Chapter 49
Inés
I’ll Call You Mine—girl in red
The ball machine in front of me fired at an unrelenting pace, each shot whizzing towards me like a missile. I swung my racket
forward, delivering a clean backhand slice that sailed effortlessly over the net. Resetting, I prepared for the next one.
Swing, hit, reset.
The routine ran on muscle memory, the motions feeling more like meditation than physical exertion.
It was the night before the final, and sleep had evaded me long enough that Chloe had dragged me out of bed to burn off some
nervous energy. Shadows stretched across the court, chasing the movement of the ball as I hit each shot.
“Come on! Hit it like you mean it!” She sat cross-legged, watching me with the critical eye of someone who knew the game inside
out.
One thing was certain, Chloe Murphy would make a brutal coach.
The machine’s tempo suddenly picked up, firing at a speed that knocked me off my rhythm. I stumbled, nearly retreating off
the baseline.
“Did you crank it up?” I shouted, scrambling to recover.
“Whatever do you mean?”
I shot Chloe a glare between swings, struggling to find my rhythm as the relentless barrage of balls continued. Each new target felt like a jab, a reminder of what was looming.
This wasn’t just practice; this was survival. I’d worked for years to get back to the top, and now I had made it, I’d never
felt so close to letting it slip through my fingers again.
What if this was my last shot at the top? When I won in Paris, I thought that this could be it, the start of the best times.
I’d been so wrong.
If I failed here, what would I do? Could I continue or . . . would I be forced to retire?
My grip on the racket tightened, my heart thundering against my ribs as I delivered a powerful, almost desperate blow, sending
the ball flying.
“Whoa,” Chloe muttered.
Each swing carried more force, as though I could burn the anxiety out of my system if I hit hard enough. My fingers ached
from gripping too tightly, but I kept going, swing after swing after swing, until the machine stopped.
But the tightness in my chest didn’t ease. I turned to the ground, raised my racket above my head, and slammed it down onto
the hard court.
Again.
And again.
The sharp crack of graphite splintering echoed through the space. The strings, once tight and full of potential, now sagged.
My racket lay in pieces, shattered, useless. I stared down at the broken handle in my hand before tossing it into the pile
of wreckage.
“Is it bad if I say that was kind of hot?” Chloe said, her voice teasing.
I turned, catching the small, hesitant smile on her lips, the concern still clear in her eyes. Without a word, I crossed the
distance and collapsed beside her on the ground, letting my body fall back onto the cool surface of the court.
“That’s the second time I’ve done that,” I admitted between breaths, my lungs still burning as I tried to calm the storm inside
me.
“Well, you handled it like a real pro,” she replied.
I shot her a sarcastic look. “Thanks.”
“Do you feel any better?”
I hesitated, the question hanging in the air. The tension in my chest had eased slightly, but the weight of what was ahead
still loomed.
“I think so.”
“Then at least its sacrifice wasn’t in vain.” She smiled, her tone light.
“RIP racket.”
Her laughter was like oxygen, filling the empty spaces in my chest and softening the edges of my anxiety. “Time of death:
one thirty-two a.m.”
I pushed myself upright, glancing at her. “It’s that late?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I wouldn’t worry. The match isn’t until the evening.”
I hummed, unconvinced. At least one of us wasn’t stressed. “I don’t feel tired yet.”
“After all that?”
“I feel like I could run laps and still be fueled by this weird, jittery energy.”
She pointed around the court. “Then go run laps.”
Like I said, she’d make a mean coach. Evil, almost.
“But I don’t want to,” I whined, pouting.
She raised an eyebrow, a look forming on her face. “Do you have any alternative suggestions?”
I hummed to myself for a moment, pretending I didn’t already have my answer locked and loaded.
With a flirty grin, I asked, “Ever made out on a tennis court?”
A full smile broke across her face, like sunshine breaking through clouds. She shot to her feet, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“You’ll have to catch me first.”
I was up in an instant, chasing after her. Chloe glanced over her shoulder, her long hair whipping across her face, but her smile peeked through, bright and unrestrained. She was so achingly beautiful, it hurt to let even a sliver of distance remain between us.
She dodged my lunge with ease, faking right before darting left. My feet slipped against the court as I lost balance. By the
time I’d scrambled upright, Chloe was already across the net, a triumphant laugh spilling from her lips.
She expected me to follow her the long way around. But instead, I sprinted forward, taking a running leap over the net.
I landed beside her, catching her off guard. Before she could react, I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her into
me.
Chloe squealed, her laughter turning breathless as I spun her around, holding her tightly. We tumbled to the ground, collapsing
together in a heap.
I pinned her beneath me, my weight trapping her in place as my arms framed her. Our gazes connected, our chests heaving to
catch a breath.
“Looks like I caught you.” She wriggled underneath me, as if to escape, but I only pressed my weight down further. “Now, I
think I get my kiss.”
If the curve of her lips wasn’t enough of an answer, then it was the press of her lips to mine, the soft, seductive roll,
how her hands bunched at my top, pulling and shifting so she could access the skin underneath, pushing up until her fingers
skimmed against skin.
I wanted to peel her clothes off her, tennis court be damned, and taste her on my fingers. The length of her body against
mine threatened to drive me wild, the anxiety now a distant thought.
“We should have never left the hotel room,” I murmured, leaving a trail of kisses down her jaw, leading to her neck, every
touch of her skin electric.
“I thought hitting something would help.” I felt the deep murmur of her voice against my chest, the noise humming through
her body. I glanced up, taking in her closed eyes, open mouth, the pleasure of my mouth against her neck clear across her
face.
“I only needed you.” I kissed along her collarbone, my hand wrapping around the other side of her neck, holding her in position as I trailed further south. I wanted to get lost in her, forget who I was with those long legs wrapped around my neck.
Instead, the tips of her fingers found my chin, nudging me up to look at her again.
“You know you have nothing to worry about,” she said, the confidence in her tone causing my heart to swell. “I bet you take
her in two straight sets. 6–4, 6–1.”
With a huff, my head fell back down against her chest. I breathed her in, as if trying to steal some of her belief. “That’s
confident of you.”
Her hand found my hair, brushing strands back behind my ears. Even when I wanted her so badly it ached, she found new ways
to be soft with me. “What can I say? I believe in my girl.”
I turned my head, still resting on her chest, the beat of her heart a steady rhythm soothing the edges of my anxiety. “I’m
your girl now?”
“You’ve always been my girl, Inés.” She smiled, the curve of her lips so delicate and precious that I wanted to trace it,
to memorize it. “I’ll back you every single time.”
I knew she meant it.
And I knew, without a doubt, where I wanted this to go.
By the time we left the court, it felt like the stars above were already starting to fade, dawn creeping in on the horizon.
A new day, and one final challenge, but I wasn’t alone anymore.