I check out her ass on principle as she walks away, running the towel over my face before finishing a bottle of water in three gulps.
One more lesson before I can escape to Pig and Scout, the dive bar where I sometimes work nights. Generally, I count the hours until P&S; it’s a welcome break from all the pretension.
Although …
Today is Wednesday. And on Wednesdays, I’m not in such a hurry.
Despite what the other guys think about their athletic skills, I know we “tennis pros” are merely the pool boys of the country club. We’re supposed to be ripped, a little bit dangerous, and not clinging too closely to our morals.
I have no problem with any of those, especially the last one, even if it does get old after a while.
But my hour a week with Kristin Bellamy makes it all worth it.
I see Kristin approaching out of the corner of my eye, but deliberately don’t turn to check her out, even subtly.
See, forty-two-year-old women like Mindy McLaughlin are forever afraid they’re “losing it.” They need the confirmation that they’re still worth looking at.
But twenty-two-year-old girls like Kristin Bellamy know they’ve got it.
The trick to reeling those in is making them wonder if you’ve noticed.
“Hey, Michael.”
I turn to face her, keeping my expression indifferent. “Kristin.”
Yeah, I definitely notice her.
She’s wearing only a white sports bra and a tiny white tennis skirt. I’m pretty sure the club has some sort of policy requiring members to wear a little more clothing, but considering the place is run by a bunch of doddering old dudes, I doubt they’re going to order Kristin to cover up her tanned, toned stomach and perky tits.
My eyes don’t linger, returning quickly to her face, and she appears not to mind that I don’t check her out.
It’s a game we’ve been playing for weeks now.
For the life of me I can’t figure out who’s winning.
I only know the endgame. Her. Me. In bed. Or wherever.
Kristin is the first girl to interest me—truly interest me—since Olivia Middleton. The only girl I’ve ever really wanted. And definitely the only one I’ve ever loved.
Not that I have any intention of loving Kristin. I’m not going that route again, ever.
But I do want her. And not just because she has a smoking body. Kristin has a key connection to my very reason for being in Texas.
“Saw Mindy on my way down here,” Kristin says, giving a little twirl of her racket as she moves closer. “Everything go okay with your lesson? She looked kind of irritated.”
I toss my towel aside with an indifferent shrug. “It’s hot. Makes everyone edgy.”
“It really is hot, isn’t it?” she agrees, setting her racket on the bench to pull her long dark hair into a high ponytail. “I could hardly bear to get dressed this morning.”
Looks like you didn’t bear it at all, I almost say. But I don’t. I just pretend like I don’t notice the way her current posture shows off the lean curve of her waist.
Kristin looks nothing like Olivia. Olivia was blond with warm green eyes, whereas Kristin is dark-haired with scheming brown eyes. But they have that same combination of sweet and haughty, the same rich-girl fit body, same shy yet confident smile.
Kristin absently runs her fingertips over her bare abdomen and I nearly grin at the obviousness of her gesture.
Even as I want to haul her to me and give her the kiss she’s so blatantly asking for, I want to knock her down a peg. To tell her she’s nothing to me but a chance at redemption from my past, and the key to getting my foot in the door of my future.
Kristin Bellamy is nothing but a reminder of what it felt like to want someone.
“Should we get started?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” she says, flicking the ponytail back over her shoulder. “I’ll need all the practice I can get since I’m team captain next year.”
“You’ll be a senior, right?” I ask, even though I don’t really give a shit.
“Yup,” she says.
A snort comes from behind me, and I’m surprised to realize we’re no longer alone.
“Fifth-year senior,” the newcomer says, settling herself on the bench as though she belongs there.
“Sorry?” I ask, still trying to figure out where the hell this girl came from.
The girl nods in the direction of Kristin. “She’s already done her senior year. Next year she’ll be doing it again.”
I glance toward Kristin and see her giving the other girl a death glare.
They clearly know each other.
I give the new girl a second look. She’s about Kristin’s age, but looks nothing like her. There’s a book on the bench next to her hip, but right now both of her hands are occupied with an M&M’s bag. She fishes out a candy and pops it into her mouth as her eyes move between Kristin and me like we’re the world’s most fascinating spectator sport.
“Cute,” the girl says, gesturing between Kristin and me. “If you two copulate, I’m calling Pampers to tell them I know where their next baby model is coming from.”
“Friend of yours?” I ask Kristin.
Kristin sighs. “Sister.”
Sister?
Disbelieving, I look more closely at the chocolate-munching creature.
Instead of Kristin’s smooth dark ponytail, this one’s hair is a mass of wild curls, sort of gold and brown, and maybe some red.
One more lesson before I can escape to Pig and Scout, the dive bar where I sometimes work nights. Generally, I count the hours until P&S; it’s a welcome break from all the pretension.
Although …
Today is Wednesday. And on Wednesdays, I’m not in such a hurry.
Despite what the other guys think about their athletic skills, I know we “tennis pros” are merely the pool boys of the country club. We’re supposed to be ripped, a little bit dangerous, and not clinging too closely to our morals.
I have no problem with any of those, especially the last one, even if it does get old after a while.
But my hour a week with Kristin Bellamy makes it all worth it.
I see Kristin approaching out of the corner of my eye, but deliberately don’t turn to check her out, even subtly.
See, forty-two-year-old women like Mindy McLaughlin are forever afraid they’re “losing it.” They need the confirmation that they’re still worth looking at.
But twenty-two-year-old girls like Kristin Bellamy know they’ve got it.
The trick to reeling those in is making them wonder if you’ve noticed.
“Hey, Michael.”
I turn to face her, keeping my expression indifferent. “Kristin.”
Yeah, I definitely notice her.
She’s wearing only a white sports bra and a tiny white tennis skirt. I’m pretty sure the club has some sort of policy requiring members to wear a little more clothing, but considering the place is run by a bunch of doddering old dudes, I doubt they’re going to order Kristin to cover up her tanned, toned stomach and perky tits.
My eyes don’t linger, returning quickly to her face, and she appears not to mind that I don’t check her out.
It’s a game we’ve been playing for weeks now.
For the life of me I can’t figure out who’s winning.
I only know the endgame. Her. Me. In bed. Or wherever.
Kristin is the first girl to interest me—truly interest me—since Olivia Middleton. The only girl I’ve ever really wanted. And definitely the only one I’ve ever loved.
Not that I have any intention of loving Kristin. I’m not going that route again, ever.
But I do want her. And not just because she has a smoking body. Kristin has a key connection to my very reason for being in Texas.
“Saw Mindy on my way down here,” Kristin says, giving a little twirl of her racket as she moves closer. “Everything go okay with your lesson? She looked kind of irritated.”
I toss my towel aside with an indifferent shrug. “It’s hot. Makes everyone edgy.”
“It really is hot, isn’t it?” she agrees, setting her racket on the bench to pull her long dark hair into a high ponytail. “I could hardly bear to get dressed this morning.”
Looks like you didn’t bear it at all, I almost say. But I don’t. I just pretend like I don’t notice the way her current posture shows off the lean curve of her waist.
Kristin looks nothing like Olivia. Olivia was blond with warm green eyes, whereas Kristin is dark-haired with scheming brown eyes. But they have that same combination of sweet and haughty, the same rich-girl fit body, same shy yet confident smile.
Kristin absently runs her fingertips over her bare abdomen and I nearly grin at the obviousness of her gesture.
Even as I want to haul her to me and give her the kiss she’s so blatantly asking for, I want to knock her down a peg. To tell her she’s nothing to me but a chance at redemption from my past, and the key to getting my foot in the door of my future.
Kristin Bellamy is nothing but a reminder of what it felt like to want someone.
“Should we get started?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” she says, flicking the ponytail back over her shoulder. “I’ll need all the practice I can get since I’m team captain next year.”
“You’ll be a senior, right?” I ask, even though I don’t really give a shit.
“Yup,” she says.
A snort comes from behind me, and I’m surprised to realize we’re no longer alone.
“Fifth-year senior,” the newcomer says, settling herself on the bench as though she belongs there.
“Sorry?” I ask, still trying to figure out where the hell this girl came from.
The girl nods in the direction of Kristin. “She’s already done her senior year. Next year she’ll be doing it again.”
I glance toward Kristin and see her giving the other girl a death glare.
They clearly know each other.
I give the new girl a second look. She’s about Kristin’s age, but looks nothing like her. There’s a book on the bench next to her hip, but right now both of her hands are occupied with an M&M’s bag. She fishes out a candy and pops it into her mouth as her eyes move between Kristin and me like we’re the world’s most fascinating spectator sport.
“Cute,” the girl says, gesturing between Kristin and me. “If you two copulate, I’m calling Pampers to tell them I know where their next baby model is coming from.”
“Friend of yours?” I ask Kristin.
Kristin sighs. “Sister.”
Sister?
Disbelieving, I look more closely at the chocolate-munching creature.
Instead of Kristin’s smooth dark ponytail, this one’s hair is a mass of wild curls, sort of gold and brown, and maybe some red.
