When Colin raised his racket in preparation to meet the ball, though, she turned her attention to more important things—namely, the way a strip of tanned, taut skin peeked out from over the waistband of his shorts as he swung to meet her serve. She let out a deep breath when his swing, which had looked so powerful and targeted from her side of the court, instead met the ball at a wrong angle, weakly, causing his volley back to dribble out of bounds. She hid a smile. Colin was so clearly letting her win.
“Good job, Spencer,” Colin huffed, zipping up his racket into its case and flashing her a grin. She could feel him looking her up and down as she approached the net, ready to shake his hand, and was glad she’d put on her shortest tennis skirt and most fitted tank.
“You too,” she cooed, reaching out her hand. Their palms met, and Colin held on to her hand just a smidge too long. It had to be intentional.
“You weren’t kidding—you are good,” he added, still breathing heavily.
She ducked her head and grinned. “My parents insisted on lessons when I was a kid. My sister and I started playing in tournaments when we were still in grade school!” She pulled out the rubber band from her hair and hoped the light would catch its sheen as it spilled over her shoulders. “What about you? How did you get the bug?”
“Whoa,” he laughed. Up close, she realized just how chiseled his cheekbones were, and he had a tiny dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. “That’s a conversation way too involved to have on a tennis court. Are you hungry?”
“Starved,” she admitted.
“Well, then, it’s lucky I brought us a little picnic.” His eyes twinkled as he led her to a grassy knoll on the south side of the courts and spread out a towel.
Spencer inhaled deeply, taking in the faintest trace of Colin’s spicy cologne. It mingled with the salt air and the smell of grilled fish and steak that lingered from the restaurant just across the patio. Colin reached into his bag and pulled out two ready-made fruit salads, a wrapped cheese plate, and two bottles of AminoSpa. He placed a toothpick directly in the center of each cheese square, then arranged the AminoSpas side by side, labels out.
Spencer laughed. “You’re as OCD as I am,” she said, pointing to the meticulous platter.
“Guilty. I even hang my tennis polos by color,” Colin said with a sheepish grin. “I suppose it’s an athlete thing. Like how Nadal has that whole routine before he serves or how Sharapova can’t step on the lines of the court when the ball’s not in play.”
“A small way to have control in a tense situation, I suppose,” Spencer said, thinking of how organizing always made her feel calm in times of stress. She unscrewed the cap of the AminoSpa drink, took a long sip, and gagged. “What is this stuff?” It tasted like rotting grapefruit.
“It’s full of vitamins.” Colin pointed at the nutritional information on the back. “I swear it’s made me a stronger player. Some guy was trying to get me to sell the stuff myself—he said I could easily turn my tennis buddies and trainer on to it, but I told him I’m too busy to take on any endorsement deals.”
“So it’s true what your groupies said? You’re really training to go pro?”
Colin nodded modestly. “Well, my coach thinks I have a good shot of getting a wild-card draw at the US Open this year. I’ve got that tournament coming up later this week, and I’ve enrolled in a lot more, too—I’ve gotta get my ranking up. I want to get into the top fifty.”
Spencer was impressed. “So do you live here in Longboat Key? Or are you just here for training?”
Colin popped a grape in his mouth and grinned mischievously. “If we keep talking about me, how will I ever learn more about you? Where did the mysterious girl with serious tennis skills come from?”
Spencer pushed a piece of hair behind her ear with her newly manicured nails—she and Melissa had spent a fun but slightly awkward afternoon together at the spa—thrilled that he was as curious about her as she was about him. “Well, I’m certainly not a pro tennis player or anything nearly as exciting as that. I live outside Philadelphia. I’m staying at the big white house at the end of Sand Dune Drive.”
Colin’s eyes widened. “You’re in Edith Hastings’s house?”
“Yep. She’s my grandmother.”
He chuckled. “I’ve heard she’s a feisty one!”
Spencer made a face. “Nana? Feisty?” Whenever she thought of her grandmother, all she pictured was a frowning woman who yelled at her for getting the floor wet when she came in from the pool.
Colin shrugged. “I’ve been to the country club once or twice since I got here, and she’s big into the ballroom dancing lessons they hold every week. Always comes with a new boyfriend, too. Guys can’t get enough of her.”
They can’t get enough of her money, Spencer thought wryly. “So Nana’s a player, huh? I guess she does look pretty good for her age.”
“She looks amazing.” Colin winked. “It’s no wonder her granddaughter is stunning.”
Spencer suppressed a grin, hoping he hadn’t noticed the hot flush his words sent through her body.