40-Love - Olivia Dade Page 0,44

snow days more than teachers. All students were wrong.

“I have big plans for tonight.” She nodded toward the chain-link fence. “Let’s hit the court and get this evening started.”

He didn’t move toward the concrete expanse in the near distance. Instead, his forefinger followed the edge of her hairline and traced the outer rim of her ear, a taunting, shivery tease of a touch. “Sounds perfect. Unless your knee is hurting too much for a tennis lesson?”

He didn’t sound impatient or disappointed by that possibility. Just matter-of-fact in a way that eased her instinctive defensiveness.

“I’ve been babying it the last couple of days. As long as I don’t run too much, descend a bunch of stairs, or twist in an odd way, I’m not in any pain,” she told him honestly.

“If that changes, let me know. We’ll stop right away.” His hand lowered to splay on her back, and he gently guided her toward the court. “As long as you’re not hurting, though, I’m glad we’re doing this. I’ve found…”

He trailed off as they walked, his mouth drawing tight. When they arrived on the court, he stepped away from her to lower his huge bag. Bending over, he dug inside, emerging with an armful of towels, a can of balls, two water bottles, and two rackets.

She accepted the racket he handed her. “You’ve found what?”

Another long silence.

Then he met her eyes and gave an apologetic wince. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be obstructive. I just haven’t talked about certain things for a while now.”

Part of her wanted to let him off the hook and tell him to forget it, if that would erase those deep brackets on either side of his mouth. But if this morning had been an exception, if he couldn’t make himself reveal more of his past and his thoughts to her, she needed to know that. Now, before they became any more entangled.

“Understood. That said…” Gesturing to the court around them, she smiled at him. “What better place for a little practice?”

One corner of his mouth rose. “An excellent point.”

“I thought so.”

He snorted. Then, after dropping another quick, dizzying kiss on her mouth, he hopped over the net and shook a couple balls loose from the can.

“I was just going to say…” A long pause as he gathered his words and forced them out. “Back when I was on the Tour, time on the court often clarified things for me. If I was worried, an hour with my hitting partner did me a world of good. Even though, toward the end, sustaining a rally hurt me physically as much as it helped me mentally.”

She let out a slow breath. He hadn’t avoided her question or hid himself behind that shell he’d constructed. This was…

This was good. It could be really, really good.

Which was, in its own way, really, really bad.

In a practiced gesture, he slid one of the balls into his pocket and palmed the other. Clearly, he was done with his story and ready to play.

But she needed to clarify something first. “When we were arguing, you said your left wrist still hurt sometimes. Is that true?”

As he bounced the ball against the blue concrete, he nodded.

“Is that only when you go full-force? Or does it hurt all the time? With every backhand you hit?”

The thought of that—his greatest joy and comfort twined with inescapable pain—tore a hole through her heart, and damned if she didn’t need to blink back tears.

Bounce, bounce, bounce.

He wasn’t looking at her. “Not every backhand.” A pause. “Some.”

Screw her doubts. She wouldn’t make him suffer because of her dithering. “Would you rather do something else, then? We could go to dinner right away, if you wanted.”

“I said I wanted to play a little tennis with you, and I do.” He didn’t sound impressed by her offer or concerned about his own pain. “And you said your knee is fine, so we’re both good to go.”

She couldn’t stand the thought of him hurting. “But if you’re—”

“This is one of the reasons I don’t talk to people about my injuries.” When he glanced up at her, a wry smile had split his face. “They tend to question my own judgment about what I can and can’t handle. About how I should treat my body.”

She winced. Was that what she’d just done to him?

Yeah. Yeah, she kinda had.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try not to do it again.” God knew, she’d received enough unsolicited advice about her own body over the years. “That said, if I