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We win the next match easily, and then it’s time for lunch. Just sandwiches and cake, nothing too heavy to slow us down at the net, but I still make Sidnie shake her head with how many sandwiches I manage to put away.
“Have you checked the table?” Elizabeth asks as we join her and Huxley on our way for match five. “You’re neck and neck with Felicity and David—you’re the only two couples who haven’t lost a match yet.”
“Plenty of time to crash and burn,” I say cheerfully, unzipping my racket cover as we arrive.
Sidnie chuckles and joins me on the court, waving to where Jamie and Emma are sitting in the shade with Gus. The umpire tosses the coin, and we win and choose to serve. It’s hot now, the sun high in the sky. We’ve both reapplied lotion, and we’re both wearing hats with peaks to keep the sun out of our eyes.
“Anything I should know about these two?” Sidnie asks me as we walk back to our places, and Huxley and Elizabeth walk to theirs.
“I know I joked about Elizabeth’s height, but she’s an excellent volley player. She’s easy to lob, though, so Hux plays at the baseline. It’s about placement with these two—making him run, then lobbing the other side, or volleying to her backhand. Don’t worry, we’ve got this.”
I turn out to be right. They make us work for it, and catch us out a few times with some sneaky moves, but we’re all over them, and they know it. We go two games up, and in the third, sensing defeat, Huxley and Elizabeth turn it into a comedy match.
“We need to distract them,” Huxley tells her. “Get your kit off.”
“I’m not getting my boobs out just so you can win a match,” she protests.
“I’ll take mine off then,” he says, and starts undoing the tie on his shorts.
She rolls her eyes. “If you do that, I’m going to call for new balls.”
The crowd laughs and cheers, thoroughly enjoying the show.
The two of them play the fool in the final game, including cheating, with Elizabeth telling me, “All’s fair in love, business, and tennis, Mack, I keep telling you.”
We join in to make it fun, and I manage to hit a ball from under one leg, while Sidnie tries to put Elizabeth off her serve with a comedy dance, making her laugh.
But it makes no difference. Just a few points later, the match is ours, to much cheering from the crowd, who thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle.
Then it’s on to match six, which is against a couple who plays on the club’s team.
Sidnie checks her phone as we walk to the next court. “Felicity and David won, too. We’re still equal on points.” She huffs in frustration. “Dammit. You just know it’s going to come down to the last match.”
“Of course it is. It was written in the fucking stars. But first things first. This couple we’re about to play is pretty good and play regularly for the club. It’s going to be a tricky match, so stay on your toes.”
I hold out my hand, and she slides hers into it.
“We make quite a good team, don’t we?” she asks. Her face is pink, and her curls peek out from beneath the hat despite her attempts to restrain them with an elastic band. She looks amazing in her tennis dress, with her gorgeous long legs.
“We’re fantastic,” I tell her. “In more ways than one.”
Leaving her with that, I go up to the umpire for the toss. We win and choose to serve, and Sidnie and I take our places.
As I expected, it turns out to be a hard-fought match. On the first game they’re a hair’s breadth from winning forty-love, but we fight back to bring it to deuce, only to lose it on the final point. By game two, Sidnie and I are fully warmed up and playing well, and we win it relatively easily.
The third game is harder. Sidnie’s serving, it’s very hot, and I think she’s getting tired. We get to deuce just before the umpire blows the whistle, and then she’s serving for the match. She sends the first serve out. Her nerves get to her, and the second serve isn’t a strong one. The woman gives a sound forehand that sends it whistling to Sidnie’s backhand. Sidnie hits it, but it bounces out of the tramlines.
“Fuck it.” She bends at the waist, hands on her hips, breathing hard, then straightens as I walk up to her. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I lost us this,” she says, obviously disappointed with herself.
“They played well, Sid. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” I lift her chin and kiss her.
“Aren’t you mad at me?” she whispers. “I thought you were the most competitive man in Christendom.”
“Felicity and David also lost. We’re equal on points—the only two couples to have lost one game. So we still have a chance. But even so, why would I be mad? You’re playing so well. Your volleying is stunningly good. And your serves are the fastest I’ve seen out of all the women today.”
