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“What do you want now?” Kai snapped when he saw me. Then his shoulders slumped in regret. He held up his hand to me, palm out.
“That hand gesture,” I said, moving across the court in my long sundress and sandals. “Does it mean something?”
“Yes,” Kai said, tossing a ball and sending it into the service square away from me. “It’s tennis-speak for ‘I’m sorry.’”
“Is it?” I arched a brow with a smile and went to the side of the court where a few practice rackets lay discarded next to a bench. I picked one up and gave it a small swing. “So the famous Kai Solomon is apologizing to me?”
“If it makes you feel better. It’s usually reserved for when a player gets a lucky net bounce or some other unintentional winner.”
“Winner?”
“A shot the other player has absolutely no chance of touching.” He served again. “I hit a lot of those.”
I rolled my eyes. “So modest.”
“Just the facts. Recorded facts, actually.” A small smile touched his lips. “If they’re stats, it’s not bragging.”
“Your stats,” I said quietly, crossing to the center of the court. “Like Most Fined Player on the Tour?”
“Jason gave you all the info, didn’t he?” He glowered. “Of course, he did. That’s why you’re here.”
“He showed me a highlight reel,” I said, giving the racket another awkward swing. “I liked most of what I saw. The shots between the knees? ’Tweeners? I can’t imagine trying one of those in a major tournament.”
“How I play is how I play,” Kai said. “’Tweeners and talking to the crowd is how I entertain myself during a match so I don’t fall asleep out of boredom. I’m not going to stop doing that stuff.”
“So don’t.”
He blinked, and his arms dropped as if he’d been bracing for an argument. “You approve?”
“The crowd loves you. Most of the time,” I added with a smile. “You love playing that way. Keep doing what you love. I’m no tennis coach, but that’s my advice anyway. Take it or leave it. Take the fun stuff, leave the rest.”
Leave the pain, Kai.
“If only it were that easy,” he said in a low voice.
“I know. Easier said than done…” I said without thinking and immediately wished I could suck the words back. The last thing I needed was Kai to find out I was just a receptionist at the Wellness Center who couldn’t get rid of her own nightmares. Who slept with the lights on like a little kid.
His head came up and his sharp, dark eyes studied me. I floundered for a diversion.
“Okay, let’s do this,” I said and took up a bent over position midcourt, the racket in both hands in front of me like I’d seen players do on TV.
Kai smirked. “What are you doing?”
“I’m waiting for you to serve.”
“You want to play?”
“God, no.” I laughed. “I’m in a dress and sandals. I just want to know what it feels like to face a professional tennis player’s serve.”
“If you insist.”
Kai lobbed an easy serve over the net. I batted it away and then put my hands on my hips.
“One of your real serves, if you please. Not the wimpy ones you use to throw off your opponents.”
“You want one of my aces?” He scoffed. “You can’t touch it.”
“Says you.”
