Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
NAOMI
“You’re staring,” Wyatt said quietly while I bounced a ball on my racquet to give me something to do while we waited.
The ball dropped to the floor, and he caught it.
“I wasn’t staring. I just happen to be looking in that direction,” I shot back too quickly, making Wyatt snort.
The direction being the other side of the net where Sam was warming up.
He was running through pretty basic drills and doing so with the kind of care you took when your body was the key to being able to do your job.
Every move was controlled. He breathed in all the right places.
It wasn’t an exciting thing to watch. But Wyatt was right, I was staring.
I was drawn to Sam in a way I wasn’t used to experiencing.
Ever since seeing him live, I’d been watching his matches when I could and was fascinated by the way he played tennis.
It was clinical. Almost boring. He played every point like he was following an exact formula, and when it didn’t go the way it was supposed to, he didn’t seem to know how to fix it.
He was one of the world’s best, so clearly, it was working for him, but the rigidity of his match play didn’t seem to add up with the almost eager energy that came across in his messages to me.
“Yeah, it’s a complete coincidence that you’re looking in the direction of the very hot man lunging and doing a little hip thrust in the process.”
There was also that fact. Hot men doing anything was nice to look at.
I looked away from that very sight, the dark grey material of his shorts stretching over the muscles of his thighs, and at my brother.
“If you know that, then you’re also staring,” I pointed out.
“I’m not denying that. You are. Does Mimi have a little crush?” he teased, and I felt my palms start to get clammy.
“That would be a terrible idea,” I answered, because I couldn’t say he was wrong. But I wasn’t going to admit he might be right either.
“Didn’t hear a denial there.” He turned to face Sam. “You good?” he called.
Sam jogged to the net, his face slightly flushed, and rested his hands on the top.
“I’m good. What do you wanna do?”
“I need her to serve more and get used to returning. I don’t really care how that happens. Have fun with it.”
A frown marred Sam’s face, copper eyes clouding with confusion. “Have fun?”
A similar expression came across Wyatt’s face. “Yeah, have fun. Play tennis. Serve, return, get a rally going if you’re able to. Just don’t go full hog with the power. Either of you.”
Sam still looked like he couldn’t understand what Wyatt was suggesting, which again piqued my interest because surely, at the core of it all, we played tennis because we liked it.
Wyatt held a ball out to me, which I took before heading back to the baseline.
As I prepped for my serve, I watched Sam sink into a squat, spinning my racquet in his hand.
He looked like he was taking it too seriously, and so even though it went against what Wyatt wanted, I served it underarm and made Sam run into action.
He reached the ball and lobbed it back. While he watched it arc onto my side of the court, I watched the way his shoulders seemed to relax.
I let it bounce twice before scooping it onto my racquet.
“You could’ve got that,” he said, slightly breathless.
“This is supposed to be fun,” I reminded him.
“I think I can manage that,” he said as he slowly walked backwards with a wink. I chanced a look at Wyatt, who raised his eyebrows once with a smirk on his face.
I wiped my hands on my leggings, secured my grip on my racquet, and smashed a serve out wide before I could even worry about landing on my right foot again.
Half an hour later, I hit the ball into the net, and Wyatt called time on our training session.
Considering it was supposed to be low stakes, Sam and I were breathing heavily, and there was a pleasant burn in my muscles that I was slowly becoming used to again. Playing against Sam had forced me to focus on the court in a way I hadn’t quite been able to achieve while I was training with Wyatt.
Sam was one of the best returners out there and quickly settled into his assigned role, testing my game and not acting like this session was life or death for him.
He hit balls all over the court, forcing me to run around or figure out how to move from defensive play to attack.
I hadn’t realised that he was even capable of the variation he was sending my way because every match I’d watch him in, he tended to stay close to the baseline and rely on his power to win him points.
His serve kept me guessing, but I’d also been one of the best returners, and there were only two serves I didn’t get back across the net.
As the last big training sessions before a tournament went, this one was turning out to be near perfect.
“You seem to be handling being back on court well,” Sam said once he’d regained his breath. His T-shirt was sticking to him in places, and he had a warm flush across his cheeks and down his neck.
“I’m definitely getting there,” I replied.
The past two weeks had gone better than I’d expected, but just because I was doing well in training sessions didn’t mean I was going to be able to cope with match conditions.
My first match back was against Grace Quinn, who had recently been in the form of her life.
There was no denying that part of me felt nervous.
“It feels like you’re more than just getting there. You’re packing a punch with some of those returns. I knew you hit hard, but I wasn’t expecting that. It’s incredible.”
My sweat-slicked skin flushed further. All too often, the fact that I could hit a ball hard was held against me. I wasn’t used to being praised for it.
“Thanks. It feels good to be out again. I really missed it.”
“And tennis missed you. I should get going. This was fun,” he said earnestly, holding the racquet out to me.
“Yeah, it was. Thanks for sticking around.”
With another wink as a goodbye, he was gone, and Wyatt came to stand next to me.
“Did you know he had range in him?” he asked quietly as we both watched Sam’s retreating figure, which looked more relaxed than when he’d arrived.
“No, I’ve seen the same things you have.”
“Can you imagine how amazing he’d be if he fucking moved?”
I turned to look at my brother. “He’s not doing bad for himself now,” I pointed out.
“I guess. You feel better about yourself now you’ve eaten the frog?”
“The frog you wouldn’t let me tackle until now?”
“You know I don’t like to give you too much time to overthink these things. Plus, Isaac advised it might be best if you had a therapy session or two under your belt before we tested the serve. Clearly, he was right because you needed whatever mind trick you employed today.”
I rolled my eyes fondly.
“Let’s just hope it works when I need it most.”