“Damage done,” he said softly.
“Damage done. He was a rising star, I was the girl who wasn’t playing as much as she should, thanks to injuries. Always easier to believe a winner. I didn’t see the point getting into a he-said, she-said argument with Igor publically, especially since he was so well loved on the circuit and I was still very much a nobody. So I dumped him. Which, naturally, he immediately put out there that he left me because of the video. I just… didn’t bother correcting him.”
“But the dancing on the court when you should be resting between games, the goofy stunts at press conferences, the dancing on the bar at Sin’s Inn, the auction, grinding with Benny Bobcat… that’s you.”
“Yes, it is.” She sighed. “I realized pretty fast that as much as I love this game, as much as I want to be great, I’m not meant to compete with the top ten. I made it to ten on a fluke two years ago, but I didn’t last long. I’m stuck in the thirties where nobody knows me, nobody has heard of me, and likely, nobody will with the way things are currently going.”
He squeezed her shoulder in support but didn’t interrupt.
“So… if I felt the urge to dance, why not? My career clearly isn’t making waves on its own merit, so a little attention for being goofy wouldn’t hurt. It worked, sort of. I got a few small endorsements from those stunts, though nothing to write home about. My coach in Florida, however…”
“Yeah?”
“He just assumes every mistake I make on the court can be traced back to my ‘party girl’ ways. That I’m some sort of nomadic slut making my way around town, partying until three in the morning, and my eyes aren’t on the prize.”
“Are they?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “I mean, realistically, I’m not Wimbledon finalist material. My body is breaking down. I should own stock in heating pads and menthol creams. I won’t last much longer in this sport… and then what? I won’t have a career as an announcer; those go to the big names, and I don’t have the right personality for it. I don’t have enough money socked away from endorsements to live on investments. I don’t have enough of a name to keep carrying on gaining new endorsements when I’m not active. So I move to… what? I have no skills outside of tennis.”
“Coaching?”
She huffed. “Never tried before.”
“You might be good at it,” he said quietly.
“Maybe.” She laughed. “Gary asked me to quit working at the bar and come give lessons instead. There’s no way I could make enough to live on doing that, but it’s a thought.” She gave him a cheeky grin. “Maybe I’d get a discount on my own coaching too.”
“Is that all you’d get out of it?”
“Wow, you’re in an interrogative mood tonight.” She sat up on an elbow to look into his face. “Does this bother you? That I don’t mind the attention? That I sort of seek it out?”
“Yes and no.” He sat up with her, kissing her gently, as if to soothe the blow that was about to come. “It bothers me you don’t have enough confidence in yourself, in your skill, to make it. But from the practical standpoint, I get having to look objectively at what life after the court looks like. I just wish…”
She bumped his forehead with her own. “Don’t hold back now, Manny.”
“I gave up that job. No more manny jokes.”
“Habit.”
“I just wish you didn’t have to do it this way. I feel like you’re devaluing yourself when you act like a ditz.”
“The only one who can devalue myself is me.” She shrugged when he raised a brow. “Modified Eleanor Roosevelt quote. The point is, it’s my life, and I’m living it.”
“And if fewer opportunities come your way to play tennis because of it?”
She sucked in a breath, because that was the sword edge she danced on. Being noticed and being picked up for money-paying endorsements… at the risk of being dropped in tournaments.
“I’ll… figure it out.”
He kissed her gently. “Or you could just keep playing your best, stop worrying about making a name for yourself, stay as healthy as you can, and let someone else worry about the money.”
“Oh, good. Has the money elf come by today?” She grinned at him when he rolled his eyes. “I’m a grown-up. I have to worry about my own money.”
He looked like he wanted to say something but held back. “I just want you to have the best chance.”
Cupping his face in both hands, she got up on her knees and planted a hard, smacking kiss on his mouth. “And that is what makes you a great mentor. Perfect, even. Unofficially,” she added, to cut off his protests. “Besides, you’re no stranger to goofy antics on camera.”
He raised a brow in question.
Kat leaned in close to his ear, knowing her breasts pressed against his chest as she did. “Thirty-two marshmallows,” she whispered, nipping his ear.