“She’s not,” Michael said softly. “You really liked her, didn’t you?”
“She was a hard worker. Hard not to like that.” Caleb shrugged as Stephen began working on shoulder presses, Michael spotting him. “She knew her way around a weight room, which is a bonus of sorts, and didn’t complain when I asked her to do something.”
“She distracted the guys with her little burpee contest,” Michael reminded him, helping Stephen rack the bar and changing weights automatically. “She can let herself get out of control.”
“Out of control is debatable,” Caleb said while Stephen laughed outright. “Far as I can tell, she was getting her work done and having some fun at the same time. The fun’s what keeps people coming back for more. If it wasn’t fun, why the hell would anyone do it?”
“Amen, brother,” Stephen said, holding out a fist for a bump from their strength coach.
Michael considered that as Caleb moved on, coaching and encouraging others around the weight room.
“If you don’t like her, then maybe you should just call your agent and send her back.”
“Like a pair of shoes that didn’t fit?” Michael asked, anger growing.
“Yeah, I guess.” Stephen shrugged. “Maybe she doesn’t give a shit about her career.”
“She gives a shit.” Michael had to still his hands from shaking as he picked up a weight. Just what he needed, a broken toe. “She loves tennis.”
“So maybe she just can’t help herself.”
“She can help it. She’s not a kid.”
“Maybe she’s stupid.”
“Fuck you,” Michael growled between his teeth.
“Whatever it is, it’s not your fault if she won’t listen or do anything you ask of her. You can’t force her. She’s not a puppet. If she’s not picking up the guidance, then why bother?”
“I’m bothering because…” Michael blinked and let the red clear from his vision enough to see Stephen smiling in a way that told him he was being jerked around. “You asshole.”
“That’s me. C’mon, you know you love me.”
“Like I love a hernia,” Michael muttered. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“The question is, what’s wrong with you?”
The second he figured that out, Michael was sure his life would improve.
Kat stood at the baseline, trying hard to focus, but her eyes kept wandering.
“Are you listening?”
Kat blinked, then looked off to the side. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. Your shirt was too loud.”
Gary rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall, arms crossing in his electric-blue Hawaiian-print shirt. His lower half looked tennis-appropriate, in court shoes and soft mesh shorts with pockets. But the upper half… well anyway.
“Your mind’s elsewhere.”
Her mind was still in bed with Michael. Though she’d crept out of his apartment in the early hours, he’d remembered when she had tennis practice and had come knocking, ready to give her a ride to the tennis center. Without a single word about the night before.
For a guy who loved talking… his lack of communication was baffling.
Something smacked her on the left shoulder, hard, and she yelped. “Ow! Damn it, what… Did you throw a tennis ball at me?” she asked incredulously.
Gary nodded. “Sure as shit did, missy. Pay attention or go home.”
“Sorry,” she grumbled, then gave Thomas, across the net, who had been feeding balls at her, an apologetic wave. “Need me to run laps or something?”
“Why, you trying out for the cross-country team?”
“Wha… no? I thought I… you would… punish me?” she finished weakly.
Thomas shook his head across the net, mouthing No!
“You want me to punish you by running you?” Gary hefted himself off the wall and approached. And suddenly Kat realized the whole “crazy professor” act was, in fact, just an act. For the first time since she’d shown up at the tennis center, she saw a sharpness that hadn’t been there before. Masked by boredom, maybe some inattention, she’d thought Gary was about as useful as a Mr. Potato Head in a bubble bath.
But there was canniness now, and she realized she’d seriously underestimated him.
“You think I’m going to improve your tennis game by making you run? Because that’s what tennis is, right? Just running, running, running.” Gary stopped about a foot in front of her, and she suddenly felt three inches tall. “Might as well have you go work in an ice cream shop for all the good that will do you. You wanna run, you do it with your trainer or yourself or your damn dog. You come here for tennis, with your head screwed on straight from the minute you walk in the door, or you don’t come at all.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Kat nodded. “Sorry.”
“Stop being sorry, for shit’s sake. Just hit the fucking ball.” He started walking back toward the wall, then looked over his shoulder. “And if you raise your shoulders again while you hit a ground stroke, I’ll rip them off your torso and beat you with them.”
“Yes, Coach.” She fought back a grin as Thomas waited for her to take her spot to work on approaches.