Page 9 of Off Court Fix
Yellow. Slow down.
“I’m twenty-eight and Ialwaysanswer.”
“You didn’t answer just now.”
“Tonight is different. TonightI’mdifferent.” It sounds like another confession, and she turns so I catch her profile. Her nose points up a touch. “Tell me something about you.”
“I did. My name is Crosby.”
She lets out a laugh. “Tell me a confession.”
“Tonight is different for me too.”
“How so?”
“It’s also my birthday.”
Maxine turns to face me. “You’re lying,” she says, a playful smirk capturing her mouth.
It makes me smile back.
“Am I? How do you know?”
“I’m good at reading people.”
“Yeah?” I guess that’s fair. In tennis, there’s always an opponent, a vibe of anticipation. “Alright, it’s not really my birthday. Just the start of a new era. What else do you got?”
Maxine’s dark doe eyes drop down my body, and I notice the slightest hint of gloss to them. Even though she’s speaking coherently, moving steadily, I wonder if she’s been drinking.
“You want to be important.”
I’m taken aback by this, I admit. I push my glasses higher on my nose. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Maxine begins, “you’re sleek. Serious.” Her eyes drop to my shoes and sweep back up. I’m relieved she doesn’t pause in the middle because, God, is Maxine beautiful, and the way she chews her bottom lip in thought, as if she’s being careful about her words, kind of gets me hard. “Put together.”
“How much have you had to drink?”
Her face shifts to confused. “Nothing. I don’t drink. But you know, I should’ve had one in my brother’s honor. That would’ve been the right thing to do.” She sighs. “That’s what other people would do. They’d order his favorite drink, raise a toast, and say,here’s to Mason. But there’s something wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” I respond without delay because I kind of mean it, even if I’m foggy headed from this cloud of lust I never expected to find in a church of all places.
I’m not just high on her beauty, but the intrigue of her, and I mentally kick myself for maybenotpaying attention to her before. Maxine Draper, who I know came onto the professional tennis scene as a teenager and could play with the best of them, an image on TV, out of touch.
Maybe because she’s beautiful and vulnerable and right in front of me, but it’s like I’ve been nailed by a semi cruising down the highway at seventy miles per hour and its trailer is packed with desire.
“Maybe there’s something wrong withthem, Amy,” I counter.
“You don’t know them. Orme.”
I smile. “I wouldn’t mind getting to know you,” I say before dropping my voice to a whisper. “In fact, I think I might enjoy it very much.”
“People always want something from me.”
“Not me.”
“It’s a sin to lie in a church, Crosby.”
God, she’s good. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind taking what you’re willing to offer.”
