All of my writing is fiction, and the stories and characters are products of my imagination. They were created for my fun and, hopefully, your enjoyment. Some of the events in the stories are not particularly condoned nor encouraged by the author but are there to create and enhance the story of the imaginary characters and their lives. Comments are always encouraged and carefully reviewed. All characters within the story that need to be are 18 years of age or older. I hope you enjoy! And take a second to vote and comment.
Song lyrics used are from The Power of Love by Jennifer Rush.
*****
I hit the forehand, solid and down the line but could see she'd anticipated and was ready to go crosscourt to my backhand. I pushed off hard, felt my foot slip the tiniest bit, but it was enough as her shot sailed past the end of my extended racquet.
"Eight-seven, Ms. Sassi," the solemn voice from the chair intoned.
"Fucking court," I snarled, a little louder than I'd intended, as I kicked the green surface.
"Code violation, audible obscenity, point penalty, Ms. Blum. Nine-seven, Ms. Sassi."
I headed for the back screen, ready to smash it with my racquet, when I heard, "Keep fighting, Callie." My brother.
I turned and eyed the tall, lanky, but surprisingly strong blond standing at the far baseline, ready for my serve, and I was sure I could see a smirk on her face. She loved it when I beat myself. Not today, I hoped.
The return of my serve came to my forehand, not hard, just a mite wide, and I pulled my arm back, looking like I was ready to launch one of my laser beam crosscourt shots. At the last second, I slid the racquet under the ball, slicing it gently up the line, and prayed. My prayers were answered as it cleared the net by six inches and bounced weakly into the doubles alley, Ms. Sassi only taking one or two steps before she realized she'd been had.
My turn to smirk.
"Nine-eight, Ms. Sassi."
And still my serve.
At match point, I wasn't going to try anything fancy, content to hit a reasonably hard serve safely into the service court. I did, and her return was equally conservative, deep, but right to me. I hit a nice inside-out forehand, but her stupid long legs got her there in plenty of time, and her return was deep but right to me.
When the point had reached twenty volleys, with each of her returns deep and right to me, I felt my temper flare, and I hit a rocket crosscourt that I was sure caught the line.
Ms. Sassi's finger shot up in the air, she screamed "Out!," and I looked at the chair.
"Game and match, Ms. Sassi, four-six, six-four, one-zero."
"I can't believe you didn't overrule that call. The ball was clearly on the line," I fairly screamed at the Chair Umpire.
"I saw the ball out," he said very calmly. End of discussion.
I glared at him, then looked away as I shook his hand.
"Good match," Lara Sassi said, smiling down at me. When I looked straight at her, I was looking at her chest, and that's what I did as I shook her hand.
I turned and fired the racquet at my bag, and it clattered across the hard surface and thunked into the bag. Ours was the championship match, and the tournament's stupid carry-over code violations didn't apply now.
"Ms. Blum," I heard from behind me, but I ignored it. I grabbed my water bottle, ready to smash it on the court, when someone grabbed my arm.
"Cut it, Callie." It was my older brother, Deac, who was also my coach.
"Fucking court," I repeated. "I should have had that point."
"But you hit that last shot out."
"It was in," I snarled.
"It was out, and you damn well know it," he snarled right back at me.
"Maybe."
"And, if the Chair wasn't a little lenient, you could have had a couple more code violations. If that had happened, you wouldn't have had a chance to blow that last shot."
"I didn't blow it."
"Bullshit. She toyed with you until you got mad and gave her the match. She knows how to work you, and you can't seem to figure it out."
"She's a bitch, smirking at me like that. Pisses me off."
"And she knows that. She uses you."
She uses me? What the heck was that?
"Listen, Callie. I kept track. You had twenty-eight unforced errors--she had seven."
"So, I play an aggressive game, and I'm going to have errors, but I have a lot of winners too."
"Not enough to beat her. What's your record against her?"
Now Deac was beginning to piss me off too. I'd lost and I just wanted to get out of there..
"I don't keep track of that shit." I picked up the racket and banged it against the court several times.
"Maybe you should. After today, she's five and one against you."
"Yeah."
"And your win was the first time you two played. She's figured you out and plays you."
"Nobody 'plays me.' I play the way I want to play." Plays me? Nobody hits the ball harder than I do. Maybe I'm only five-foot-two, but I have muscles.
Plays me?
Bullshit.
" She's tall and lanky, and her long legs cover lots of ground. She can't outhit you, and she knows it. She has to outsmart you... and she does."
I didn't want to hear all this blabber from Deac. He was always dealing crap to me. I just wanted him to coach me, so my shots would be harder and more accurate. He wasn't a sports psychologist or anything like that. Plus, he'd never been able to get to championship matches, so what made him think he had all the answers? I jammed my racquet into the bag and stood. Nearly everyone was gone.
Everyone but Brent.
He was a wonder, sticking with me ever since that first date when he'd invited me to go with him to an ATP tournament about fifty miles away. He wasn't a tennis player nor a tennis fan, so I knew he was doing it just for me. That kind of thing didn't happen to me often, so I treasured it...and, after a few more dates, treasured him as well. Brent was a football player, or had been a football player. Not a hulking defensive tackle, but one of those sleek cornerbacks. Fast, quick, but not afraid of anything. And at six-foot-one, he was nearly a foot taller than my diminutive self.
I sighed and walked toward him, feeling a little better just seeing his face.
"Tough one," he said when I stopped and looked up at him.
"Yeah," I answered glumly.
"That code violation hurt, too."
"So, are you gonna lecture me about code violations and..." He was smiling at me.
"Naw. I expect that's what Deac was doing."
I glanced over my shoulder at my brother who was still sitting on the bench and idly bouncing a tennis ball.
"Thanks," I said as he took the bag from me.
"Where ya headed?"
"I'm going to take a shower. You can go on."
"I'll wait." He threw a strap over each shoulder, carrying the bag on his back. He followed me to the locker room door and sat down on the steps.
"Thanks," I said again, wondering why he put up with me.
I needed to hurry so Brent wouldn't have to wait too long. It was hot, and he was sitting in the sun. I was barely inside when I spotted Lara Sassi sitting on a bench pulling on her shoes. It looked like we were alone. Maybe I could hold her head in the toilet and flush her to death. But she looked up, saw me, and smiled.
"Still plenty of hot water. Towels are in the little cabinet back there," she added, gesturing.
What the hell? Just a few minutes ago, she was smirking at me, and now she's all hugs and kisses. Stupid bitch.
Lara stood, gathered her things, and smiled at me. "Enjoy your shower and the rest of your day," she said and slipped past me and out the door.
I stared at the door, shaking my head. I wanted to smack her with my racquet, and she's Ms. Sweetness and Light. I thought about what Deac had said, but I needed to take my shower and get out of there.
