Authors: Lucy Felthouse
It was the first day back at the academy and although part
of me was looking forward to returning to normality I was also a little
nervous. I’d spent the time between Austin visiting me in my hotel room and my
arrival in California making amends to everyone who had been affected by my
little “indiscretion”, even indirectly. Thankfully most people seemed more
amused than upset, just seeing me as a youngster who was a bit of a
lightweight.
I accepted that description though I knew it wasn’t true.
I’d only been on my fourth drink when the black hole in my memory had appeared,
and prior to that I’d felt a pleasant buzz and would have rated myself at maybe
a three on a one-to-ten scale of drunkenness. I’d had just enough to loosen my
tongue, lower my inhibitions, but definitely not so much that I’d go crazy. And
yet I had. The evidence didn’t lie. After speaking to Travis Connolly I
discovered that I hadn’t even had the drink he’d collected for me. By the time
he’d arrived back with us girls I’d already gone off and started being bonkers.
In the end I had to put it down to the barman pouring me a
double on the fourth occasion. There was no other explanation—I hadn’t been
mixing drinks, I wasn’t on medication and I’d eaten normally that day. There
was no point going over it in my mind. I’d done what I could to gain
forgiveness from everyone—now I’d move on.
Well, not move on entirely, of course. Austin had said I was
on a sort of probation, so I knew that meant all the staff and probably some of
the players would be keeping a close eye on me. Nadia would be for sure. I
intended to give them absolutely no cause for concern. Not that I had before,
anyway. But now I would be a model pupil and prove to them that it had been a
silly one-off and that I was as committed as ever to becoming a damn good
tennis player.
Clambering out of my car—I was still getting used to
everything being back-to-front—I hit the asphalt then grabbed my bag from the
rear seat. Closing and locking the vehicle, I straightened before crossing the
car park toward the academy. Just as I was going in, Mitchell Adair—the guy who
had helped me to my hotel room in New York—came out.
“Hey, Mitchell,” I said, grinning. At the same time I
watched carefully for his reaction. His smile was genuine, reaching his eyes
and crinkling their corners. Actually he was pretty adorable. You know, if you
liked that sort of thing. I betted he had women lining up for him.
“Hey, Virginia. How’s it going?”
“Good, thanks. Thanks to you getting me out of that bar before
things went—”
He cut me off. “Hey, I already told y’all, forget about it.
Shit happens. I’m just glad I was able to help you.”
“I’m still embarrassed.”
“Sweetie, please. I’m from one of the bad parts of Chicago.
I’ve seen worse. Much worse.” He shrugged. “You were just having a little too
much of a good time, that’s all. I know you won’t do it again.” He tipped me a
wink. “Look, I gotta go. But I’ll see you around, okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah, see you around.”
Shaking my head, I entered the building. God, I was doing a
rubbish job at putting it behind me, wasn’t I? I blamed it on my Britishness.
We apologize to people all the time—even when something isn’t our fault—so I’d
obviously sent my conscience into meltdown.
Come on, V. Get over it. Everyone else has. If someone
else brings it up, fine. But you don’t need to keep dredging it up.
Heading toward the changing rooms, I cemented that thought
in my mind. I knew I’d feel better before long anyway. I hadn’t done any
training since the day before we all went to New York, so I was massively out
of practice. Hitting the gym and playing some friendly games would do me a
world of good. Seeing Nadia again wouldn’t do any harm either.
Pushing open the door, I entered the plush palace that my
colleagues called the locker rooms—it was laughable. They were so much more
than that and reminded me just how lucky I was to be there. Many stars had
aligned to get me from a ratty tennis court in a park in south London to the
world’s top training facility. Mainly, though, it was down to my old coach. I’d
loved tennis even before I played it—watching matches on the television and
eventually seeing the real thing at Wimbledon. When I got a racket in my hand,
though, I quickly got hooked.
Progressing from being a kid with a private tutor to a
superior player in the UK and European tournaments had actually been pretty
easy for me. It wasn’t ego talking, either, but plain facts. I’d fallen for the
game in a big way and it had become my life. I just wasn’t interested in
anything else. My parents had insisted that I try hard with my
education—threatening to stop paying for my tennis tuition otherwise—but once
I’d finished my compulsory education that had been it—there’d been no stopping
me.
Bringing myself back to the present, I pulled out my racket
before dumping the rest of my stuff in my locker. Then I checked my laces and
my hair—two things that could totally screw up a game if they weren’t right—and
walked deeper into the area to see if there was anyone around who wanted to
knock a few balls around. It was oddly deserted and the only sound was a
shower. I wasn’t about to barge in there, so I turned to leave. There was bound
to be someone around. Just as I passed the little corridor that housed the
showers, the spray was turned off and after a slight pause a figure stepped
out.
I barely prevented my mouth from gaping open as I realized
it was Nadia standing there in nothing but a miniscule white towel. Her long
legs were on display to upper thigh and I had to work hard to rein in my lust.
Forcing a smile, I said, “Hello, Nadia. How’s it going?”
Returning my smile, she moved past me and toward her locker.
She retrieved her bag and began pulling out everything she needed to get
dressed. “Hey. I’m good, thanks. What about you? Glad to get back to training?”
As she spoke she shamelessly dropped her towel and carried
on as normal. And why wouldn’t she? It was a women’s changing room, after all.
Nudity happened in here all the time. The worst part was that I’d known it was
going to happen yet I still hadn’t managed to prepare myself for the sight.
“U-uh, yes. Really glad. I’m just about to head out onto the
courts to see if anyone wants to play. You’re the only one in here.”
“Huh. I guess it makes sense though—after the Open a lot of
players and coaches head out to see family, take vacations for a couple weeks.
Then they get back to it.”
I’d fixed my gaze firmly on her face just after she’d
dropped the towel and, as a result, was clinging on to my sanity. Just. “Yeah,
I never thought of that. So how come you haven’t taken a vacation?”
She let out a bark of laughter, pausing to pull her top over
her head before answering, “Oh no. No vacation for me, I’m afraid. I’m on a
self-imposed fun-ban. At least until I win a Major. Not that my family will
miss me anyway. And I gave up friends when I landed this career.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what to say. What could you say when
someone who had just lost out on something they really wanted also divulged
that they had no real friends and a family that wasn’t bothered about them?
Granted, I could identify with the friend thing but at least I had the love and
support of my family.
Nadia saved me from a response. “What about you, anyway?”
She grabbed her racket and put the rest of her stuff back in her locker.
“Oh, I’m not heading back home until Christmas. I missed out
on a lot of training by heading to the Open this year when I wasn’t even playing,
so I’m making up for it now.”
The word
probation
floated unspoken in the air
between us.
“I get it. So you wanna hit the court with me? We can smack
our sorrows, perhaps?”
Grinning, I replied, “Yeah, I like the sound of that. So why
did you just shower if you’re heading back out there?”
“Because I couldn’t find anyone to knock any balls about
with either. So I hit the gym and was gonna head home. Maybe go for a run this
afternoon. You’ve saved me from a lonely day.”
“Glad to be of service.” We fell into step together, heading
out of the women’s locker room and in the direction of the outdoor courts. I
couldn’t help wondering if she’d been such a good and attentive mentor out of
loneliness as well as kindness. She’d never come across as someone who didn’t
have friends, but although we’d spent so much time together and talked a lot we
hadn’t really gotten personal. It had mainly been about tennis, goals and
aspirations, the other folks at the academy. That and superficial stuff. I made
a decision then.
“Hey, you wanna go out for a coffee or something later? Or
another day?” It wasn’t even my attraction to her that had spurred the
question. It was pity and she obviously sensed it. A frown crossed her
otherwise beautiful face.
“I didn’t say that to make you feel sorry for me, you know.”
I cringed as two male players came out of the door to our
left, no doubt hearing every word she’d said. We all exchanged polite nods and
murmurs of greeting and continued on our separate ways. I waited until they
were out of earshot then replied.
“And I didn’t offer because I felt sorry for you. I offered
because I thought we were…friends. You said it yourself.”
By now we’d gotten outside, where the sun was shining—it was
California, after all—albeit not quite as fiercely as in previous months.
Despite Nadia’s explanation I was still surprised by how quiet the academy was.
We were the only ones out there and I counted myself lucky that I’d bumped into
her. Otherwise I’d have been hitting a ball against a wall, which wasn’t exactly
effective training.
Nadia sighed. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m being oversensitive. I
didn’t mean to take it out on you. And yeah, I did say that. So it’s silly that
we haven’t been out together before now. I’d love to go out later, if you still
want to.”
Of course I still wanted to. I hadn’t abandoned my plan to
find out whether she liked me, only postponed it. But I did my best to play it
cool. I gave a nod. “Fine by me. Ready to play?”
Raising an eyebrow at my sudden change of subject, she
nodded back then crossed the court, grabbed a ball from a wire basket at its
edge and took position on the opposite side from me. “Okay, let’s go.”
I pulled in a steady breath and released it slowly. I’d have
to work damn hard to have even a chance of winning against Nadia and I knew it.
I’d only beaten her a handful of times in the past few months, which wasn’t really
a surprise. She’d been so close to winning that Grand Slam title. Having beaten
her at all was quite an achievement. My ego might have been battered by all my
defeats but right from the beginning I’d urged her not to go easy on me. The
best possible way for me to learn, to get better, was to play a hard and fast
game against a good opponent. And she was a spectacular opponent. I knew I’d
come on in leaps and bounds since arriving at the academy and was confident I’d
continue to improve. Mainly because I wouldn’t stop until I got right to the
top. Being seeded was my smaller, more achievable goal, as was climbing to the
top fifty, top ten, and so on. But my ultimate goal, my life’s dream, was to
win a Grand Slam title. Then all four in one year.
My aims weren’t modest, I knew. But I didn’t care. Being
driven, ambitious, was in my DNA and it had always steered me right in the
past. Whatever I set my mind to, I achieved. Well, the things I could control,
anyway. Like getting a set of excellent GCSE results to keep my parents happy.
Like winning every under-twenty-one tournament I entered. Like getting a place
at Los Carlos Tennis Academy.
I knew I couldn’t control Nadia but it didn’t stop me hoping
that I’d get what I wanted in that respect too. She was just so bloody perfect
in every way. But not annoyingly so, like Mary Poppins. Just perfect in a way
that made me ache for her. And not just in a sexual sense.
It took every ounce of resolve I had to bring my focus back
to the game. I wanted her, yes, but I wanted to excel at professional tennis
too. If I was lucky I could have both.
“Okay, go.”
Immediately the ball came flying over the net and I had to
really hustle to send it back. Not a good start but it was my own stupid fault.
I’d allowed myself to become distracted by my opponent. And not for the first
time either. It had been happening for a while and I had to change that right
away. I was being watched and one toe out of line could put my arse back on the
next plane to England.
Nadia had taught me some tricks, ways to get rid of any
outside distractions. It was mainly meant to stop crowds, cameras and stuff
getting to a player, but I figured it would work just as well to drown out any
thoughts that were not directly linked to playing the game.
Gritting my teeth, I made myself try. Narrowed my focus to
the ball, to the person on the other side of the net. It was just an opponent,
nothing special, just somebody I had to beat. Pulling in my love for the sport,
my determination to succeed, I held on tightly to all those elements and
disregarded any others. Then I gave the match everything I had.
The ball came my way again and I sent it back much more
easily this time. Fantastic. Now I had to do more than just get it over the
net. I had to make it impossible for Nadia to retrieve before it went out. I’d
work up to it slowly. I was just getting back into my stride—after all, it’d
been a couple of weeks since I’d last played. And that was something I’d think
on more later.
Right now I slammed the sphere of bright-yellow fuzz into
the opposite corner of the court. And despite her best efforts Nadia couldn’t
return it. It bounced out of the box untouched. Wow. Apparently this mental
trickery was working. And I was just getting warmed up too.
A few volleys later—volleys that grew increasingly fast and
furious—and it was my turn to lose a point, making us even. Muttering under my
breath, I yanked in my focus again and just became all the more determined to
win, whatever happened. Since I’d stopped thinking of Nadia as a top tennis
player and someone I was attracted to, and started thinking of her as just
another opponent, things had become easier. I didn’t automatically believe that
I had the disadvantage because she was a better, more experienced player.
Instead I believed that I was capable of winning because I was good and getting
better.
I could do this. And next year I was going to be competing in
the US Open. Who knew, my first Grand Slam tournament might even be before
then. Wimbledon, maybe. Home turf.
Suddenly another ball was in play and flying in my
direction. Running and leaping for it, I pinged it almost off the edge of my
racket. By some miracle it landed in the box. Nadia returned it easily and we
fell back into a series of volleys that continued for what felt like a
ridiculously long time before one of us missed. It was me, by a hair’s breadth.
This time I internalized the irritation, the anger, and used
it. It appeared to work, as the next time one of us lost a point it wasn’t me.
I’d never been one for jumping around and fist pumping—not even when I won a
game or a set—so I got right back into position and waited for Nadia to serve again.
We continued in the same vein for some time, with our scores
never more than a point apart. Triumph coursed through my body—even if I didn’t
win I was definitely getting better.
Soon it was time for the deciding point of the game and I
shifted my weight from foot to foot, waiting for the ball to fly over the net.
When it did I was more than ready for it and the ball bounced off the racket’s
sweet spot and smashed back. I watched open-mouthed as it whizzed past Nadia’s
left ear. I panicked momentarily, thinking I’d hit it so hard it had gone right
out of the box, but fortunately that wasn’t the case. Nadia had spun around by
that point and I saw it bounce once before going out.
She turned back to me, looking surprised at first then
happy. Then we both strode toward the net. Once we were a meter or so apart,
she spoke. “Nice game, V. Well done. No offence, but I thought you might be a
little rusty after a couple of weeks of not playing. But it looks as though the
Open did you a world of good. Put fire in your belly, did it? Made you realize
how much you want to be there?”
I nodded. “Thanks. Good game. I thought I’d be rusty too, so
I’m as surprised as you are. And yes, I guess you could say that. I’m
determined that one day I’ll be playing in the US Open.”
“And you’ll do it,” she replied. “I truly believe that,
sweetie. You worked damn hard to get here and you’ve been working hard ever
since. You’re getting better all the time. So by the time the US Open rolls
around again you’ll probably be better than me.”
I couldn’t help it—I blushed. “Thanks, Nadia. I’ve worked
hard, yes, but I don’t think I’ll be better than you.”
She shrugged. “Don’t you believe it. You’re talented, V, and
you know it. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. You were quite shy when you first
got here, and nervous, I think. Because you’d gone from being a big fish in a
small pond to being the small fish in a big pond. But you didn’t let it hold
you back. You truly are improving constantly and I think that’s why Austin
didn’t kick you out. He knew that what happened was a one-off and that it would
be a horrible waste of talent and potential to let you go.” With that, she
moved away from the net and grabbed the balls we’d used and tossed them back
into the wire basket.
“Wanna go and get that drink now? Maybe something to eat?”
“Yeah, that would be great. Any ideas where to go? I haven’t
really done any socializing around here, so I don’t know where the good places
are.” I realized that actually I was really hungry. I’d been a little worried
about my first day back, so had skipped breakfast. Crazy, really, before
training, but there it was.
Nadia gave a mock gasp. “How terribly remiss of me! I’ve
been mentoring you for weeks and weeks now and not once have we gone out. I
guess I’m so used to just training, eating and sleeping that I haven’t really
thought about anything else. I’m so sorry, V. And here’s me supposed to be
looking after you. It may be a little late in the day to say this, and now I
don’t expect you to believe me, but it’s important to play as hard as you…well,
play. You know what I mean. Don’t you?”
Smirking, I nodded. “Yes, I get it. Though like you say, I’m
not convinced. You didn’t get to be the best female player in this academy by
having fun.” I was more than happy to do what Nadia had done—to give up a
social life, or more accurately not have one in the first place—if it meant I’d
get to be as good as she was.
“I didn’t win though, did I?”
Other than stating the obvious I didn’t know what to say. So
I kept quiet.
Nadia sighed. “Come on—let’s go and get that drink.”
“Yes, good idea.” I had no intention of having a proper
drink—meaning alcohol—but I was sure that getting out of the academy, checking
out the area, seeing something new, would do me the world of good. Which
contradicted my previous thought about giving up a social life to be as good as
Nadia. Damn. Maybe she’d been right, even though she hadn’t been following her
own advice of late. But then, who had? All the academy players who had competed
in the Open had been working their arses off in the run-up to the tournament.
It was just common sense. No one could expect to win a title by messing around
when they should be working.
But then, Nadia hadn’t won. It was my turn to sigh, and I
was glad she was a few paces in front as we headed back into the building and
couldn’t hear me. Maybe it was a case of finding a happy medium. A balance
between training and having fun that worked for each individual. Perhaps I just
had to stop taking what other people said as gospel and figure out what was
best for me—for my schedule, for my career. And somehow, in among all that, I
had to figure out my love life too.
Gah.
Now I realized exactly why so many top athletes
were either in deeply committed relationships or were single. The endless hard
work, the training, the travel, the time apart, the intrusion of the press…it
took an incredibly strong relationship to withstand all of that.
And what happened when both people in the relationship were
athletes? Was it even possible?
“—clean clothes?”
“Huh? What?” I’d been so deep inside my own head that I
hadn’t heard Nadia speak.
“I knew you weren’t listening. What’s wrong with you? I
said, can you get ready and go from here or do you need to go to your apartment
and get clean clothes?”
“I’ve got clothes and stuff here. You?”
“Okay, great. Same here. Right, I’m gonna go hit the shower
again.”
“Me too.”
With that we headed to our respective lockers. By the time I
got there my heart was thumping and I’d broken out in a sweat that had nothing
to do with the game of fast-and-hard tennis I’d just played. It had everything
to do with what was going to happen next—shower time.
When I’d first arrived at the academy I hadn’t thought
anything of showering at the same time as other women in communal areas. My sexuality
wasn’t general knowledge, though, so I didn’t have to fix my eyes on the
ceiling the whole time and hope that no one decided I’d been perving on them.
Not that I thought that would happen here, anyway. It was a world away from the
places I’d been before, where teenagers and young adults were still immature
enough to behave that way. No, the academy was different. It had men and women,
not boys and girls. And, although that was a good thing in terms of maturity,
it was bad because I liked women.
I hadn’t fancied Nadia from the very second I met her—it hadn’t
been like love at first sight or anything. But the more time we’d spent
together, the more I’d grown to admire her both as a tennis player and as a
person. Before long I really did have to concentrate on a certain spot on the
tiled wall of the showers to avoid staring at her. I didn’t want to get shouted
at or slapped.
Over time I’d managed to minimize shower encounters. I’d
dawdle in the locker area or on the court so we didn’t end up under the spray
at the same time. I’d make excuses that I had to dash out somewhere and that
I’d wash up at home. I did it just enough that I didn’t torture myself into
insanity but not so much that she’d think it was weird.
Now, though, it was inevitable. And my crush on Nadia was at
fever-pitch. Christ, if I saw too much of her I’d end up coming when I washed
between my legs.
We headed toward the corridor at the same time, towels
wrapped around us, wash bags in hand. I slowed down and gestured her ahead of
me so I could see where she went and make sure I didn’t end up right next to
her. A glimpse would be sweet torture enough—a close-up would be death by
random orgasm for sure.
She took the first section on the right and I headed for the
next showerhead but one. After hanging my toiletries on the hook on the wall I
stepped over to the hook in the center of the corridor—far from any water
spray—pulled off my towel and hung it up. From the corner of my eye I could see
that Nadia was doing exactly the same thing. We turned almost as one and walked
back toward our respective faucets. I concentrated hard on retrieving my
shampoo, conditioner and body wash, then switched on the water and set about
using them, one by one, adopting the technique I’d used on the court to shut out
distractions.
Fortunately I could get away with keeping my eyes shut for a
great deal of my time under the spray though I was painfully aware of who was
just feet away. Even more painfully aware that she was stark naked. I was
thankful I didn’t have a dick, because if I did, it would have been making my
intentions and inner thoughts very obvious right about then. No one, however,
knew that my clit was swelling and that my cunt ached and grew slick. Yes, my
nipples were erect, but I could put that down to chill, chafing or some other
bullshit excuse. I was safe.
“V?” The soft voice came from right next to my ear,
startling me. I let out a squeak and opened my eyes.