“That rat,” he growled, flipping her over. “Aileen told you.”
“I’ll never reveal my sources,” she said, bursting into laughter as his fingers tickled her ribs. “Never!”
He mock growled and began nuzzling at her neck, making her squeal and roll away. He caught her and pulled her back for more.
And Kat wondered if she’d ever been this happy.
Chapter 18
The next day, Michael managed to get his postpractice workout done early, then took off instead of staying around to shoot the breeze with his teammates like he normally did. He’d be spending an entire weekend, plus travel, with them coming up that weekend as they traveled to L.A. He had somewhere else to be, just for the moment.
Because he’d seen Kat lift weights, and he’d seen her run and box, but he’d never actually seen Kat play.
Really fucking play.
And he knew, one athlete admiring another, that seeing someone lift or run was nothing like seeing them in their element, playing the sport that gave them a reason to live.
He walked into the tennis center and was surprised at how quiet it was. He nearly wondered if he’d walked into a closed business for a moment before he was able to focus on the courts that were lit behind the glass window. He quickly identified the two on the court as Thomas, the dude from the other day, and Kat.
She wore shorts that showcased her long, tanned legs and a tank top that bared her impossibly sexy, toned arms. She was truly an athlete, not just a beauty who liked being admired for being skinny. He watched as Thomas fed balls at intervals he couldn’t quite pick up, but Kat seemed to know the drill, literally. She swung, most of them going over the net, a few barely clipping the top to stay on her side, and one particular doozy that flew way past the other side and smacked the tarp behind Thomas, hard.
“She gets those more as she gets tired.”
Michael jumped in his shoes, then turned to find an older guy wearing a loud, printed button-down shirt and khaki shorts with bright white tennis shoes. His hair, what was left of it, was doing its own sort of crazy thing, defying gravity.
“Uh, hi.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m not a weirdo who just wanders in. I’m Michael.”
“The manny.”
“Yeah… not anymore.” Michael stuffed his hands in his pockets, not sure whether to be pleased Kat had clearly talked about him or annoyed she still referred to him by that insufferable title. “Now we’re just… neighbors.”
“Hmm.” The older gentleman stood beside him, watching the practice as well.
“What did you mean, before?”
“Hmm?”
Michael bit back a sigh. “You said when she gets tired, she gets ‘those’ a lot. What did that mean?”
“Oh, right, right.” The older guy scratched at his head with one finger, eyes never leaving the court. “Lots of players, when they get tired, they start dropping balls into the net. Not this one, no.” He shook his head, sniffing. “This one overcompensates for it and starts swinging for the fences like she’s Joe freaking DiMaggio.”
Michael chuckled at that. “You here often enough to watch?”
“I should hope so. I’m her coach. Gary Brustover.”
Ah, that explained it. “Nice to meet you.”
They watched in silence for a while as Thomas continued to feed, and Kat relentlessly attacked.
“Scared to approach that net. He keeps giving her the chance, and she won’t.”
“She’s not scared of anything,” Michael said automatically, wincing afterward. That sounded too intimate of knowledge for a neighbor.
“She’s scared she’ll get up there and actually win a goddamn point. Put the fucking ball away, Kelly,” Gary muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.
Michael decided to just pretend to understand what the hell the crazy old guy was talking about and nodded, watching still. After a few more minutes, they decided to take a break, and both Kat and Thomas walked to a bench nearby to grab some water.
“Go pick up balls.”
“What?” Michael stepped back, staring at Kat’s coach. “Beg pardon?”
“You wanna support her?”
He blinked.
“Well, I didn’t figure a neighbor would drive down here to just watch her practice for a few minutes. You clearly got something for the girl. Go support her by picking up balls.”
Michael huffed out a breath. “Have you met her? She won’t appreciate that.”
“You’d be surprised. Let’s go, young man.”
“I don’t think—”
Gary gripped his forearm tightly and tugged. Michael could have broken away—he was a lineman for God’s sake—but it would hurt the older man, and there wasn’t any call for it. So he allowed himself to be tugged out through the door and into the court area.