Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
He kisses me quickly as he twists toward the back seat. “Wanna talk about restraint?” He sits facing forward, slides on a clean shirt, then returns to steering. “I walked into your house and saw you with my shirt bunched up at the top of your ass cheeks and I managed to stay focused and not fuck you on the kitchen table.”
“Sounds like we’re even then.”
We exchange a smile as he pilots the car into one of the last parking spots near the courts.
“Let’s go kick some ass,” Jory says, kissing me quickly before we hop out of the car. He grabs our bags and then we make a dash for Court 3.
The crowd gathered around for our match turns as we jog toward them.
“There they are!” a voice says from somewhere in the mass of people.
I wave at George Mathers, and the relief on his face is evident.
Jory holds the gate open and we step onto the court.
The electricity in the park is almost alive, buzzing through the townspeople lined up on bleachers and lawn chairs surrounding the courts. We place our stuff on the bench, still wet from the rain this morning, and take out our paddles. Our opponents stare us down from the other side of the court.
They clearly don’t know me. Intimidation never works.
“You ready?” Jory asks, smiling at me.
“I was born ready.”
“Did you see your friends over there?”
Huh? “No. Where?”
“Behind us. Top row.”
I turn, scanning the audience for them. Finally, at the very end, I spot them all. Audrey and Brooks, Gray and Astrid, Gianna and Drake, and Mira and Hartley. Nettie sits beside one of the guys from the wedding, and when she and I make eye contact, she winks.
My heart swells as they all wave—showcasing the shirts Gianna made them all—and pink and white pompoms shake in Audrey and Mira’s hands.
“How did they know?” I ask Jory. “I told them last night that we weren’t playing.”
“Long story.” He half smiles. “Your brother called me this morning, and then called Mira, I think.”
“Miles called me last night, too.”
His brows pull together. “How’d that go?”
“I’ll tell you about it later.”
“We’re ready to get started on Court 3,” George says into the microphone. “This is Match 13 on your brackets, ladies and gentlemen. We have Jill Jenkins and Darrin Beren taking on Markie St. James and Jory Plath.”
The crowd cheers as the four of us meet to shake hands. George reminds us of the rules as we take our places on the court. We do our best to loosen up in the small amount of time that we have to work with. It’s not enough, but it’ll have to work.
A bubble of anxiety starts to pop in my stomach. I’m usually so good about not getting nervous. This is my dominion, after all. But this all happened so fast, the tide changed in the blink of an eye, and I didn’t have time to prepare. My game face got left in the car.
The ball is handed to Darrin, and he takes his position behind the baseline, waiting for the instruction to begin.
George raises his hand and then lets it fall dramatically to his side.
The crowd roars in applause.
Darrin drops the ball and drives his serve diagonally across the court toward Jory. Jory handles it easily, firing a deep return down the sideline.
Jill’s next shot comes up short, but I dig it without any trouble, dropping a soft dink into the opposite corner. By the time they react, the ball is already bouncing twice.
I lift my hands, a burst of excitement ripping through me, as I turn to Jory. He gives me a high five and takes the ball from George.
“Good job,” Jory says. “Let’s keep it going.”
I face our opponents, ready to work. My nerves are gone. I’m in the zone.
The crack of Jory’s serve echoes behind me. Darrin struggles with the power but manages to get a paddle on it. I send it back with interest, painting the sideline.
Jill reaches it, but her shot hangs.
Rookie mistake.
I scoop it up, and feather another dink into the open court, winning the point.
The crowd goes wild.
“There we go,” I say, clapping my hands. “We got this.”
Jory fires another serve to Darrin’s backhand. He twists, trying to recover, but the ball lands just inside the baseline before he can get his paddle on it.
“That’s a point,” George announces. “That’s 3-0, Team St. James.”
Jory lifts a brow. “Team St. James, huh?”
“I don’t know where he got that,” I say, laughing, too.
“Sure, you don’t.”
“I guess this means you need a shirt with my name on the back.”
He narrows his eyes playfully.
“I could have so much fun with this,” I say, teasing him.
He catches George’s toss. “Stop thinking about my dick and pay attention.”
“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” I say, giggling. “Let’s win this and go home.”