The first thing that hit him was the smell. He had no clue what that was—plastic? rubber?—but it was overwhelming. The second was the fuzz. Fuzz everywhere. He kicked at a yellow fuzzy clinging to his jeans and transferred three more fuzz clumps of greater size.
“Lost cause, give it up. You walk out here, you get fuzzed. We don’t vacuum the courts until tomorrow.”
“Ha, right, you… wait, you really vacuum the courts?”
Gary gave him a look that implied he was an idiot for asking. Michael had no clue whether that meant Yes, you moron, of course we vacuum, or No, stupid, that’s not a real thing.
“Uh, okay, but look, I don’t want to interrupt their practice so—”
“I brought you some help,” Gary called, leaving him no choice but to keep walking or risk Kat and Thomas see him turning and running for the door like a little bitch.
Kat swiveled on the bench, saw him, and jumped up. “Michael?”
“Hey.” He didn’t know what to do—hug her? shake her hand? give her a high five?—so he just laced his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “So, uh, good playing.”
She watched him for a moment, as if judging if he were telling the truth. Then she laugh-snorted. “You have no clue what good tennis looks like.”
“You got most of them in the court. That’s good enough to me.”
“You get most of your blocks,” she shot back. “Good enough to me.”
“Point made.”
“Yeah, it was.”
Michael realized they were basically nose to nose now, and he could smell the sweat and effort on her. Her skin flushed from the hard work, and her hair was coming out of its ponytail, wisps curling by her damp temples.
She was a fucking goddess, and he wanted nothing more than to drag her off to a private spot, lift her against the wall, and have his way with her like an animal in heat.
Instead, he forced himself to take a step back, literally as well as figuratively. And noticed that both Thomas and Gary had suddenly become scarce. “Where’d your coach and his whipping boy go?”
“Whipping… oh, Thomas?” She rolled her eyes and pointed toward the back courts where the lights weren’t on as they weren’t being used. “There’s a storage closet back there. Most likely finding cones to make me aim at. Then Gary gets to berate me for being an idiot when I miss them all, saying I’m doing it on purpose.”
“Are you?”
Kat ignored that, grabbed a wire basket with a tall handle, and began picking up balls. He grabbed another and started doing the same.
They picked up balls in silence, occasionally dumping them into a larger basket on wheels that Michael had seen Thomas digging balls out of during the drills. After a few minutes, Kat quietly said, “Thanks for coming.”
“Anytime. Seriously,” he added when she gave him a get real look.
“You. Big guy.”
Michael turned around to find Gary walking back with Thomas, carrying a cone and a racket. “It’s Michael.”
“Whatever. Big guy, stand right here.” Gary used the racket to point to a spot on the court.
“I have no clue how to play tennis.”
“Did I ask you to play tennis? I asked you to stand. Uncomplicated, really.” Gary shook his head at Thomas. “One too many hits to the noggin, I think.”
Michael shot a death look at a snickering Kat, then grudgingly walked over to stand in the spot, on the line of the front left box, a few steps over from dead center. “Here?”
“Good work, Big Guy.” Gary turned to Kat. “You’re at the net.”
“But—”
“Na ah ah.” Wagging a finger, her coach cut her off before she could begin. “What happened the last time you argued with me?”
“You threw a shoe at me,” she muttered. Michael snorted, earning him a glare.
“At the net. Here, this is for you.”
Michael took the racket Gary handed him, then just stood straight. “What am I doing with it?”
“Standing!” Gary shook his head at Thomas, who was now silently laughing, the bastard. “So many head traumas. Kat, you are at the net. Your partner—”
“Partner?” she squeaked. “I’m a singles player!”
“Yes, and that’s worked out so well for you.”
Kat’s face turned red, but she took her position at the net as requested.
“Good, good. Now, your partner has served. Thomas back here is returning the serve. You are at the net, taking up as much real estate as you can. You want all the boardwalks. Build hotels like it’s your job. It’s Monopoly time, baby, and there are no mercies shown at family game night.”
That made Michael smile, thinking back to his own family game nights and several bloody rounds of Monopoly with his brothers and parents. Accurate description.
“You’re cracked,” was all Kat said.
Gary ignored that. “You are aiming at the other net person. Why?”
Kat blinked. “Because they have—”
“Because they have less time to react!” Gary cut her off. “Aim for the feet, but I won’t yell at you if you plant a facer. Thomas, go!”
“Wait, I’m sorry.” Michael held up his hand, waiting to be called on.