Chapter 21
Inés
“Alright, let’s see some more movement, Chloe. You could’ve gotten that last one,” Calvin called out. He threw a couple of
balls over towards his sister, Wilson sitting at his feet watching them longingly.
I watched as she pocketed one, the material of her skirt lifting slightly, revealing lengths of thigh I was trying, and failing, to not be distracted by.
The court was on her vast property overlooking the coast. When she had first pitched staying at hers, I wasn’t sure. Being
in such close proximity to her had been a lot to deal with in the rental. But with a comfortable guesthouse outside, it was
easier.
Even with that distance, however, it was getting harder and harder not to look at her. The memory of that party, that one
night, one kiss that was imprinted on my brain.
The soft press, the sweet taste.
How long had it been since I got laid?
“Screw you!” Chloe snapped, whipping a glare at her brother. I had to hold back a laugh, enjoying not being on the other end
of that particularly withering look for once.
Calvin really hadn’t been pulling any punches with the training.
It was a demanding schedule, leaving my body aching at the end of every day, only to wake up and do it all again.
For our time here, it was only Calvin acting as the coach, but once we got out on the road, I’d have my own team join us.
I had to admit, I wasn’t hating it. The challenge, the movement—it was a grueling reminder of how much I enjoyed the sport,
no matter the pain. I felt more ready to go on the road than I had in months. My wrist hadn’t flared up again since the party,
but I’d made sure not to overwork it, making its care part of my cooldown in the evenings when we were finally done for the
day.
“Alright, it’s Chloe’s serve, remember to ke—” Calvin began to recap, but cut himself off, his gaze snapping to the entrance
of the court. “Dad?”
“Hi, everyone.” I turned, finding an older man dressed in a polo and slacks, a woman next to him head to toe in white and
large Chanel glasses. “We thought we would stop in, see how everything is going.”
Chloe froze mid-motion. “Oh, Dad, Mom. Hi.”
“Good to see you, darlin’.” Her father, tall and casually imposing, grinned as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling Chloe
in close. He turned to Calvin. “How’s it going with the girls?”
“It’s going well,” Calvin said, his tone clipped. “But if you don’t mind, we’re in the middle of—”
“Inés.” Chloe’s father cut him off, stepping forward to address me. “It’s good to meet you. I’m Samson. This is my wife, Cathy.”
“You too, sir,” I replied, trying to be as polite as possible. His gaze was unflinching as his hand shook mine, almost assessing.
“I gotta say”—his voice dropped to a skeptical tone—“when Calvin called me up, saying you were the one to help us with our
Chloe, I wasn’t sure.”
I cringed slightly, remembering the phone call, but refused to let him see any weakness. Somehow, it felt like having my guard
up was a good idea. “I heard.”
“I’m excited to see where this can go. Anything our girl needs to get better, we will make it happen.”
I wasn’t sure how to take that, what exactly he meant by anything. But before I could formulate a response, Chloe cut in.
“Dad,” she said, her tone firm. “Was it you who was supposed to email us our travel itinerary?”
“No, that was your agent,” he said, looking back at me. “Selena?”
“Selene,” Chloe corrected.
“That’s the one,” he chuckled. “She was a very particular character. Made some big demands.”
My brows furrowed at the insinuation—to be honest, the rudeness.
“How’s training going, anyway?” Chloe’s mother chimed in, her voice softer but no less direct as she stepped up beside her
husband. “I hope Calvin isn’t working you too hard.”
“No, he’s been good,” Chloe answered quickly. “It’s a challenge, but it’s all worthwhile.”
“Are you still keeping up—” her mom started.
“Yes, everything is fine,” Chloe snipped. I looked at her, finding her shoulders pulled back, her demeanor changed. Gone was
the determined competitor I’d been playing against mere moments ago; now I just saw an uneasy girl. Somebody who looked trapped.
Calvin clapped his hands loudly. “Hey, why don’t you two set up on the sidelines, and we can keep going with training?”
Chloe didn’t say anything else, heading to her side of the net. I reset my position, hating that we had an audience.
Her parents followed Calvin to the sidelines, their attention fixed on us. Her dad, in particular, seemed to be assessing,
as if I’d walked into a test.
Chloe stood at the baseline, bouncing the ball against the court. Her movements were deliberate, almost aggressive, and I
could sense the tension radiating off her strong shoulders. Whatever lingering frustrations she had with her parents’ arrival,
she was channeling them into this serve.
I readied myself, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I waited expectantly for her first move. Chloe’s gaze locked on me briefly, a flicker of something sharp and challenging in her eyes. That look shouldn’t be so hot.
I gripped my racket a little tighter, trying to refocus. If she wanted to vent, then fine. I was ready for her, the challenge
more exciting than it should have been.
She tossed the ball high, the motion fluid and commanding, and then smashed it down with precision. The serve rocketed over
the net, slicing wide into the corner. I darted to my right, and my shot flew right back to her. Chloe stepped into a forehand
that sent the ball back down the line.
Bring it on.
We fought on court, every movement of her body fluid, second nature. The speed in her run, the strength behind every return
that threatened to knock me off my feet had me impressed, fighting to match her shot for shot.
Finally, my ball went out, allowing her the point.
“Fifteen–love,” Calvin called from the sideline, her parents clapping in support.
Chloe didn’t celebrate; she moved on and retrieved another ball and returned to the baseline. But there was a smirk playing
on her lips as she adjusted her grip on the racket, confidence radiating off her in waves.
Frustration at letting her get even a single point simmered under my skin.
The next serve came fast and deep, and I met her stroke for stroke, bringing my play closer to the net, pushing her to the
edge of her court. The speed she used to get from one side of the court to the other was unbelievable as she returned every
ball, keeping its spin under control, despite my best efforts.
The power in her body, the determination and competition drove me deep, refusing to give in, to let her win. I wanted this.
Wanted her to—
“COME ON!” she yelled, cutting off my train of thought, the ball bouncing out of bounds.
15–15
A swing in my direction, and my turn to smirk. Fury was alight in her eyes, replacing the playfulness that had been there.
“Game on,” I mouthed to her. And her expression melted away into a cold look, but I could see behind her mask, the lust for
the competition, the addiction. The attraction.
Chloe Murphy was savage, out for blood, and I couldn’t help but hope it was mine.
We continued to play, matching each other point for point.
30–15
30–30
40–30
All the way up to match point. Calvin shouted out instructions from the sideline, but it might as well have been just the
two of us here, both locked into the fight unfolding for the final point.
Sweat was dripping off me, the humid air thick. Rain was coming, that was for sure, dark clouds rolling off the Atlantic.
It was only a matter of time.
This was winner takes all.
I wiped my sweaty palm on my shorts, rolling my shoulders back as I prepared for the final assault. I leaned forward, ready
to pounce.
Chloe got back into position, the ball gripped in her hand, and for a second, the briefest of moments, I could’ve sworn she
hesitated, her gaze dropping. I looked down to see what she was stuck on, but all I found was my gold necklace, dangling down
over my sports bra as normal.
The ball flew at my feet, clearly out. My brow furrowed. With her accuracy, I didn’t think there was any way she hadn’t meant for that serve
to be out. A warning shot.
“Paying attention, Costa?” She grinned.
“Serve again, Murphy,” I shot back.
Chloe struck again, firing the ball across.
I was ready this time, swinging my racket low.
We rallied, waiting each other out as we sent each other over our respective halves of the court.
The sweat on my brow, the heat in the air, every muscle aching with the movement, but all that mattered was this final point.
I hit an overhead, trying to get her out with the spike of the ball. Chloe sprinted across the hard surface, chasing down
the milliseconds she had until the ball bounced out of reach.
My heartbeat stumbled in my chest at the flare of her skirt, the way it floated in the air, revealing the tan lines of her
legs, where sun-kissed skin met pale.
I wondered how bright I could make that skin with that blush of hers.
She struck the ball, the edge of her racket making up the distance, when the clouds that had been gathering suddenly got darker
and heavy rain began pouring down on us.
I was distracted as her mom squealed from the sidelines, using her handbag as an umbrella as she retreated from the court,
her father following suit.
“Make sure you clear up!” Calvin shouted as he followed, shooting Chloe a cheeky look. Wilson, who’d been lying by the side
of the court, jumped into action, chasing down the balls on the court as if she’d been waiting for her moment to shine.
Looking back over the net, I found Chloe standing there, the brightest smile on her lips.
“You missed!” she shouted.
“That doesn’t count!” I cried back, trying to wipe the rain from my face.
She shook her head, strands of hair sticking to her face. I rolled my eyes at her, instead turning my attention to cleaning
up so we could get the hell off the court. I scrambled across my side, quickly picking up the balls, holding them to my chest
with my racket.
I reached for the final ball at the post of the net, when her hand brushed mine, shivers running up my body at the touch.
I followed the length of her arm, her hand clasping the ball, across her shoulder, neck, until ocean eyes met mine. A teasing smile stretched across her lush pink lips. She was soaked through, her bright pink dress like a second skin. I didn’t know where to look first.
Certainly not at the dip of cleavage, down the open zip. I wondered how much lower it went.
“Let’s get out of here!” she said, pulling me out of my haze.
We dumped the balls in the cage, and Chloe rolled it into the equipment shed. I followed her off the court, but when her hand
slipped against mine, fingers interlacing, Wilson following at our feet, I was sure it was a hallucination.
Thunder rumbled in the background as the rain somehow started to pound down harder. My heart stumbled as she pulled me harder,
still trying to catch up.
And it wasn’t until the guesthouse came into view that I saw her plan.
“Maybe we should go to the main house,” I offered, thinking of the small space we were heading to, thinking of the soaked
dress she was wearing and how it was clear that she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath. “Your parents will be waiting.”
“Don’t remind me,” she said, pushing wet strands of hair off her face. “Why do you think I want to hang out here instead?”
I gulped as we reached the double patio doors, looking back at the house in the distance.
That’s where she belonged.
But as Chloe smiled, droplets rolling down her face, everything around me stopped. The rain, the storm, my heart. And apparently
I lost control of all sense of the situation because I willingly followed her inside, the door closing behind me.
And for the first time, I realized, whatever game I thought we were playing, I was already losing.