Sweet Spot Read online

  I nodded. Mainly because I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know if it was the hangover, the fact Austin was being so nice to me when I didn’t really deserve it, or that I hadn’t yet fucked up my chances with the academy. Perhaps it was a combination of all three. But whatever it was had lodged a lump in my throat and brought burning-hot tears to my eyes. I wasn’t feeling strong enough to hold them back, so I dropped my head into my hands again and let them fall.

  Once I’d started, I couldn’t stop. The silent tears turned into big, racking sobs. I was sure I was making myself look even more unattractive and pathetic but at that point I didn’t care. Letting out the humiliation and relief was cathartic.

  By the time I’d pulled myself together Austin had gone. I’d been so wrapped up in my pain that I hadn’t even heard him leave.

  I decided it was high time I took his advice and hopped in the shower. I got to it, plastering myself in far more of the expensive hotel toiletries than I needed and letting the powerful spray from the showerhead blast the last of my self-pity away. When I got out I was far from one hundred percent better but I was physically much improved and mentally happier.

  I resolved to take the second chance I’d been given and hold on to it tightly with both hands. I had a few things to do, people to see, before I could even think about forgiving myself and moving on, but first I needed breakfast. That would give me the strength I needed.

  Heading over to the bedside table, I picked up the phone and dialed down to reception.

  Chapter Four

  It was the first day back at the academy and although part of me was looking forward to returning to normality I was also a little nervous. I’d spent the time between Austin visiting me in my hotel room and my arrival in California making amends to everyone who had been affected by my little “indiscretion”, even indirectly. Thankfully most people seemed more amused than upset, just seeing me as a youngster who was a bit of a lightweight.

  I accepted that description though I knew it wasn’t true. I’d only been on my fourth drink when the black hole in my memory had appeared, and prior to that I’d felt a pleasant buzz and would have rated myself at maybe a three on a one-to-ten scale of drunkenness. I’d had just enough to loosen my tongue, lower my inhibitions, but definitely not so much that I’d go crazy. And yet I had. The evidence didn’t lie. After speaking to Travis Connolly I discovered that I hadn’t even had the drink he’d collected for me. By the time he’d arrived back with us girls I’d already gone off and started being bonkers.

  In the end I had to put it down to the barman pouring me a double on the fourth occasion. There was no other explanation—I hadn’t been mixing drinks, I wasn’t on medication and I’d eaten normally that day. There was no point going over it in my mind. I’d done what I could to gain forgiveness from everyone—now I’d move on.

  Well, not move on entirely, of course. Austin had said I was on a sort of probation, so I knew that meant all the staff and probably some of the players would be keeping a close eye on me. Nadia would be for sure. I intended to give them absolutely no cause for concern. Not that I had before, anyway. But now I would be a model pupil and prove to them that it had been a silly one-off and that I was as committed as ever to becoming a damn good tennis player.

  Clambering out of my car—I was still getting used to everything being back-to-front—I hit the asphalt then grabbed my bag from the rear seat. Closing and locking the vehicle, I straightened before crossing the car park toward the academy. Just as I was going in, Mitchell Adair—the guy who had helped me to my hotel room in New York—came out.

  “Hey, Mitchell,” I said, grinning. At the same time I watched carefully for his reaction. His smile was genuine, reaching his eyes and crinkling their corners. Actually he was pretty adorable. You know, if you liked that sort of thing. I betted he had women lining up for him.

  “Hey, Virginia. How’s it going?”

  “Good, thanks. Thanks to you getting me out of that bar before things went—”

  He cut me off. “Hey, I already told y’all, forget about it. Shit happens. I’m just glad I was able to help you.”

  “I’m still embarrassed.”

  “Sweetie, please. I’m from one of the bad parts of Chicago. I’ve seen worse. Much worse.” He shrugged. “You were just having a little too much of a good time, that’s all. I know you won’t do it again.” He tipped me a wink. “Look, I gotta go. But I’ll see you around, okay?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, see you around.”

  Shaking my head, I entered the building. God, I was doing a rubbish job at putting it behind me, wasn’t I? I blamed it on my Britishness. We apologize to people all the time—even when something isn’t our fault—so I’d obviously sent my conscience into meltdown.

  Come on, V. Get over it. Everyone else has. If someone else brings it up, fine. But you don’t need to keep dredging it up.

  Heading toward the changing rooms, I cemented that thought in my mind. I knew I’d feel better before long anyway. I hadn’t done any training since the day before we all went to New York, so I was massively out of practice. Hitting the gym and playing some friendly games would do me a world of good. Seeing Nadia again wouldn’t do any harm either.

  Pushing open the door, I entered the plush palace that my colleagues called the locker rooms—it was laughable. They were so much more than that and reminded me just how lucky I was to be there. Many stars had aligned to get me from a ratty tennis court in a park in south London to the world’s top training facility. Mainly, though, it was down to my old coach. I’d loved tennis even before I played it—watching matches on the television and eventually seeing the real thing at Wimbledon. When I got a racket in my hand, though, I quickly got hooked.

  Progressing from being a kid with a private tutor to a superior player in the UK and European tournaments had actually been pretty easy for me. It wasn’t ego talking, either, but plain facts. I’d fallen for the game in a big way and it had become my life. I just wasn’t interested in anything else. My parents had insisted that I try hard with my education—threatening to stop paying for my tennis tuition otherwise—but once I’d finished my compulsory education that had been it—there’d been no stopping me.

  Bringing myself back to the present, I pulled out my racket before dumping the rest of my stuff in my locker. Then I checked my laces and my hair—two things that could totally screw up a game if they weren’t right—and walked deeper into the area to see if there was anyone around who wanted to knock a few balls around. It was oddly deserted and the only sound was a shower. I wasn’t about to barge in there, so I turned to leave. There was bound to be someone around. Just as I passed the little corridor that housed the showers, the spray was turned off and after a slight pause a figure stepped out.

  I barely prevented my mouth from gaping open as I realized it was Nadia standing there in nothing but a miniscule white towel. Her long legs were on display to upper thigh and I had to work hard to rein in my lust. Forcing a smile, I said, “Hello, Nadia. How’s it going?”

  Returning my smile, she moved past me and toward her locker. She retrieved her bag and began pulling out everything she needed to get dressed. “Hey. I’m good, thanks. What about you? Glad to get back to training?”

  As she spoke she shamelessly dropped her towel and carried on as normal. And why wouldn’t she? It was a women’s changing room, after all. Nudity happened in here all the time. The worst part was that I’d known it was going to happen yet I still hadn’t managed to prepare myself for the sight.

  “U-uh, yes. Really glad. I’m just about to head out onto the courts to see if anyone wants to play. You’re the only one in here.”

  “Huh. I guess it makes sense though—after the Open a lot of players and coaches head out to see family, take vacations for a couple weeks. Then they get back to it.”

  I’d fixed my gaze firmly on her face just after she’d dropped the towel and, as a result, was clinging on to my sanity. Just. “Yeah, I never thought
of that. So how come you haven’t taken a vacation?”

  She let out a bark of laughter, pausing to pull her top over her head before answering, “Oh no. No vacation for me, I’m afraid. I’m on a self-imposed fun-ban. At least until I win a Major. Not that my family will miss me anyway. And I gave up friends when I landed this career.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure what to say. What could you say when someone who had just lost out on something they really wanted also divulged that they had no real friends and a family that wasn’t bothered about them? Granted, I could identify with the friend thing but at least I had the love and support of my family.

  Nadia saved me from a response. “What about you, anyway?” She grabbed her racket and put the rest of her stuff back in her locker.

  “Oh, I’m not heading back home until Christmas. I missed out on a lot of training by heading to the Open this year when I wasn’t even playing, so I’m making up for it now.”

  The word probation floated unspoken in the air between us.

  “I get it. So you wanna hit the court with me? We can smack our sorrows, perhaps?”

  Grinning, I replied, “Yeah, I like the sound of that. So why did you just shower if you’re heading back out there?”

  “Because I couldn’t find anyone to knock any balls about with either. So I hit the gym and was gonna head home. Maybe go for a run this afternoon. You’ve saved me from a lonely day.”

  “Glad to be of service.” We fell into step together, heading out of the women’s locker room and in the direction of the outdoor courts. I couldn’t help wondering if she’d been such a good and attentive mentor out of loneliness as well as kindness. She’d never come across as someone who didn’t have friends, but although we’d spent so much time together and talked a lot we hadn’t really gotten personal. It had mainly been about tennis, goals and aspirations, the other folks at the academy. That and superficial stuff. I made a decision then.

  “Hey, you wanna go out for a coffee or something later? Or another day?” It wasn’t even my attraction to her that had spurred the question. It was pity and she obviously sensed it. A frown crossed her otherwise beautiful face.

  “I didn’t say that to make you feel sorry for me, you know.”

  I cringed as two male players came out of the door to our left, no doubt hearing every word she’d said. We all exchanged polite nods and murmurs of greeting and continued on our separate ways. I waited until they were out of earshot then replied.

  “And I didn’t offer because I felt sorry for you. I offered because I thought we were…friends. You said it yourself.”

  By now we’d gotten outside, where the sun was shining—it was California, after all—albeit not quite as fiercely as in previous months. Despite Nadia’s explanation I was still surprised by how quiet the academy was. We were the only ones out there and I counted myself lucky that I’d bumped into her. Otherwise I’d have been hitting a ball against a wall, which wasn’t exactly effective training.

  Nadia sighed. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m being oversensitive. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. And yeah, I did say that. So it’s silly that we haven’t been out together before now. I’d love to go out later, if you still want to.”

  Of course I still wanted to. I hadn’t abandoned my plan to find out whether she liked me, only postponed it. But I did my best to play it cool. I gave a nod. “Fine by me. Ready to play?”

  Raising an eyebrow at my sudden change of subject, she nodded back then crossed the court, grabbed a ball from a wire basket at its edge and took position on the opposite side from me. “Okay, let’s go.”

  I pulled in a steady breath and released it slowly. I’d have to work damn hard to have even a chance of winning against Nadia and I knew it. I’d only beaten her a handful of times in the past few months, which wasn’t really a surprise. She’d been so close to winning that Grand Slam title. Having beaten her at all was quite an achievement. My ego might have been battered by all my defeats but right from the beginning I’d urged her not to go easy on me. The best possible way for me to learn, to get better, was to play a hard and fast game against a good opponent. And she was a spectacular opponent. I knew I’d come on in leaps and bounds since arriving at the academy and was confident I’d continue to improve. Mainly because I wouldn’t stop until I got right to the top. Being seeded was my smaller, more achievable goal, as was climbing to the top fifty, top ten, and so on. But my ultimate goal, my life’s dream, was to win a Grand Slam title. Then all four in one year.

  My aims weren’t modest, I knew. But I didn’t care. Being driven, ambitious, was in my DNA and it had always steered me right in the past. Whatever I set my mind to, I achieved. Well, the things I could control, anyway. Like getting a set of excellent GCSE results to keep my parents happy. Like winning every under-twenty-one tournament I entered. Like getting a place at Los Carlos Tennis Academy.

  I knew I couldn’t control Nadia but it didn’t stop me hoping that I’d get what I wanted in that respect too. She was just so bloody perfect in every way. But not annoyingly so, like Mary Poppins. Just perfect in a way that made me ache for her. And not just in a sexual sense.

  It took every ounce of resolve I had to bring my focus back to the game. I wanted her, yes, but I wanted to excel at professional tennis too. If I was lucky I could have both.

  “Okay, go.”

  Chapter Five

  Immediately the ball came flying over the net and I had to really hustle to send it back. Not a good start but it was my own stupid fault. I’d allowed myself to become distracted by my opponent. And not for the first time either. It had been happening for a while and I had to change that right away. I was being watched and one toe out of line could put my arse back on the next plane to England.

  Nadia had taught me some tricks, ways to get rid of any outside distractions. It was mainly meant to stop crowds, cameras and stuff getting to a player, but I figured it would work just as well to drown out any thoughts that were not directly linked to playing the game.

  Gritting my teeth, I made myself try. Narrowed my focus to the ball, to the person on the other side of the net. It was just an opponent, nothing special, just somebody I had to beat. Pulling in my love for the sport, my determination to succeed, I held on tightly to all those elements and disregarded any others. Then I gave the match everything I had.

  The ball came my way again and I sent it back much more easily this time. Fantastic. Now I had to do more than just get it over the net. I had to make it impossible for Nadia to retrieve before it went out. I’d work up to it slowly. I was just getting back into my stride—after all, it’d been a couple of weeks since I’d last played. And that was something I’d think on more later.

  Right now I slammed the sphere of bright-yellow fuzz into the opposite corner of the court. And despite her best efforts Nadia couldn’t return it. It bounced out of the box untouched. Wow. Apparently this mental trickery was working. And I was just getting warmed up too.

  A few volleys later—volleys that grew increasingly fast and furious—and it was my turn to lose a point, making us even. Muttering under my breath, I yanked in my focus again and just became all the more determined to win, whatever happened. Since I’d stopped thinking of Nadia as a top tennis player and someone I was attracted to, and started thinking of her as just another opponent, things had become easier. I didn’t automatically believe that I had the disadvantage because she was a better, more experienced player. Instead I believed that I was capable of winning because I was good and getting better.

  I could do this. And next year I was going to be competing in the US Open. Who knew, my first Grand Slam tournament might even be before then. Wimbledon, maybe. Home turf.

  Suddenly another ball was in play and flying in my direction. Running and leaping for it, I pinged it almost off the edge of my racket. By some miracle it landed in the box. Nadia returned it easily and we fell back into a series of volleys that continued for what felt like a ridiculously long time befor
e one of us missed. It was me, by a hair’s breadth.

  This time I internalized the irritation, the anger, and used it. It appeared to work, as the next time one of us lost a point it wasn’t me. I’d never been one for jumping around and fist pumping—not even when I won a game or a set—so I got right back into position and waited for Nadia to serve again.

  We continued in the same vein for some time, with our scores never more than a point apart. Triumph coursed through my body—even if I didn’t win I was definitely getting better.

  Soon it was time for the deciding point of the game and I shifted my weight from foot to foot, waiting for the ball to fly over the net. When it did I was more than ready for it and the ball bounced off the racket’s sweet spot and smashed back. I watched open-mouthed as it whizzed past Nadia’s left ear. I panicked momentarily, thinking I’d hit it so hard it had gone right out of the box, but fortunately that wasn’t the case. Nadia had spun around by that point and I saw it bounce once before going out.

  She turned back to me, looking surprised at first then happy. Then we both strode toward the net. Once we were a meter or so apart, she spoke. “Nice game, V. Well done. No offence, but I thought you might be a little rusty after a couple of weeks of not playing. But it looks as though the Open did you a world of good. Put fire in your belly, did it? Made you realize how much you want to be there?”

  I nodded. “Thanks. Good game. I thought I’d be rusty too, so I’m as surprised as you are. And yes, I guess you could say that. I’m determined that one day I’ll be playing in the US Open.”

  “And you’ll do it,” she replied. “I truly believe that, sweetie. You worked damn hard to get here and you’ve been working hard ever since. You’re getting better all the time. So by the time the US Open rolls around again you’ll probably be better than me.”