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Speaking of trash, that guy this morning- Wow. I had no idea trashmen were so hot.
Or maybe we got the hottest guy because of our zip code? An unexpected perk of being wealthy I never could have dreamed of, a hot trashman to drool over.
Who knew a plain gray T-shirt could have me getting all flustered and starry-eyed. Or maybe it was the wide shoulders and bulging biceps stretching out that cotton fabric that had lust throbbing through me? Another few minutes of his cocky grin, gorgeous sun-kissed skin, and gooey warm brown eyes, and I would have been sneaking him through the bushes and leading him back to my place.
Okay, enough of this or I’m going to be late. Springing up from the sofa, I walk to my bedroom and directly into my huge walk-in closet, pulling my tennis whites off their hangers. Braiding my hair in the bathroom, I give myself a fast once over and puff out a sigh.
This is my exciting Thursday night, playing tennis with my father at his country club. I’m twenty-four, I should be hanging out with friends, going dancing, doing something with people my own age!
Pulling a few wisps of hair artfully out of my tight braid, I stick my tongue out at my reflection.
Could I be any more of a spoiled bitch?
I’m Daddy’s only child and since my mother died five years ago, he’s been lonely as hell. If a few games of tennis make him happy, I should do it with a smile.
And I do.
Though my smile becomes strained when I learn it’s not a singles match, but that he signed us up for a doubles match with some judge and his dull lawyer son who has a receding hairline and a weak chin.
The fathers make the introductions, and it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes.
Basically, it was, “Savannah, this is Grant Underwood the fourth. His family came over on the Mayflower, and belongs to our club, marry him, and produce suitable heirs for our family.”
I hold back a giggle.
Okay, nothing quite that bad. But it’s painfully obvious both fathers are hoping for more than just a friendly tennis match. I know Daddy wants the best for me and he’s only trying to prevent me from ending up with a bad guy and being heartbroken. I can’t blame my father for being protective of his only child.
It’s just hard because I’m that child. I wish my parents had more children, then the pressure would have eased because it would be spread out among us. Or Daddy would have a coronary trying to make it through multiple matchmaking attempts.
Sadly, it is just me and I’m stuck with his matchmaking attempts. No matter how obvious and ill-suited.
A matchmaking attempt which even he seems dubious about by the end of the first set when Grant is puffing like a locomotive and swearing after ever miss and net shot. I hope the man conducts himself with more grace in court because yikes.
Even the judge seems aghast at his son’s behavior and tries to smooth it over. “Grant’s just letting off some steam after the stress of a high-profile case. A lot of pressure.”
“Of course.” Daddy nods, pushing his silver blond hair back from his tanned forehead. My father is in his fifties and has barely broken a sweat while poor stressed out Grant is practically leaving a puddle on the court.
“He’s going to win the case. I have no doubt about that,” the judge hurries to assure us, his watery blue eyes practically pleading with me.
It takes a lot of effort to keep the polite smile on my face, especially when Grant launches his racket like a rocket toward the fencing surrounding the court.
“We’ll just call it 40-all and head in for some drinks,” Daddy offers graciously, placing his hand on my back and steering me away from Grant and the judge.
“Sorry, kiddo,” he whispers out of the corner of his mouth when we’re a suitable distance away from them.
I laugh. “About unfairly calling it a tie or trying to set me up with that menace?”
“Both?”
Tapping my dad’s racket with mine, I favor him with my first real smile of the night. “Apology accepted. Please lay off the matchmaking attempts, okay?”
Daddy winces. “Was it that obvious?”
“Subtlety is not your forte. Stick with real estate.”
“Noted.” He pauses outside the double doors leading back into the club. “One drink and then you can go.”
Raising my eyebrows, I frown. “And leave you with them?”
