frankie will be serving the ball. She stays close to the net, bouncing on her toes like she’s jogging in place. The action makes her ass bounce and nearly distracts me from returning the serve.
Chloe does her best to return serves and play up at the net, but in the end I’m a single playing a doubles game. After two games, my shirt is drenched.
We take a water break. I towel off and get water while Chloe takes off my pullover.
“It’s too hot to wear that.” She fans her face then reaches for my water bottle.
She takes my hesitation for rejection.
“Seriously? You can stick your tongue in my mouth, but not share your water?”
“I didn’t stick my tongue in your mouth.”
“There was definitely tongue. I remember tongue.”
“I’m sure you’ve been recounting every detail so you’re probably right. I barely recall.”
Her fair cheeks are rosy now. Partially from playing tennis, but they darken when I tease her about the kiss. They’re the same color they were when I kissed her goodbye in my mother’s office on Monday. I’m teasing her about it, but I’d be lying if I said that kiss hasn’t been on my mind all week. It had surprised me how perfectly her lips felt against mine. How sweet she tasted. Now, I can’t stare at her lips without triggering the memory.
She narrows her gaze at me, then yanks the bottle out of my hands to take a drink.
She lifts the bottle to her lips. I watch a bead of sweat roll along her collar bone, then down between her breasts.
“It’s like a million degrees up here.” She fans her face.
That just made it warmer, I think.
“I want to try to return the serve,” Chloe says, determined. She seems to be getting into the game.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea with your wrist injury?” I ask.
Chloe pinches her lips together, annoyed. I’m annoyed, too, that I can’t stop staring at her mouth.
“Yes. It’s not like she’s Serena Williams. I’m tired of bouncing over here while you play most of the returns.”
“I’m tired of you bouncing over there, too.” The sight of Chloe’s perky ass in that tiny tennis skirt is going to haunt my dreams.
I relent, and switch Chloe’s position while Frankie gets ready to serve.
The ball flies over the net, Chloe attacks it like I showed her and returns it. Frankie is startled at first but manages to return it back to Chloe. Chloe reaches for the ball before it goes out of bounds and returns it. Chloe is excitedly jumping up and down, and it occurs to me that she doesn’t realize that the play is still going.
“I did it!” She jumps with enthusiasm. Fred returns the ball and still in celebration mode, with little to no reaction time, it smacks Chloe in the forehead.
I watch helplessly as her body falls backwards, and her racket rattles on the ground next to her.
Shit.
“Chloe?” I drop to the ground to examine her. A moment later, her eyelashes flutter and her eyes open.
“Did we win?” she asks, her eyes searching my face with a dazed expression.
Gently, I brush the loose hairs that have escaped from her ponytail to the side so I can get a better look. There’s a red mark, the size of the ball, that is growing in height before my eyes.
“The award for largest goose egg on your head? Yes,” I say.
Chloe’s brows knit together in confusion, but the movement causes her to wince and one hand to shoot up to her forehead.
“Oh God, Chloe!!” Frankie screams as she drops to Chloe’s side. “Are you okay? Fred, I can’t believe you hit her in the head.”