The Tennis Star Ch 01

All characters are over 18. A few famous Tennis Pros are mentioned, but the main characters are all completely fictional. Several actual locations in the Orlando area are mentioned, however Carrie's workplace and tennis club are fictional.

*****

"Out!"

What?! My mouth opened to protest, but I snapped it shut before making a sound. My opponent was right. I'd overcooked that forehand and I knew it. Crap! I picked at my racket strings as I walked back toward the baseline. I couldn't believe I was blowing this.

Camille swatted the ball back to me, which I caught while calling out the score. "Thirty - Forty." Also match point. Ugh. She was 5'10", long arms and legs. Does not like body serves. I'd been using them effectively all match. Not gonna stop now.

I tossed high and swung. Whack! The ball caught the top of the tape and dropped straight down. I forced my shoulders not to slump as I pulled a second fuzzy yellow tennis ball from under my red skirt. Camille spun her racket in her hands and took a step forward. I forced myself to breath.

The ball bounced once, then twice and I rocked and served a kicker out wide. Apparently I'd done that once too often today. Camille anticipated me and stepped out, cracking a two handed backhand deep to my right. I lunged and made contact, but my return was weak, high and short into the middle of the court. Camille recovered in plenty of time and I watched helplessly as her easy forehand winner sailed past me.

A scream bubbled up inside me but I held it in. Mostly. I did keep from smashing my racquet. 6-4 7-5 was not a bad score line against the club champion. I jogged up to the net where Camille was waiting with a wide smile

"Thanks Carrie, that was a great match."

I took her proffered hand and pulled her into a brief hug. "Thanks. One of these days."

"You're welcome to keep trying. I always enjoy it."

I nodded to her as she separated and ran over to the small plastic bleachers where her husband was waiting for her. I watched them embrace, hearing him say how proud he was of her. I sighed. No one was there for me, so I packed up and headed back to the locker room.

I stripped off my outfit and stepped into the shower, letting the cool water wash over me. Several of the big points in the match flashed before my eyes and I tried to channel what my coaches from Georgia would have said. I didn't follow that one forehand into the net, and it let her back into the point. And I'd gone for too much several times. I was a good player. I didn't have to take every chance that came by. But I wasn't good enough today.

Before I left I checked next weeks matches. I was scheduled at 10am against Julie Schmidt. She was good, but I was better. Excellent. I could take my frustrations out on her. At least that's what I was feeling now. By next Saturday I'd be in a good mood again, just happy to be on a tennis court against a quality opponent. Probably.

I missed my days at Georgia, the camaraderie, the excellent competition, both within the team and from other schools. My world felt lonely now, especially since I'd gotten dumped last month. I definitely hadn't been in love, but he'd been someone to spend time with. At least he'd been honest when he met someone else. I couldn't say that for all of them.

I stopped at my favorite little sandwich stand on my way home, picking up a turkey wrap and a sweet tea, which was my absolute favorite thing about living in the South. The tea here in Florida wasn't as good as back in Athens, but it wasn't bad. I got back to my apartment, where the heat hit me like a wall when I opened the door. That meant my roommate would likely be at her boyfriend's down in Kissimmee all weekend.

I checked the time. Five till one, perfect. After firing up the AC I used the bathroom and put my bag away, pulling out my sweaty tennis outfit and throwing it in our little washer. I sat myself down in front of the TV and pulled up the Tennis Channel. The women's semi's from Cincinnati were on. Garbine Muguruza vs. Iryna Baraskova. Should be a good match, both were powerful women, big hitters. At 5'6" it wasn't really my game, but I sure appreciated it when I saw it. Muguruza had won Wimbledon once already, but Iryna had made the semi's of both Wimbledon and the French this summer. She hadn't won a major yet, but I was sure one was coming. She had everything, powerful ground strokes, good defense, a big serve, and she moved with a lyrical grace that I found absolutely captivating. Amazing, given she was just over six feet tall. Definitely my favorite player right now.

It was a great match. Garbine took the first set in a tiebreak, but Iryna stormed back to take the second 6-3. They were at 4-3 in the third when a trainer was called. Iryna had been favoring her left knee after landing awkwardly earlier in the set. She had it taped it up, but just wasn't the same. Muguruza took the last two games and the match. Crap.

This had been an all around rotten day so far. I decided to grab my bike and go for a ride around the lakes, clear my head. After all, the sun'll come out tomorrow, right? It did, of course, but after lunch Sunday my Tennis app sent me a note that Iryna Baraskova had withdrawn from the US Open due to a knee injury. I shook my head and cleared the notification window. That sucked.

The next two weeks passed slowly. I'd been a Kinesiology major at UGA, and was a licensed occupational and physical therapist at Orlando Sports Medicine and Rehabilitation Center, but what I really loved was massage therapy. PT generally involved a lot of difficulty and pain. It was rewarding enough, especially when you saw improvement in a patient, but massage was better. Even deep tissue, therapeutic massage made you feel wonderful after it was done. I loved seeing the tension flow out of my patients as I worked, leaving them a quivering, satiated puddle of contentment. At least that was always the goal.

Being that the OSMRC was world renowned for its excellence, I'd worked on a number of professional athletes, always hush-hush. Players from the Dolphins and Rays were not uncommon, and I didn't think anything of it after my first six months. I'd take them any day over the weekend warriors who were patients here. For professional athletes, recovery was business, and they generally treated their therapists, men and women, with respect. Not always, but often enough. Businessmen with bad knees and tennis elbow were another story altogether.

"Sorry." One look at him showed me he wasn't sorry at all. I moved away from the hand, which had grabbed my ass for the second time in a mock attempt at keeping his balance.

"Now, now, none of that." I pointed up into the corner of the room. "Remember, you're on camera."

He followed my finger to the small glass lens, which had been installed for just this reason. That realization generally put the kibosh on any further fast fingers, but not always. Fortunately this particular jackass was cowed enough for me to get through the session with only a dinner invitation to turn down at the end.

I popped my head into my boss's office after I'd finished. "Hey, Mike. A little handsy, that one."

"OK, I'll make a note."

Mike was a good sort, and Mr. Clanary there would likely find the rest of his therapy conducted by men if at all possible. "I've got you in the massage room for the afternoon. All women, so hopefully no problems for the rest of the day."

"Thanks, Mike."

My second appointment that afternoon was a difficult, deep tissue massage, and my hands were sore by the end. I ducked into my prep room and soaked them in the warm water for a few minutes. My next client was being brought in, and I called in to tell her I would be just a minute.

"Please, take your time." Her accent was a rich, Eastern European brogue. It was beautiful, and somewhat familiar. I entered the room and pulled the chart from its plastic pocket on the wall.

"If you'd like to lay down with your face in the ring we'll get started." She came out from behind the dressing screen and I literally dropped the chart. It made a horrible clattering noise, but I barely noticed.

The woman standing before me chuckled. "You know me, yes?'

I nodded, forcing my jaw to close. "I'm sorry, Ms. Baraskova." I bent down to pick up the dropped clipboard. Her long, powerful legs were right in front of me. Incredibly toned, they carried her toward the table. I stood slowly. I was staring and I knew it. My brain was screaming at me to get a grip. She opened the towel wrapped around her torso and slid onto the table with the same easy grace I'd so admired on the tennis court. I folded the fabric down so that it covered her rear.

"Would you like a sheet to be more covered?"

She looked up at me with incredible blue eyes that took my breath away. "No, not unless you wish it."

"So what are we doing for you today?" I tried to make my voice sound professional. The chart had only marked a requested massage. Since one of the physicians hadn't ordered it, the focus was up to the client.

"Just a general massage, please. The last weeks have been ... difficult."

"I can imagine." I reached down and oiled my hands and began to work on her feet, moving up through the leg. I heard her sigh in pleasure, and I felt a thrill run through me. I couldn't believe what I was doing. Her skin was soft and smooth. A ridiculous part of me had thought she'd be made of iron or porcelain, like some mythical creature. Feeling real skin beneath my hands sent a had me breaking out in goosebumps.

She gave a little moan as I touched her. "You knew me, so you are a tennis fan. Yes?"

"I am. I, um, I was very disappointed when you weren't able to play at The Open."

"Thank you. I will miss New York. You play also?"

I blushed, which I was thankful she couldn't see. "Yeah." I thought it was a bit presumptuous to call what I did 'playing' next to a grand slam semifinalist. "I did all through college, and I still get in a weekly match at my club over at Rosedale."

I reached the top of her leg. "Will you do the buttock as well?"

"Of course." I pulled the towel away to reveal the most perfectly shaped rear end I'd ever seen. As I worked the muscle I felt a tingle rise in my core. I'd never had this type of reaction to a woman before. I chalked it up to being star struck and did my best to go about my work. I went back and kneaded up the other leg, being very gentle around what I knew to be her injured knee.

As I continued into her lower back, I finally found my groove, and I could feel the tension start to ease out of the world class athlete on my table. She began to make those soft sounds of relaxation which I so loved to hear from my clients. But hers, they reached deep inside me, and I badly wanted more of them.

I glanced up at the clock, and we were already halfway through the session. "Turn over for me please?"

Iryna spun on the table as I held her towel. Her long, sandy blonde hair flowed around her head, and those ice blue eyes looked up at me. I almost fainted. I laid the towel back over her, covering her breasts to below her waist. I took her hand and pulled it up to my chest as I worked the palm and slowly down.

Iryna closed her eyes. "So other than tennis, how do you spend time?"

I tried to focus. My God, it was hard to look away from her. "I like to ride my bike. Lie around and watch cheesy movies. I also love cool restaurants. I'm not big into clubbing. Too loud."

"You have boyfriend to take you to nice restaurants, yes?"

Normally I would dodge a question like that, but I couldn't with her. For some reason I really wanted her to know I was single. "No, not anymore."

"He was not a good boyfriend?"

I blushed. "No, he was nice, and fun, and just...," I shrugged my shoulders, "not for me."

"He did not make your heart sing, yes?"

"No. I...I don't think I've ever had that."

She smiled at me, and I almost swooned. I finished both of her arms and began to work her shoulders and neck.

"Ohh." Iryna's head cocked and I felt my hand rub against her cheek. "If they knew your skills in massage, you could have anyone to date. Mmm"

As I looked down I could see my nipples traitorously standing out through my sports bra and scrubs. I was sure she'd noticed as well, but if so she didn't say anything. God, what if she thought I was perving on her? And I was straight!

If she was discomforted it didn't show. We chatted about some of my favorite restaurants in the area, and I felt myself relaxing as we spoke. Often famous clients were not terribly chatty, allowing you to just get on with what you were doing. But Iryna was friendly and funny. She was easy to talk to. Before I knew it our time was up, and I helped her stand from the table.

"Thank you, miss...?"

"Oh, um, Carrie. Carrie Mitchell."

"Thank you, that was wonderful, Carrie." She soft rolled the R in my name. I could get used to that.

"You're welcome, Miss Baraskova. I'm at your service." Her mouth twitched into a smile when I said it.

"Good. I will hold you to that. And I am Iryna." Even barefoot she stood six inches taller than me. I knew I was staring stupidly up at her, but I couldn't look away from those incredible blue eyes. "I will see you again soon, I think."

"I hope so." I backed out of the room, grinning like a schoolgirl. I repressed a nervous scream and sat heavily down onto a bench, desperately trying to make sense of what had just happened.

I was still walking on a cloud when I got home that night, and my roommate Sasha jumped all over me. She could tell something was up, but I couldn't tell her anything. Revealing the name of a patient was a huge no-no. Luckily she was satisfied when I admitted I'd met an idol of mine. She wasn't any kind of sports fan, so I knew she'd never be able to come up with who it was.

That night was far more disconcerting. I dreamed I was playing tennis, not uncommon, but my opponent morphed from Camille into the six-one Ukrainian I'd met that day. She destroyed me on court, but our handshake didn't happen at the net. Somehow it was in a room I didn't recognize, with only her and I. Her hand slid up my arm, and I felt hypnotized by those crystal blue eyes. Her mouth bent towards mine, and my heart thumped in my chest as she kissed me. I seemed to dissolve into her, and then I was alone, waking with a desperate feeling of loss. My panties were wet, and I had to change them, my knees slightly weak as I stood from my bed. The next night I masturbated before I went to sleep, hoping to head that off. I rarely fantasized about other people when I rubbed one out, preferring just to concentrate on the feelings in my body, but this time Iryna's face floated to my consciousness as I came. What the hell was happening?

I didn't see Iryna in person again for the rest of the week, although she continued to make regular appearances her in my dreams. On Wednesday I heard during coverage of the Open that Iryna had had successful arthroscopic knee surgery. Her ACL had not been torn, which would cut her recovery time, but she had needed significant debridement and cleaning in the knee.

The first Saturday in September dawned bright and warm. I arrived at the Rosedale Tennis Club a little after nine, using the rear member's entrance to get into the locker rooms. I spent fifteen minutes on one of the exercise bikes to warm up before dressing quietly, trying to get my mind into the match. I was playing a reasonably new girl whom I hadn't faced yet. But she'd already qualified to play in the top division here, though, so I couldn't take her lightly. I was on at ten on court four. I walked out about ten minutes beforehand. As I approached I noticed a bit of a commotion around the small set of bleachers next to the court.

I sat in my chair, looking across at the small crowd of people, who were definitely surrounding something. I couldn't see what it was. I tried to put it out of my mind as I dug into my tennis bag, pulling out my racquets, water bottle, and sundries.

"Carrie!" My blood froze and butterflies erupted in my stomach as I recognized the rounded 'a' and softly rolled 'r' in my name. I looked up slowly, not believing what I'd heard. But there was no mistake. The people parted and a tall blonde was waving at me from a folding chair next to the bleachers, her right leg elevated and sporting an air cast.

I walked across the court, a smile spreading across my face. Everyone nearby was staring at me in both wonder and disbelief.

"Carrie, I hope this is OK? I wished to see you play."

I sputtered, trying to find my voice. "Um, yeah, sure, of course. How did you even get in here?" I knew that was a stupid question when I asked it, but Iryna just grinned and put on an obviously affected air of superiority.

"I am Iryna Baraskova, the fifth ranked woman in the world. I go where I wish." I cocked my head at her in disbelief and she giggled. It was sweet and innocent. I loved hearing it. "It is kind of true. My agent called the club. I have an honorary membership now. I will make a nice donation to the youth program."

I laughed. "OK, I hope you enjoy."

I turned around and walked back toward my chair. My opponent had arrived, and was standing open-mouthed, staring across the court. "Holy Crap! Is that..."

"Yep. She's a friend of mine." I tried to keep my voice nonchalant.

"Uh-huh." She turned back to her bag, but her head was still drawn to the celebrity across the way. "Sorry. Pari Sunil." She extended her hand and I shook it and introduced myself. We flipped for serve, and went out to warm up.

The match went well. Once we started most people left Iryna alone. It was a little surreal having her there, but once I was out hitting balls I was fine. Pari was a very solid player, but I don't think she'd ever competed at the levels that I had. That showed in the big points, and I won 6-3 6-2. Iryna actually stood to applaud after match point, struggling up on her crutches.

I jogged over to Iryna after shaking hands at the net. "It's not what you're used to, I'm sure, but..."

"Oh, hush. You were wonderful." Iryna was beaming at me. I'd never felt so proud in my life. "I know you wish to clean up, but may I take you for lunch?"

Technically that was against the rules, but those rules were mostly there to let us turn down unwanted offers, and to keep employees from initiating relationships with patients. A same sex friendship wouldn't raise any eyebrows. Besides, I really wanted to say yes.

"Ok. And I think someone wants to meet you." Pari was still milling around the player's area, glancing over frequently. I waved her over and made the introduction before excusing myself to get my bag and head to the locker room.

I was admittedly anxious to finish, but I made myself take stock while the shower's cool water ran over my shoulders. Iryna Baraskova had come to watch me play tennis, and was taking me out for lunch. What did that mean? Maybe she just wanted to be around the game. I understood that, at least. But lunch? Hey, I told myself, she was just a person in a strange city. She probably only wanted a friend. I know I would in her situation. Ok. Just behave normally. Sure.

Back out on the courts Iryna was standing near the front entrance, leaning on a pair crutches and signing autographs. I walked over and she smoothly disengaged from her admirers, flashing me that thousand-watt smile as I approached. The butterflies in my stomach swirled around when I saw her. God, she was beautiful. She leaned in and kissed my cheek, the skin where her lips had touched tingling as she pulled away.

She turned and began swinging her crutches toward the entrance. Even hobbled, she moved so gracefully. I followed along in her wake. A stretched SUV had pulled up to the gate, and a man in a white jacket and slacks jogged around to open the door. "Carrie, this is Martin, my driver while I am here. Martin, this is my friend Carrie Mitchell."