Chapter 1
PENNY WAS BURNING FROM THE INSIDE OUT.
That was the only explanation she could conjure at the sensation of pure fire coursing through her veins.
She reveled in every flame as she arched up off the cool slip of silk sheets, the firm grip of his palm at her hip, calloused thumb gently circling the rise of it as his other fingers left imprints that would bruise in the next few days down her thigh.
His mouth at her breast, the scratch of his stubble on her skin, his hips driving into hers, then the nip of his teeth against the sensitive line of her neck.
His body long and firm above her, thick and heavy inside her.
Strokes dragging, deep and deliberate, to hit the spot he found that made stars explode behind her eyes.
She rose to meet him over and over, rocking into a punishing rhythm of their sweat-soaked skin and his raspy groans and filthy words and a note, high and desperate, from the back of her throat, that pulled her soul from her body while she shook beneath him and he talked her through it.
That’s right, love, take me with you. You’re so fucking perfect. Finish me off.
Her only answer was a jumbled mess of incoherence and distantly she heard his voice catch on one final word before his arms gave out and he fell into his own release, collapsing down into her, his weight a satisfying, crushing thing.
Penny.
And then… consciousness.
A beam of sunlight shining through her window warmed her cheek and she pressed her nose into the cotton sheets, not silk, and inhaled.
The fresh, clean scent of the laundry detergent that her mother used—not sweat and sex and a hint of warm spiced cologne that led to so many bad decisions—was a reminder that, for the first time in four months, she was home.
That was a dream.
Just a dream.
But a vivid one, like she was back there, back with him.
“Penny!” Her brother Jack’s call carried up the stairs and into her bedroom, a repeat of the sound that pulled her from her sleep and a very different voice that said it. “Delivery for you!”
Groaning, she rolled out of bed, banishing the last fleeting images of burning blue eyes and the sound of his voice when he called her name.
That dream had turned into a nightmare in real life, and she no longer had time for it. She had work to do.
When she got downstairs, both her brothers were in the kitchen.
Jack, five years older than her, who pulled double duty as her big brother and her agent, was digging through the fridge.
Her twin, Teddy, was sitting atop the central island, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
Beside him was a long white box wrapped with a bright blue ribbon.
“You want some?” Teddy asked, his mouth full of the sugary crap he called breakfast, but honestly she was just impressed he was up this early. Normally you wouldn’t see him out of bed before noon on summer break.
“No thanks.”
Penny pulled the ribbon free of its bow and folded it neatly, setting it aside. She lifted the lid to reveal a dozen long-stem roses. There was a note tucked inside the sea of petals.
To many more victories.
Your friends at Nike
She breathed in the aroma of the fresh-cut flowers.
Nike was upping their game. They’d been dangling a sponsorship deal since she’d won a few lower-level tournaments during her first year on tour, but they’d backed off slightly after she’d lost in the quarterfinals of the Australian Open.
Penny wrinkled her nose. Lost was a bit of an understatement.
She’d been eviscerated. A total embarrassment and something she’d never let happen again.
“The flowers are a nice touch,” Jack said, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.
“A car would’ve been a nicer one,” Teddy quipped.
“I already have a car,” Penny said, tucking the note back inside the box and then pushing his legs out of the way to find a vase under the island.
Teddy smiled, his dimples appearing, making him seem far more innocent than he’d ever been. “Yeah, this new one could be for me.”
“Spending too much of that NIL money on beer, man,” Jack said.
Teddy’s name, image, and likeness deal with Duke had netted him a decent amount of money over the years, particularly after Penny had started making waves on tour. But it definitely wasn’t enough for a car.
“Speaking of cars, though, can I borrow yours real quick?” he asked, ignoring their brother and turning to Penny.
“Nope. I’m going to OBX,” she said. “You could come with me?”
“Wait, why are you going in today?”
“I have to train. The French Open is in less than a month. I can’t just walk into Roland-Garros unprepared.”
“Yeah, and you just won a million dollars in Madrid. You’re not going to take a day to enjoy that?”
“I did,” Penny said. “When Jack and I stopped over in New York to talk to potential sponsors I took the whole afternoon off and went shopping.”
“You’re a real wild woman.”
“I try.”
“C’mon, please? I don’t have time to wait for you to finish training to drive home, and I’ve already walked back once today.”
“What do you mean?” Jack asked.
Teddy smirked. “I stayed over at OBX last night and I left my phone by accident. I just need to pick it up.”
“A new girl?” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You just got home.” Teddy went to Duke and had wrapped up his junior year a couple of weeks before. “Who was it this time?”
“Katie Nelson.”
“Katie’s sweet,” Penny said, looking up from arranging her flowers. “She deserves better.”
“She doesn’t think so. In fact—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Penny said, reaching for the bowl of car keys on the counter. “Take my car. I’ll hitch a ride with this one.” She motioned toward Jack.
“You’re the best.”
Teddy jumped down and took the keys from her, then strode out of the kitchen toward the front door.
“So, Nike,” Jack said, taking the card from the box. “Looks like your win in Madrid made them rethink things.”
Penny wiped some of the last sleep from her eyes. “Looks like it.”
“You know this isn’t just an outfitting deal. They want you to be the new face of their tennis brand. You can’t go into a major tournament and bomb out again. Things have to be different in Paris.”
“I know that,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. They’d had this conversation a million times since January. “I’ll be ready.”
Jack slung an arm over her shoulder and squeezed. “I know, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t remind you.”
Rolling her eyes, Penny said, “What was I thinking hiring my brother as my agent?”
“You were thinking that your big brother is brilliant and that he’d always do what’s best for you, even when that means kicking you in the ass. Now go get dressed.”
She stood tall and saluted him. “Sir, yes, sir.”
“Brat.”
Twenty minutes later, they sped down Ocean Trail toward OBX, windows open, the morning sun sparkling against the water, salt air crisp against her skin. Pulling into the parking lot, Jack navigated into her designated spot.
RESERVED FOR PENELOPE HARRISON
WORLD #33
The sign had been updated after her run at the Aussie, as well as some decent finishes in a few other tournaments.
Now, after last week, she’d popped into the top twenty for the first time in her career.
They’d have to update it again. Rankings were determined by a points system that reflected the results, good and bad, of each player at every tournament.
Some tournaments were worth more than others and Grand Slams were worth the most. When Dom recruited her, convincing her parents to move their family from Chicago to this tiny town on the North Carolina coast, he promised she would someday be a top-twenty player.
Now, here they were, a few weeks away from the French Open, where she could hopefully push into the top ten.
Penny grinned, thinking about that last match in Madrid. She’d worked for that win for a very long time. A breakthrough. A crucial step that brought her closer to winning her first Grand Slam.
As she stepped out of the car, the sounds of the game she loved filled her ears from over the high fences surrounding the forty-five-court complex, the solid thwack of balls hitting racket strings, sharp instruction from coaches, the pounding of feet on the hard courts.
Jack went to the trunk to grab his bag, but Penny headed straight in.
She and Jack managed only a few steps into the main building, which housed the offices, a few indoor courts, and the training rooms, when Roy Whitfield caught sight of her.
“Penny Harrison!”
“Hey, Roy.”
The old security guard was at his usual post in the atrium, his stack of daily newspapers ready, the collar of his navy-blue polo shirt starched, and his ever-present walkie-talkie on his hip. He greeted her with a bright smile, just like he always did when she arrived home from tour.
As usual, not much had changed in her absence.
The air smelled the same, rubber from the soles of all the sneakers, the distinct aroma that popped out of every newly opened can of tennis balls, and the sharp scent of the floor cleaner. This was home, too. OBX was the place that made her dreams a reality.
“Coach asked to see you as soon as you got in,” Roy said, nodding up at her coach’s office.
“I’m not in trouble, am I?” she asked as she walked to the stairs.
“I wouldn’t call it trouble,” Roy said, his cheeks wrinkling as he smiled.
“I’m gonna head out there, Pen. I’ll see you later.
Roy,” Jack said, walking off toward the back exit.
After playing tennis at Harvard, Jack had sometimes helped with the coaching when he was back at OBX between law school terms. And even once he’d graduated and started representing Penny, he kept at it.
He insisted he did it to keep himself in shape, but Penny figured he must miss playing—she couldn’t imagine giving tennis up cold turkey.