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Felicity is almost as tall as me, and she’s also a great volley player. The four of us are well matched, which isn’t surprising considering we’ve both only lost one game. We go fifteen-all, and then thirty-all.
Considering I’m so tired, though, I serve better than I have all day, maybe buoyed up by Mack’s compliments. On my next serve to David, I catch him on the backhand, and he clips the net on the return, sending the ball spinning out of the court.
“Fuck it!” he yells, clearly furious as he stalks to his next position.
I glance at Mack, who winks at me. I hide a smile and walk to the other side, and serve against Felicity. It’s an ace, and it wins us the game.
The crowd claps, and we change ends. David’s muttering to himself. I glance at Felicity. The two of them aren’t talking, and she’s quiet, but she looks determined.
We take our places, David to serve, and the crowd falls quiet.
David serves toward the middle line, and I think he’s forgotten Mack’s a leftie, because he returns it with a solid forehand, slicing it across the court, just out of David’s reach. Love-fifteen.
Now David’s serving to me. Keyed up, I manage to return it, and the four of us exchange a flurry of volleys. But a well-placed spin by Felicity sends the ball straight down the middle, and Mack and I both miss it. Fifteen-all.
“Shit.” He blows out a breath.
“Sorry,” I murmur as we walk back from the net together.
He just rests a hand in the middle of my back for a moment before he parts to go back to receive the serve.
This time David has remembered he’s playing a leftie. He sends it to Mack’s backhand. Mack returns it and sends it spinning across the court, but it’s too high, and Felicity slams it down on the ground just out of my reach. Thirty-fifteen.
I clip the edge of David’s serve to me, and it flies off into the crowd. Forty-fifteen.
David serves to Mack. He returns with a solid backhand. Felicity counters with an incredible volley that cuts right across me, completely wrong-footing me, and losing us the game. It’s now one-all.
I retrieve my energy drink and have a few swallows before returning to the net. At least Mack’s serving. But I can see the other two are as determined as we are.
Mack misses his first serve. On the second, David returns it, then runs in to the net. I volley it back straight at him, a tad too high. He smacks the ball with a volley that shoots toward me at a million miles an hour. It hits me on my upper left arm with a loud thwack that makes me squeal.
“Jesus.” Mack runs over to me. My dress is sleeveless, so it’s easy to see the scarlet mark the ball has left on my skin.
In professional mixed doubles it’s common for the men to play on the fact that the women are usually the weaker players, but it certainly doesn’t follow Huxley’s rules of etiquette.
Still, it’s not an illegal move, and I shrug off Mack’s hand and say, “Don’t worry about it,” even though it’s stinging like hell. But all it’s done is make me even more determined to win.
Mack hesitates, but when I walk back to my position, he strides off to the baseline. I see Felicity look at him, but his gaze is fixed on David, who’s not bothering to hide his smile.
It’s love-fifteen. Mack serves to Felicity. She just gets to it, but hits it into the net. Fifteen-all.
He misses his first serve. Hits the second to David’s backhand. David returns it easily, but I’m waiting and slam it down at Felicity’s feet. She squeals and swings but misses it. Thirty-fifteen.
The tension is rising on the court. The spectators are excited, watching with bated breath. Mack bounces the ball a few times, and I’m sure he must be talking to himself silently, psyching himself up. He serves—and misses. Serves again, and David returns. I volley. Felicity volleys back immediately. David lobs Mack, but he’s fucking fast, and he’s back in time to return it with a solid backhand that takes David by surprise. He tries to volley it but misses. Forty-fifteen.
“Aaaargh!” David screams his frustration. Felicity glares at him, but he doesn’t notice.
Mack walks toward me, and I face away so they won’t see whatever tactic he wants to share.
“You’ve got the best legs in the whole tournament,” he murmurs.
“Apart from you,” I counter, and we both laugh, which I’m sure enrages David.
Mack walks back to the baseline, absolutely buzzing with energy, and he throws the ball up around his back and then catches it, causing the crowd to cheer and David to glare.
He bounces it a few times, and the crowd falls quiet. He tosses it high.
Then he serves an ace.
