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I hate it.
Is it too much for me to think I want everyone to like me?
Pushing that horrible feeling to the back of my mind, I refocus my attention on Violetta, which is the reason I’m here.
She already looks like she’s filled with anticipation while gripping the racket and her mind is engaging in skill and strategy. The court is her stage, and with each match, she aims to leave a piece of her heart and soul on the court.
The echoes of cheers and the intensity of competition hopefully fuel her with determination. She’s ready to give it her all, to unleash her passion for the sport, and to embrace the challenges that lie ahead.
It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
With a deep breath and a smile on her face, she asks one of the kids to give her a tennis ball, preparing for the match to start.
The familiar energy of the tennis venue envelops me.
As I stare at her, the whole venue disappears. I realize this is where she belongs, a sport that encapsulates her purpose and joy. It’s a familiar feeling, one I’ve felt for years, but it seems like she’s slowly becoming that for me.
No sport or driving any car could replicate the drug she has become in my veins.
“Violetta Luna to serve,” the umpire calls out. “Ready.” The whole crowd becomes silent. “Play.”
It’s as if every time a match starts, everyone holds their breaths as they wait for the impact of the ball to fall on the court.
Violetta’s presence is commanding and her determination palpable. Taking her place on the court is an imprint.
She throws the ball into the air.
Then everything moves in slow motion.
The curve of her wrist as she throws the green globe into the air, her racket in the other. She looks like she’s holding the world in her hands while her eyes focus on one thing.
But I see so much more, the way one of her legs pops out while the other is straight.
Her body is as if it’s been molded into a sculpture, one that would have been created in ancient Greece depicting a Greek goddess.
Encapsulating the sex appeal of a woman in control, one with focus and so much power.
Violetta is the embodiment of that.
She’s breathtaking.
Her left hand holding her racket meets the ball as she jumps.
With the swing of her racket, she unleashes a torrent of power and precision that leaves me awestruck. Her movement is fluid, a symphony of grace and strength. It’s as if she’s forged a profound connection with the ball, guiding it with expert finesse across the net.
My head moves in the direction of her opponent.
She moves toward the ball and misses it.
Sofia stands up in pride.
“A fucking ace.” She cheers in glee.
I smile, knowing exactly what that means. She’s already dominating from the start, and I couldn’t be happier for her.
Sofia then turns toward me with a stern look. “Look.”
I stare at her in question. “What?”
