He could find some of the other resort employees and ask whether they wanted to catch the ferry to the mainland for a late dinner or a drink. Or he could rifle through the room and cell numbers he’d been offered that week and opt for some undemanding female companionship.
Either way, he could relax and enjoy himself. Just like he did every day.
Just as he intended to do for the rest of this lesson.
Tess walked beside him, clutching her borrowed racket and a can of balls. “When I asked you why you came to the island, why didn’t you tell me you worked here?”
Tess, he’d found, didn’t do undemanding. Yet another reason to keep her at a distance, no matter how unexpectedly interesting and charming he found her.
“I didn’t think it was important.” If he’d also wanted to hedge his bets, to ensure knowledge of his job didn’t nudge her memory banks and make her recognize him, that wasn’t important either. “Besides, I told you the main reasons I came here. Sun. Water. Sand. Relaxation. Everything I need.”
“You forgot women.” Her voice was as dry as the sand he’d just mentioned.
He grinned at her. “I never forget women. Female companionship falls under the category of relaxation. And occasionally sun, sand, or water, depending on her level of adventurousness.”
She raised that single, devastating brow. “It’s a miracle you haven’t been arrested.”
“As long as the parties involved are willing, located on the adults-only side of the beach, and not visible to other guests, security tends to turn a blind eye to al fresco shenanigans.” Keeping his racket under his arm, he dumped his bag of water bottles and towels by the end of the court. “So there’s no real danger of arrest. It’s all pretty routine.”
Her brow rose higher. “Routine? How thrilling your assignations must be.”
“I don’t need police intervention to make things exciting.” He shook his head at her. “Trust me on that. And speaking of exciting—”
“Oh, Lord.” She flicked her gaze heavenward. “Here we go.”
“What?” He held up his hands, widening his eyes to approximate innocent confusion. “I was just going to offer to help you with your serve.”
“And that’s exciting…how, exactly?”
“Because a good serve can win you a lot of free points or set you up for success later in a rally.” He gestured toward her empty hand. “Shouldn’t you be taking notes or something?”
The corners of her mouth had tucked inward as she fought a smile. “So that’s why you consider teaching me to serve exciting. Because of the possibility of winning free points. Not because doing so might involve physical contact?”
Well, he couldn’t say he hadn’t been looking forward to that aspect of the job.
Still, he tsked. “That would never have occurred to me. Assistant Principal Dunn, shame on you. You have a filthy mind.”
“Yeah, right,” she said. “It doesn’t really matter, though. I don’t want you to work with my serve.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
She waved her racket dismissively. “I just don’t see the point of perfecting my serve when, given my track record, I probably won’t play again for a few years. Possibly ever. So spending time to improve my form doesn’t make any sense. Instead, why don’t we just hit the ball around a bit? I can get some exercise, and you can…” Her laugh rang through the court, plumping her cheeks and striking sparks from her eyes. “You can do whatever the hell you want. Which is, I suspect, both your preference and your custom.”
That was unfair. He didn’t always do what he wanted. Like right now, for instance, when he really wanted to taste the echo of that laugh on her lips.
“If a little leisurely hitting is what you want, that’s what you’ll get.” He gestured toward the far end of the court. “Why don’t you take that side, since there’s less glare from the overhead lights there?”
“Sure.” She handed him the can of balls and rambled over to the other side, her hips swaying in a very distracting way.
If he didn’t get out his final question now, that hypnotic sway would make him forget it entirely. “How much do you want to run?”
“Not much. My knee can’t handle it.” She stretched her arms—and racket—to the sky, twisting from side to side. “Such are the travails of middle age, as you’ll eventually discover.”
He frowned at her. “There are professional tennis players only a couple years younger than you ranked within the top ten. Hell, the top five. Thirty-nine isn’t exactly one step from