7

Rachael’s POV

John let out a low whistle as I stepped off the hardcourt, leaving my opponent drenched in sweat and burning a hole through my back.

“Girl, you are on fire this morning. That’s the third person you’ve crushed in a 1v1.”

I swung my racket casually over my shoulder as we headed toward the lounge area to grab a drink.

“What are you talking about? I’m normally good at tennis.”

“Yes, but today you’re playing like you’re at the US Open. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” The word shot out of my mouth way too quickly.

John gave me an unblinking, 'You know you can't lie to me' look, which was the last thing I saw before tilting my head back and downing a bottle of water.

“Also, you claimed you accompanied me here because you wanted us to spend 'quality time,'” I said, putting dramatic air quotes around the words. “But I know why you’re really here, John.”

He let out a scandalized gasp that mirrored my own exaggerated expression, making me roll my eyes.

Over on Court 2, a couple was deep in a rally. They were good but the woman was insane. Her wrist flick on her top-spin forehand was perfect, her cross-court angles sharp, and her partner was effortlessly covering the baseline. I considered asking them for a 2v2 doubles match, but John hadn't come dressed to play at all.

And when it came to tennis, I took my court attire very seriously.

Today, I was wearing a white tank top and a matching pleated white tennis skirt. I was only 5’2”, but my legs were toned, curvy, and long for my frame, and I loved showing them off. My shoes were pristine white court-steppers with soft pink laces, and even though this was an indoor court, I wore my signature pink baseball cap. Embroidered across the front in bold white letters was: Eat Tennis Balls with the word Tennis crossed out.

John, on the other hand, was standing beside me in a black tank top and dark designer jeans.

“I did come to spend time with you,” he insisted, clutching his chest. “I’ve missed you, baby!”

“If you miss me that much, come buy me a drink and maybe I won’t disown you for showing up to my court out of uniform.”

“Okay, look,” John bargained, leaning in. “If I go change and step onto the court with you, will you give me an actual update on your new book?”

I went quiet. Answering or ignoring him was a dead giveaway either way, so I just bit the bullet.

“I haven’t... exactly... started.”

He blinked at me slowly.

I pursed my lips, turning back toward the court just as the referee announced the final score for the mixed match. The woman won no surprise there. Since convincing John to play seemed like a lost cause, I figured I’d just walk over and challenge her to a 1v1.

“Could you get me a signature vodka milkshake with the pineapple frosting on top?” I asked with a wink. “Be a sweetheart and order it for me, okay? I’ll be right back.”

John looked utterly livid but I’d already left.

I turned around, taking a step toward the court and my feet instantly froze to the ground. The hand holding my racket slackened, dropping heavily against my thigh.

The couple previously playing had just welcomed two new players into the court. Two people I recognized all too well.

Gabriel. And Amanda.

I chewed brutally on the inside of my bottom lip as I watched Amanda let out a high-pitched squeak as she hugged the other woman from the match. She had glossy, raven-black hair pulled back into a slick, perfect ponytail, and wide eyes that gleamed like sunshine and rainbows.

There was nothing sunshine-and-rainbows about their arrival. In their matching gray gear, Gabriel and Amanda looked like they’d waltzed straight out of a commercial for Old Money summer leisure.

As if he could hear my thoughts, his head lifted towards me instantly. His eyes lifted across the net, locking directly onto mine.

He flashed me a smug smile as he waved.

I slowly raised my hand as if to return the wave. Then, without breaking eye contact, I flipped him off, turned on my heel, and walked away.

By the time I made it back to the lounge area, John was already sipping my milkshake. My lips quivered as I stopped in front of him, turning my body so my back completely blocked the view of the court.

“He’s here,” I croaked.

“Who?” Without waiting for an answer, John’s eyes instinctively darted past the top of my head.

“Don’t look, for fuck's sake!” I groaned in panic. John's eyes went wide as saucers as he looked down at me. “Who is the raven?”

My chest heaved. I bit down harder on my lower lip, tasting metal. “I don’t fucking know...”

John immediately set the milkshake on the bar top and reached out to wrap his arms around me, but I stepped back shaking my head, out of his reach.

That was when I noticed my hands were trembling.

I don’t understand. Sure, this was my first time actually seeing him out in public with another woman. But we’d been divorced for a whole year. Sure, we’d shared an insane kiss in my hallway last night that gave me the exact same butterflies as the first day we met, but, BUT move the fuck on, Rachael.

“Come on,” John said softly. “I’ll buy you a milkshake at your favorite coffee shop down the street. We can leave right now.”

I shook my head violently, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “No. The fuck we are not. Go change into your shorts and let’s play a 1v1. There are enough courts here for everyone to mind their own damn business-”

“Attention, club members!”

A loud voice boomed over the overhead PA system, cutting off my rant. Everyone in the lounge paused, turning toward the center manager holding a microphone near the front desk.

“As you all know, our signature pineapple-vodka milkshakes have been a hot commodity lately, selling out practically every weekend,” the manager announced cheerfully.

“So today, we’re making things interesting! We’re hosting an impromptu pop-up doubles tournament. Grab your spouse, your partner, or anyone you find mildly tolerable. Last pair standing wins an unlimited, free supply of vodka milkshakes whenever they play here!”

Before I could even turn around to pitch the idea, John grabbed my shoulders.

“Give me five minutes, girl! And go grab me a good racket!”

He sprinted off toward the locker rooms, his duffel bag tucked tightly under his arm like a football.

I laughed as I watched him run.

Wiping my hands on my skirt, I headed toward the equipment alcove. The rack containing rackets, grip tape, and press canisters of tennis balls was chaotic with people gearing up, but I managed to weave through the crowd to grab a racket for John.

Just as my fingers reached for the rubber grip of one, someone swiped it off the rack right in front of me.

I turned, my eyes flashing with annoyance, only to find Amanda standing there, beaming at me.

Gabriel stepped up right beside her, flanked by the previous couple from Court 2.

Amanda’s eyes widened in a display of exaggerated shock before recognition shone in them.

“Oh! You’re Raquel, right?” she asked, her voice loud enough for the couple to hear. “Gabe’s ex-wife?”