Chapter 8
JASMINE’S FEET SANK INTO THE SAND, SNEAKERS PUSHING THE grains away as she headed for the shoreline.
The beach was damp from high tide, leaving the sand wet with just enough give to make running comfortable.
She set a slow pace, not needing to wear herself out before the day really began, and let her mind just go blank—this always seemed to work for Penny and Indy.
None of the crap that had gone down this week with Amy or Teddy or Wolner mattered.
Not really.
They were flying to London tomorrow. She and Indy were going to qualify for doubles and they were going to kick ass.
Training was going better than ever. Their physical games had always complemented each other, but now they were on the same page mentally, and there were times when they barely had to speak on the court.
Soon enough, that would become the norm and they’d be unstoppable.
Only a few people were buzzing around the OBX grounds when she arrived for practice, but Dom was one of them, waiting with three guys, their hitting partners for the day.
Canadian doubles, the training regimen Dom had instituted a few days before, was making practice extreme, but it would pay off against the best in the world.
But it looked like the guys were already gathering their stuff to leave.
“Hey, kiddo,” Dom said as she rounded the corner of the court and slipped through the gate.
A quick glance around the empty court had her turning to Dom. “Why are they leaving? And where’s Indy? You didn’t just give her the day off, right?”
“Nah, she’s got a conflict this morning.”
“A conflict?” That made absolutely no sense. Indy wouldn’t miss training for anything. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine. She’ll be on the flight with us tomorrow. She just needs a day.”
Sounded like a bunch of bullshit, but Jasmine let it go. She’d talk to Indy later. “Okay, so then, what are we doing?”
“I moved up your singles training session and invited Fitz to play a set.”
Training with Amy. Fantastic. Just what her self-esteem needed, a few sets against someone who knew exactly what buttons to push to make it crater.
She pulled her racket bag off her back and laid it against the fence. “She’s late.”
“No, I’m right on time,” Amy said, appearing beside her, slinging an arm around her neck and bumping their hips together. “Dominic.”
“Morning, Fitz. Okay, both of you, a couple of circuits around the court and then warm up.”
“How long has it been, Jazzy?” Amy asked as they started their jog, rotating their arms in slow circles to loosen up.
“Since we played against each other?” Jasmine asked, like she didn’t remember with excruciating detail just how badly she’d lost to Amy back then. “The OBX semifinal four years ago, I guess.”
Amy threw her head back and laughed. “That’s right. That was a good match.”
“If by ‘good match’ you mean you kicking my ass, then yeah, it was a good match.”
“Aw, it was closer than the score line.”
“It really wasn’t. Didn’t matter, though. Penny destroyed you in the final.”
“And then she destroyed you the three years after that.”
“Ladies, this isn’t social hour,” Dom snapped from the edge of the court. “Talk on your own time.”
Jasmine jogged away without another word, grabbing her racket.
“Volley for serve, Jazzy?” Amy asked, taking the side of the court with her back to the beach, ensuring that Jasmine would have the sun rising in her eyes for at least the first game.
“Nah, it’s all yours,” Jasmine said, slipping her sunglasses on, the polarized lenses negating the effects of the sun.
“Sure about that?” Amy sounded pretty confident. She had once been the best OBX had to offer. Jasmine was going to make sure she understood just how much had changed in the last four years.
“Positive.”
The grass courts at OBX were normally like a ghost town, with most of the athletes spending their practice time on the hard courts, but word traveled quickly about their matchup, and by the time they were done with their warm-ups, a small crowd of people who had nowhere better to be lined the court to watch the club’s first two athletes go head-to-head again after so long.
The buzz around them quieted a bit as they took their positions at the baselines. When she was young, before Dom had started her on a truly rigorous elite-level conditioning program, Jasmine had always been the weaker player, her physical strength unequal to players a few years older than her.
That wouldn’t be the case this morning. Jasmine had spent the four years since training against the likes of Penny Harrison and Indy Gaffney, playing on Chatrier at Roland-Garros against the best doubles players in the world, the Kapur twins, forcing them to a third set.
She wasn’t that little girl who’d gotten her ass kicked in the OBX semifinal anymore.
Not by a long shot.
Amy’s game had always been a solid one—no real weakness, and her strengths, a good backhand and decent forehand, worked great against NCAA competition but wouldn’t compare to the level of play Jasmine faced on a regular basis.
Jasmine bounced on the balls of her feet and then landed, legs spread just a little more than shoulder width apart, her weight shifting back and forth.
Amy tossed the ball and served it straight and flat, skipping through the center of the service box.
Landing balanced led to a quick crossover step, and then a strong forehand had the ball rocketing back over the net into the corner of the deuce court before Amy had recovered enough to return it.
Amy stood still at the baseline, staring at where the ball had bounced, but there was no doubt it was in, a clean winner.
The crowd hummed in approval around them, and Jasmine let her eyes flicker over the faces, catching Teddy standing off to the side, leaning against the fence, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.
Amy stepped into her line of sight and raised her eyebrows over the net, but Jasmine shrugged.
The next serve, Amy tried to send out wide, but she missed beyond the doubles alley, and Jasmine sent the ball back to her and waited. Jasmine took a few steps in, a clear sign to the crowd around her just how little respect she had for that part of Amy’s game.
Her former BFF saw where she was standing, paused, and let the ball fall again, bouncing it against her racket and shifting her feet a little.
Another toss and Amy sent her next serve closer to the line, but Jasmine was on it almost before it bounced, lining up the backhand and ripping it crosscourt.
Amy managed to get a racket on it, but Jasmine shuffled closer to the net and finished the point with a short volley.
The crowd cheered, but this time, Jasmine ignored them all.
Standing at the baseline with her hands propped on her hips, her racket hanging limply in one hand, Jasmine tilted her head. Amy pouted and let out a begrudging sniff. Clearly, this wasn’t going quite the way she had planned.
Twenty minutes later, Dom called a halt to things, and the crowd milled around for a while, the chatter carrying out over the court to Jasmine as she gulped down her Gatorade.
“Did Fitz totally lose it in California?”
“Nah, Jasmine just destroyed her.”
Grabbing a towel and shielding her face with it, she smiled into the rough terry cloth and then wiped the sheen of sweat off her forehead.
“Nice set, Jazzy,” Amy said, grabbing her own drink. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Yeah, we should do it again sometime.”
Panic flared across Amy’s face. She schooled her features, but it was too late. “Definitely,” she said, trying to sound confident.
Jasmine turned her back and tossed her drink into her racket bag, knowing she would never have to face Amy Fitzpatrick on a tennis court ever again.
The locker room was virtually empty when Jasmine stepped out of the shower.
Morning sessions were all in full swing, and she dressed in peace and quiet, the adrenaline still thrumming through her veins from the win.
She had the afternoon off. All she had to do was head home and finish packing, then tomorrow morning, they’d be on a plane to London, the qualifying tournament for Wimbledon looming ahead of them.
Penny had texted everyone that Alex was inviting them all to stay at his townhouse.
He had more than enough space and it would be nice to be away from the constant scrutiny of the major tournament hotels.
She and Indy would have to share one of the four bedrooms since his training partner Paolo Macchia was staying there as well, but there would be enough room for Jack and Teddy, too.
It would be a wild few weeks all together in one house, but it would be a blast.
She stored her rackets in her locker and headed out into the bright sunshine of the North Carolina summer, a rare day with nothing to do except relax.
“Hey, Jazzy,” Amy called from just outside the door, leaning against the fence of a practice court with Teddy Harrison at her side.
Jasmine clenched her teeth together at the ridiculous nickname. She thought maybe the defeat on the court would mellow out Amy’s obnoxiousness, but apparently it didn’t.
“Hey, guys.”
“Teddy was just saying he’d take me to Deuce for breakfast so we can catch up before y’all leave for London. Isn’t that sweet of him?”
“So sweet,” Jasmine agreed, looking at Teddy, who refused to make eye contact with her.
Amy wrapped her hand around Teddy’s forearm, leaning into him, her breasts brushing against his biceps.
It could have been innocent contact, but Jasmine knew Amy better than that.
What really annoyed her was that Teddy wasn’t pulling away.
“Oh my God, you should totally come with us. We can reminisce about the glory days.”
She’d rather spork her eyes out and feed them to the seagulls circling overhead.
“Jasmine has stuff to do, don’t you?” Teddy answered for her.