Chapter 13
Chapter 13
THE NEXT MORNING, MY phone beeped on the nightstand. I was sitting in bed, a cup of Earl Grey tea in hand, enjoying my one morning off in the week. I picked it up and read the screen. I smiled when I saw it was from Ryan.
Busy?
This was the first I’d heard from him since that sizzling make-out session on Friday night, and warmth spread across my chest.
Yes, doing very important things right now.
I took a sip of my tea and waited for his reply, dots appearing on the screen. I didn’t have to wait long.
Can I interrupt those things?
Depends what you had in mind.
I want a rematch.
I let out a light laugh. Friday night had started out so badly with Fake Jamie and ended quite the opposite with Ryan.
Before I had the chance to reply, my phone beeped again.
Either that or a real game.
Baseball?
Tennis.
Although I hadn’t picked up a racket in some time, I’d played tennis all through high school, and I was pretty good, representing my school and club. I fired off a text, complete with tennis player emojis, a boy player and a girl player.
You’re on.
Pick you up in an hour.
Fifty-eight minutes later, I’d managed to dig out my old tennis skirt and top, discovered to my glee they still fitted, and found my racket right at the back of my hallway closet. I knew I’d be rusty, but I wanted to at least manage to hold my own, so I did a few practice shots with a flat ball against the wall at the back of my cottage.
Let’s just say it didn’t instill a lot of confidence in my abilities.
The doorbell rang, making me jump. It’s funny how you can be waiting for someone to arrive, and when they do, you still get a surprise.
I opened the door to see Ryan standing in a pair of sports shorts and a white T that accentuated his muscular physique and wide shoulders, a black cap with a silver fern on his head. His grin was wide, making him even more handsome—not that I’d thought that was even possible.
“Ready to be humiliated on the court, De Luca?” His eyes twinkled.
“The question is, are you ready? I mean, if your delicate male ego can take another beating, that is.”
He laughed, and I wished he’d kiss me. “Fighting talk, De Luca. Fighting talk.”
I picked up my tennis bag and slung it over my shoulder, collected my keys from the hallway table, and stepped outside into the morning sun.
Once in Ryan’s SUV, we chatted about tennis, and I began to get seriously concerned Ryan was a lot better than just a “handy” player, as he’d referred to himself on Friday night. A short drive later, we arrived at some tennis courts I had passed many times but never actually played on.
All but one of the courts was in use, so we walked to the back court where we both dropped our bags on the ground and pulled out our rackets. Ryan opened a fresh can of balls, and we went to opposite ends of the court, ready to play.
“I’ll go easy on you to begin with,” Ryan said, bouncing one of the balls on the ground. “But then I may have to release the fury.”
“The fury?” I questioned with a laugh.
“Oh, I’m famous for it.”
“So, I should be afraid?”
“You just wait and see.”
I walked around the net to my end of the court. Ryan got himself into position to serve and bounced the ball a few times with his hand.
“Do you think you’re Novak Djokovic or someone?” I teased, referring to how the famous tennis player always bounced the ball a bunch of times before serving.
Instead of responding, he fired a serve down the court—and straight past me.
Uh-oh. I’m in trouble.
“Shall we warm up first? That was probably just me showing off.”
“Probably?”
“Okay, definitely. Let’s just hit the ball around for a while, then we can see if we want to play a game, ’kay?”
“Sure.”
He pulled another ball out of his pocket and served it to me. This time, thankfully, the shot was a lot less bullet-like in its delivery. I hit it back, enjoying the thwack of my racket making contact with the ball, and we started a rally.
From that initial serve, I knew he was going easy on me, but I was okay with that. I valued my dignity, and if that serve was anything to go by, it would be in total tatters within minutes if he pulled out his A-game.
After warming up and growing my confidence, I suggested we play an actual game.
“You serve,” he called out as he batted the balls down to my end of the court.
I collected them up, stuffing a couple of them up the built-in shorts of my tennis skirt, ready to be pulled out when needed. I got myself into position, lined the court up, threw the ball into the air and hit it, watching as it landed within the service lines on Ryan’s side. He hit it back, right by the service line, and I had to run to get it, sneaking it over the net for a winner.
“Lucky shot.”
We continued to play, me taking the game in deuce. Then it was Ryan’s turn to serve. We switched court ends, as was the custom in tennis, and he waggled his eyebrows at me as he walked passed. “You ready for this?”
“Go easy on me,” I pleaded with a flirty smile.
And he did. His serve was strong and confident, and we had some great rallies. He won the game comfortably, but I didn’t mind. It was clear he was the much better player. I could live with that.
We played a few more games until I called for a drinks break, my body screaming at me that it had had enough. With the amount of time the café takes up, I didn’t get much of a chance to exercise these days. Well, it was either that or the large amount of cake I got to eat most days.
With our backs leaning up against the wire fence, we drank from our water bottles. My forehead was sweaty, and I wiped it with my wristband, thankful I’d remembered to sweep my hair up in a high ponytail.
“You know, you’re not a bad player,” Ryan said.
“Not quite as good as you.”
“Well, you can’t be good at everything, can you? You are the reigning Wii Baseball champ.”
“That’s true. Where’s my trophy, by the way? And my sash? I’m definitely going to need one of those.”
He laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.” He turned to face me, leaning his shoulder against the fence. He reached out and took me by the hand. “There’s this thing I’ve got to go to on Friday night. It’s a ball, quite a fancy thing, I guess.”
I hoped I knew where he was going with this. “Yes?”
“I was wondering. Will you come with me? I mean, I know you have your concert thing, so you might not be able to.”
I pushed myself off the fence and squeezed his hand. “Ryan, I’d love to.” An image of a fairytale ball, Ryan as the dashing prince, and me in a gorgeous, shimmering gown, flashed before my eyes.
He smiled at me. “Great. It’s formal, so you’ll need a dress.”
“I’ve got dresses.” In fact, virtually my entire wardrobe was dresses, thanks to my obsession with vintage ’fifties clothing. “And don’t worry about the Jam. The Cozy Cottage will survive without me for one night.”
“Good. I guess it’s a date, then,” he said with a grin.
I could almost hear Paige’s voice in my head. A Last First Date?
I smiled back. “I guess it is.”