Smack.
Spencer couldn't help but watch in awe as her serve a red through the cool evening air, forming a perfect path over the net like a shooting star.
When Colin raised his racket in preparation to meet the ball, she turned her attention to more important things—namely the way a strip of tanned, taut skin peeked out from over the waistband of his shorts as he swung to meet her serve. She let out a deep breath when his swing which had looked so powerful and targeted from her side of the court, instead met the ball at a wrong angle, weakly, causing his volley back to dribble out of bounds. She hid a smile. Colin was so clearly letting her win.
"Good job, Spencer," Colin huffed, zipping up his racket into its cast and flashing her a grin. She could feel him looking her up and down as she approached the net, ready to shake his hand, and was glad she'd put on her shortest tennis skirt and most fitted tank.
"You too," she cooed, reaching out her hand. Their palms met, and Colin held on to her hand just a smidge too long. It had to be intentional.
"You weren't kidding—you are good," he added, still breathing heavily.
She ducked her head and grinned. "My parents insisted on lessons when I was a kid. My sister and I started playing in tournaments when we were still in grade school!" She pulled out the rubber band from her hair and hoped the light would catch its sheen as it spilled over her shoulders. "What about you? How did you get the bug?"
"Whoa," he laughed. Up close, she realized just how chiseled his cheekbones were, and he had a tiny dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. "That's a conversation way too involved to have on a tennis court. Are you hungry?"
"Starved," she admitted.
"Well, then, it's lucky I brought us a little picnic." His eyes twinkled as he led her to a grassy knoll on the south side of the courts and spread out a towel.
Spencer inhaled deeply, taking in the faintest trace of Colin's spicy cologne. It mingled with the salt air and the smell fish and steak that lingered from the restaurant just across the patio. Colin reached into his bag and pulled out two ready-made fruit salads, a wrapped cheese plate, and two bottles of AminoSpa. He placed a toothpick directly in the center of each cheese square, then arranged the AminoSpa side by side, labels out.
Spencer laughed. "You're as OCD as I am," she said, pointing to the meticulous platter.
"Guilty. I even hang my tennis polos by color," Colin said with a sheepish grin. "I suppose it's an athlete thing. Like how Nadal has that whole routine before he serves or how Sharapova can't step on the lines of the court when the ball's not in play."
"A small way to have control in a tense situation, I suppose," Spencer said, thinking of how organizing always made her feel calm in times of stress. She unscrewed the cap of the AminoSpa drink, took a long sip and gagged. "What is this stuff? It tasted like rotting grapefruit."
"It's full of vitamins." Colin pointed at the nutritional information on the back. "I swear it's made me a stronger player. Some guy was trying to get me to sell the stuff myself—he said I could easily turn my tennis buddies and trainer on to it, but I told him I'm too busy to take on any endorsement deals."
"So it's true what your groupies said? You're really training to go pro?"
Colin nodded modestly. "We'll, my coach thinks I have a good shot of getting a wild-card draw at the US Open this year. I've got that tournament coming up later this week, and I've enrolled in a more, too—I've gotta get my ranking up. I want to get into the top fifty."
Spencer was impressed. "So do you live here in Longboat Key? Or are you just here for training?"
Colin popped a grape in his mouth and grinned mischievously. "If we keep talking about me, how will I ever learn more about you? Where did the mysterious girl with serious tennis skills come from?"
Spencer pushed a piece of hair behind her ear with her newly manicured nails—she and Melissa had spent a fun but slightly awkward afternoon together at the spa—thrilled that he was as curious about her as she was about him. "We'll, I'm certainly not a pro tennis player or anything nearly as exciting as that. I live outside Philadelphia. I'm staying at the big White House at the end of Sand Dune Drive."
Colin's eyes widen. "You're in Edith Hastings's house?"
"Yep. She's my grandmother."
He chuckled. "I've heard she's a feisty one!"
Spencer made a face. "Nana? Feisty?" Whenever she thought of her grandmother, all she pictured was a frowning woman who yelled at her for getting the floor wet when she came in from the pool.
Colin shrugged. "I've been to the country club once or twice since I got here, and she's big into the ballroom dancing lessons they hold every week. Always come with a new boyfriend, too. Guys can't get enough of her."
They can't get enough of her money, Spencer thought wryly. "So Nana's a player, huh? I guess she does look pretty good for her age."
"She looks amazing." Colin winked. "It's no wonder her granddaughter is stunning."
Spencer suppressed a grin, hoping he hadn't noticed the hot flush his words sent through her body.
"So how many boys have asked you to the laua?" Colin asked.
The yacht club held an annual pre-New Year's party—this year it was a Hawaiian luau. When they were younger, Spencer and Melissa used to hide under the elegantly decorated tables and marvel at the artfully carved ice sculptures and fireworks display. "Uh, huh," Spencer admitted, looking down.
Colin tilted his head, studying her for a moment. "I find that hard to believe."
Spencer couldn't help but blush. "Why?"
"Because you sure are something else, Spencer Hastings." He playfully swatted at her arm. "And I'm not just talking about your blistering tennis serve!"
"Is 'something else' a good thing?" Spencer asked flirtatiously, her elbow tingling where he'd touched her.
"I'd say so." Then his expression turned serious. "Except for in my family, of course."
"What do you mean?" Spencer asked.
An owl hooted in a nearby tree, and the faint sound of laughter floated over from the club's restaurant. "Well, I'm kind of the black sheep of my family," Colin admitted.
"Me too," Spencer confessed, her heart going out to him. "I feel like I'm living in that Sesame Street game 'One of those things is not like the other.' No matter what I do, I'll never be good enough for my parents."
Colin reached forward and squeezed her hand. "Me either. My dad is so hard on me, especially when it comes to tennis. I guess it's why I practice so much."
"But you're such an amazing player," Spencer protested. "What more can he want?"
Colin shook his head. "When I was younger, my dad would make me stay behind on the courts every time I lost a match. I had to do a hundred serves before I was allowed to go home for dinner."
"That's horrible!" Spencer cried.
Suddenly Colin looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I can't believe I told you that. I've actually never told anyone that, it's just that…" He hesitated for a moment. "I just feel so comfortable with you."
Spencer smiled. "I feel really comfortable with you, too."
Actually, Colin was the first guy she'd connected with in a long time. Maybe it could even turn into something serious. She pictured herself boarding a commuter jet every Friday afternoon to visit Colin for a long weekend. And maybe Colin would get a wild-card draw in the US Open or another big tennis tournament. She imagined sitting in the stand, big sunglasses on her face, a classy wide-brimmed hat on her head. When the cameras panned to her, the commentators would whisper about how poised and pretty she was. She looks so intelligent, too, they would add. So driven. Like a girl who is really going somewhere. They seem like the perfect couple.
A pair of Vespas flashed their headlights across the knoll, casting Colin's face into a spotlight for a second—just long enough for Spencer to see just how dazzlingly blue eyes were.
Suddenly, Colin's gaze shifted to the left, like he was looking past Spencer and back into the tennis courts. He jumped to his feet, nearly knocking over the remains of her AminoSpa water bottle. She yelped and followed his gaze. The lights on the courts were still on, and a black-haired every curse, shading her eyes. "Hey, Colin!" she said, bounding up the kill toward them.
Spencer gritted her teeth—another groupie? This girl had sleek, catlike eyes, and the most angular, model-thin body Spencer had ever seen.
Colin stared toward the girl. Spencer figured he was going to shoo her away, but when he reached her, he greeted her with a long kiss on the lips.
Spencer blinked hard, her stomach dropping to her feet. What the—
The girl pulled pulled away. "I came to tell you I was able to get reservations at Culpeper's tonight. I know the chef from New York, and he's saved us the best table in the house. You need to go get cleaned up!"
Spencer rose and swung her tennis bag over her shoulder, trying to retain as much dignity as possible as possible. "Um, Colin?"
Colin glanced over his shoulder, as if only then remembering Spencer was there. "Spencer, this is Ramona. My girlfriend."