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“Don’t pull my hair,” I griped, bundling everything up and stepping out of his reach. “I’ve got classes and all. A girl has to have moves, Felix.”
I sidestepped his hug. I knew Felix harbored a soft spot for me, though I never saw that during coaching. Then he was in active machine mode and I swore he sweated pure oil. But on the rare occasion, like today, he made a slight move we both knew wouldn’t work.
Besides, The Schedule didn’t leave me time for dating or socialising outside the necessary charity and media events.
Felix nodded, his grumpiness minorly satisfied. Glad I finally made him somewhat happy, I grinned, immediately hating myself for my previous reaction to his. Who said he wasn’t being a brotherly figure after all?
Then his gaze rose, fixing hard on something behind me, like a guard dog at the gate. “Who the hell is that?”
I twisted on my toes, and one ankle rolled out beneath me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I hopped on the other foot and tried walking, but that wasn’t happening either. “Ow.” Okay, so I liked the type of pain that came with exercise, but not this sort.
“Shit. Are you okay?" Felix pushed me into my chair, and dived into my bag, twisting the hot/cold emergency pack I kept on me at all times. He ripped off his shirt, rolling the ice pack and wrapped my ankle with both until the pack was held firmly in place.
I rolled my eyes at the drama llama’ing. "Any chance to get naked."
"For you, anything," Felix smiled blindingly, his white teeth too bright in his over fake tanned face, bleached blond hair sticking up his head.
"Sure, sure. See, you push me too much." I tried to make the comment a joke but missed the mark.
Felix huffed, inspecting my ankle. “How does it feel?” He looked up at me, pure worry in his eyes.
“Like it's suffocating under a ton of expectations,” I said dryly. “Honestly it’s fine, Felix. I’ll be fine.” If I saidfineonce more, everything would most assuredlynotbe fine. I smiled through my teeth.
“It could cost you your shot at this year's championships.” My coach refused to drop it when I didn’t give him the snark he so obviously sought and turned his aggro elsewhere. "What do you want? This is a closed training session," he snapped at our intruder.
A tall, slim shadow stood at the entrance to the tennis court. He stepped into the sunlight, all pale skin, angular features like a vampire come out to play at the wrong time of day. A satchel was slung across his body over a button up long sleeved dark grey shirt over black jeans, the hint of ink at his throat and wrists. Dark eyes pierced me from beneath a swath of shaggy dark hair that was too long to be any real style and stuck out in all directions. He looked too lean to be anywhere near a sports centre, but that wasn’t his crowning achievement. On his feet were a pair of Jesus sandals.
Even without socks, they were abominable.
"Off the court with those things." I waved a hand in his direction. “Just nope.”
"Chloe Duke?" he asked, ignoring me completely and walking onto the court.
The moment his toe hit the sand, Felix frowned.
I patted his bulky shoulder. “Take it easy, boy," I muttered.
"Good boy... Does he need to be on a leash?" The man’s face–he had to be my age, maybe a year or two older–split in a cheeky grin I responded to and hated all at once.
Felix turned purple. Clearly the boy had a deathwish.
"What’s wrong with you? Who are you? You're not one of the journos from the school paper." I knew all of them from the plethora of hours working out how to best promo the tennis management team for the university.
Supposedly it made a difference but I resented the too many hours spent talking to journos and not practicing on the tennis court. Not the most effective use of my time, which is what my life had transformed into: tightly scheduled blocks to get me to a grand slam.
"I'm your tutor." He smiled at me, ignoring Felix entirely.
I blinked at him. "Tutor," I echoed, wracking my brain. "For... Oh, shit. Engineering."
He nodded enthusiastically. "Yep." One shoe scuffed the sand, and Felix growled.
"Down, boy,” I muttered, my brain still playing catch up. “And they sent you. For me. You’re the class brainiac?"
His smile strained. "A few points short of failing."
"You're failing." I made it a statement, not a question.
"Yes. Well, I wouldn't be if I put effort in, but you know." He shrugged, like failing anything was an option.
