“I thought so.”
He snorted. Then, after dropping another quick, dizzying kiss on her mouth, he hopped over the net and shook a couple balls loose from the can.
“I was just going to say…” A long pause as he gathered his words and forced them out. “Back when I was on the Tour, time on the court often clarified things for me. If I was worried, an hour with my hitting partner did me a world of good. Even though, toward the end, sustaining a rally hurt me physically as much as it helped me mentally.”
She let out a slow breath. He hadn’t avoided her question or hid himself behind that shell he’d constructed. This was…
This was good. It could be really, really good.
Which was, in its own way, really, really bad.
In a practiced gesture, he slid one of the balls into his pocket and palmed the other. Clearly, he was done with his story and ready to play.
But she needed to clarify something first. “When we were arguing, you said your left wrist still hurt sometimes. Is that true?”
As he bounced the ball against the blue concrete, he nodded.
“Is that only when you go full-force? Or does it hurt all the time? With every backhand you hit?”
The thought of that—his greatest joy and comfort twined with inescapable pain—tore a hole through her heart, and damned if she didn’t need to blink back tears.
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
He wasn’t looking at her. “Not every backhand.” A pause. “Some.”
Screw her doubts. She wouldn’t make him suffer because of her dithering. “Would you rather do something else, then? We could go to dinner right away, if you wanted.”
“I said I wanted to play a little tennis with you, and I do.” He didn’t sound impressed by her offer or concerned about his own pain. “And you said your knee is fine, so we’re both good to go.”
She couldn’t stand the thought of him hurting. “But if you’re—”
“This is one of the reasons I don’t talk to people about my injuries.” When he glanced up at her, a wry smile had split his face. “They tend to question my own judgment about what I can and can’t handle. About how I should treat my body.”
She winced. Was that what she’d just done to him?
Yeah. Yeah, she kinda had.
“I’m sorry. I’ll try not to do it again.” God knew, she’d received enough unsolicited advice about her own body over the years. “That said, if I saw you obviously hurting, I’d say something. If that’s a deal-breaker for you, you should let me know.”
He thought for a minute before answering, and then gave a little nod.
“I would do the same, so it’s not a deal-breaker. Besides, I know I can push myself a bit too hard at times.” When she began to speak, he sent her a quelling look. “Although now isn’t one of those times, so you can close that sweet mouth of yours.”
“I can.” She smirked. “But I probably won’t.”
His eyes rolled to the darkening sky above. “Quelle surprise.”
“So you want us to hit the ball back and forth?” Lifting her racket, she mimed hitting a forehand.
He raised his own racket in a salute. “Yes. And while we do, we can play a game other than tennis. What do you think?”
When she raised a brow, he glanced at it and huffed out an amused breath.
“I think you’re overestimating my ability to multitask,” she told him.
That wink of his. It made her want to smack himandscrew him. “Truth or dare on the tennis court, Tess. A few rallies, a few secrets, a few risks. What do you say?”
She flipped her hair over her shoulder and tilted her chin high. “I say bring it on, Lucas. Bring. It. On.”
