Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
Cassie was painfully upright by the ball machine, dropping balls into the basket. She hadn’t said much when Delilah arrived. Just a polite hello. Checked in about her ankle, painfully civil.
Because anything else might make her transparent. And that couldn’t happen. Delilah couldn’t even get a hint of the horndog her coach was.
‘You OK?’ Delilah asked now, her voice a touch too casual.
Cassie looked up sharply, guilty. ‘Fine. Why?’
Delilah shrugged. ‘You’re being very… polite.’
‘I’m always polite.’
Delilah laughed. ‘Not really. You’re more…’
Cassie felt exposed in that moment, like it was all going to come out on the court. She was sincerely frightened. But she batted it down with all her will. ‘What am I?’
Delilah didn’t answer. She was fiddling with her racket, face unreadable. Her hair was tied back in a high ponytail today, just slightly uneven, like she’d done it in a hurry. Her hoodie sleeves were shoved up to the elbows. She looked strangely tense. Or maybe Cassie was just projecting.
Cassie looked down at the ball she’d just picked up. It was slightly scuffed. She tossed it and caught it again.
‘We’ll start with footwork,’ she said crisply. ‘Backhand recovery. You keep drifting on your exit step.’
Delilah nodded, too quickly. ‘Right. Yep. Drifting. Got it.’
They both moved toward the court like polite strangers playing roles in a 1940s public service announcement video about tennis.
Delilah positioned herself at the baseline, bouncing on her toes, with more bounce than seemed strictly necessary.
Cassie fed the first ball. Delilah misread it by a foot and stumbled sideways.
‘Sorry!’ she called, recovering clumsily. ‘I wasn’t ready.’
Cassie picked up another ball. ‘You were in position.’
‘Yeah, but mentally—’
‘Your body doesn’t care where your mind is,’ Cassie snapped. Then winced internally. That was too much. She softened her tone. ‘Again.’
The next feed was slower. Delilah connected, just barely, but her balance was all wrong, and the return skidded off her frame and into the fence.
‘Split earlier,’ Cassie called.
Delilah scowled. ‘I am splitting.’ She paused. ‘What’s splitting again?’
‘I’ve told you at least six times. Why isn’t it sticking?’
Delilah planted her hands on her hips.
‘You’re being personal,’ she said.
Cassie felt heat rise behind her ears. ‘I’m not.’
‘You are.’
Cassie opened her mouth and then closed it. She didn’t have the vocabulary for this moment. What was she supposed to say? I guess I’m overcompensating because I had an epic bean flick about you last night in the shower. Sorry about that.
Cassie swallowed. ‘I’m not here to be your buddy, Delilah. You want to be Tamsin Rowe? She didn’t pull this face every time a ball caught her off guard. She was ruthless. You’re flinching like the ball’s a bloody pit bull.’
Delilah stared at her.
‘OK,’ she said, voice low. ‘You know what? I’m going to go do footwork drills on my own.’
She turned, marched to the far end of the court, and started doing exaggerated side-shuffles.
Cassie let out a breath as she pinched the bridge of her nose.
She sat down on the bench at the side of the court and stared at the ground.
This was getting out of hand. This was exactly why professional boundaries existed.
And she should know. She’d seen it from the other side.
It stopped working when it got personal.
She was going to get a hold of herself. She was not going to think about her hand in the shower. She was not going to think about the way Delilah’s bum looked when she was serving. She was not going to think about the hug. She was not going to think about Delilah’s smell.
She was going to behave like a fucking coach.