Coral's vibe regarding her tennis challenge became confident.
She told me on the phone the night before it, optimistic, "I'm ready for whatever Rubes brings."
Though Coral finished, the call peeved because Ruby gained her driver's licence before her by one day. I achieved my licence a fortnight later.
The Friday of the tennis game arrived. Coral booked an outside court at her club. She overlooked giving me a lift and showing off her first car in her intense fluster. I took the bus to her tennis centre. Ruby breezed into the car park in a stylish coupe as Coral led me to the tennis court. The brunette's vehicle was blazing red, the manufacturer's colour term, Red Riding Hood. I steered clear of a quip to the brunette!
My initial thinking: the show-off.
Later, Coral informed me that her dad selected and flaunted the car.
Outside the padlocked court, Coral's mind strayed beyond tennis as she began spewing words at an absent Josh.
"Geez! He hasn't tried to ring me, let alone put pen to paper to apologise!"
She struggled to open a standard padlock in her ruffled state and wrenched the gate.
Even on the court, she fired, "It's a new year. Didn't he resolve to mend our relationship?"
As I squirmed, she repeated Josh's name. Their upcoming first day together triggered Coral's outburst. She organised a go-out evening every anniversary, to her taste!
I changed my scrutiny to what she wore: eye-catching white tennis gear, including a snappy tennis dress and a slim headband holding her hair. Cute short socks completed her style sequence. Her tennis shoes paraded charming double bows. Whilst the sunlight shimmered on the moist glaze of her prepped legs.
As she unpacked her tennis bag, she continued bantering in a softer tone, "I want a replay. I wish we could start over. But, he's gone."
Coral pulled four brand-new tennis balls from her bag.
"He only needed to take his medicine like a man. Is he too much of a boy?"
She kept two balls and rolled the other two courtside.
"Am I better off? Yes, no? Well! Luke!"
Coral's hands framed her hips as she emphasised my name. She required a genuine friend's response.
I avoided placating my buddy, persuading myself my role stopped with umpiring. So, I withdrew from helping Coral sort through her heart because I craved her heart. My competition, Ruby, I believed, sought Coral's body, with or without her heart.
Instead of pouring my addled emotions into my golden girl, I chose the easy way out.
"Practice your serve! Ruby is in the carpark!"
Coral vented her emotions through her targeted practice balls. She used a kick serve, and the balls spun and bounced high.
Ruby sauntered courtside.
As she greeted Coral across the net to decide on starting ends, it highlighted the brunette's petite stature. Her short skirt and bantam legs. Jeans accentuated her thighs, and her butt in denim was the subject of constant boy's locker room banter.
The brunette wore white: a skirt and a plain T-shirt.
White and Ruby, unsuited!
Her wristbands, on display as she attempted to offer her girlfriend a small jewellery pouch, delivered a chic, spiffy touch.
The satchel had a black velvet softness.
This gift caught Coral and me by surprise. My mouth fell open, and Coral shuffled back a step.
The pair often brought and exchanged gifts on a whim.
Ruby strolled around the net and pressed the satchel into her girlfriend's hand.
Today, as a contest, Ruby's intention stacked cagey, a win even if she lost!
Coral held the package.
"Well, open it."
An impatient brunette instruction.
My bestie emptied the contents into her hand—a pair of gold-plated tennis racquet earrings. After laying them in her palm, Coral slid them into the packet.
"Don't put them away! Wear them, please," Ruby's voice lilted silky smooth.
A convinced Coral leaned her head and attempted to insert the first earring.
"Ouch," she cried, "I need a mirror."
Ruby extended her palm.
My bestie tumbled the pair into the brunette's hand.
"Bend honey," she said, and as Coral arched, she dribbled saliva on her fingers and slipped the set into her girlfriend's lobes.
Ruby pranced to her baseline and grabbed her racquet.
The brunette and I enjoyed the earrings as they reflected the sunlight's rays throughout the match.
It was a match Ruby likely evaluated as impossible to win.
Alongside Coral, I wondered what approach she might adopt. The brunette, who specialised in being competitive, agreed to her girlfriend's playing conditions—the match: the best of three sets.
Ruby granted Coral the afternoon sun behind her, taking the glare as her immediate view. Coral directed me to the raised umpire's chair, where I perched and used a club scoring sheet. Officious Coral covered the game's details.
On her baseline, Coral prepared to serve. Ruby cavorted to place her paired balls behind her baseline. Then she halted and spied her girlfriend as she pocketed her spare ball. Coral's cute dress sported a delicate insert, Ruby's skirt none.
The brunette, amenable till then, stopped yielding. Ballsy Ruby exposed. She romped, knelt, picked a ball, and raised her skirt to reveal scanty pink panties. Leaving modesty, she tucked the ball under the side of her knickers; it bulged.
"Tennis decorum," demurred Coral, waving her racquet.
Ruby adjusted her ponytail and said, "Sweetie, I'll leave that to you. Serve!"
The match commenced. Coral took immediate advantage. She wiped the brunette to love in the first game, firing four kicking aces across the net. Ruby avoided Coral's feared forehand on her first service game. Instead, she angled her serves to the flowing mane's backhand. It brought her into the game. Ruby secured a deuce before Coral swung her racquet in complete domination.
The golden girl breezed the first set. Her ball placement reigned. She hardly sweated whilst Ruby brushed droplets trickling at the sides of her temple. Ruby chased balls to every corner of the court as Coral won the set—six games to love.
The girls changed ends. Coral opened the second set and served into the sun. However, a cheeky net drop and an excellent double backhand allowed Ruby to gain points. Coral clapped her racquet following these lucky or well-executed shots.
The brunette used the sun on her serve, lobbing and forcing Coral backwards. My bestie shaded her eyes. Her brow knitted; maybe Ruby adjudged the lob and kick.
Coral's judgement deserted her twice as Ruby defied the odds and nicked the back-line. She won her first game. The second set developed tighter because Ruby used the court spaces better.
In the end, Coral prepared to take the set and match.
Her advantage over Ruby: five-two.
As the umpire, I remained pleased neither player questioned a call nor a point against the other. Ruby was poised to lose the match behind fifteen-forty.
Coral and I watched as she paused and inspected the ball in her hand. Then, casually, Ruby threw it over her shoulder. The ball rolled to the high wire fence surrounding the court.
Entirely intentional, Ruby hitched her skirt.
Her fingers sought and released the ball snuggled beneath her carnation knickers. Racy titillation followed. Ruby stretched the elastic of her panties and snapped and twanged them, nipping her skin. To Ruby, the nip was worth it because Coral gasped.
My bestie entered heavy breathing territory, followed by a blush.
Ruby's eyebrows raised, and her mouth formed a tight, naughty smirk. The brunette, as usual, dismissed me, the third-party observer high in a chair. Ruby lost the point, the game, the set and the match. But she wowed Coral's eyes through the seduction game she played.
Coral gathered her composure as the girls merged into a high-five at the net.
We relaxed on a courtside bench, Coral between Ruby and me. My bestie suggested coffee and cake, her arm hooked over the bench, happy to shout us a treat. Coral offered to drive me home later. In her buoyant mood, she grabbed Ruby's arm. The brunette shook herself loose, rose fast, bent and packed her racquet in her tennis bag. Whilst nudging out her butt, she arched her head.
Exposing delicious pink knickers, Ruby claimed, "It's Friday; I start at the restaurant soon."
Her excuse or pretence stated plausible.
I surmised her thrill centred on Goldilocks chasing her.
As the girls shared polite goodbyes, a rear-end shimmy accompanied the brunette's exit. She treated Coral and me to a perfect, unimpeded view as we remained seated on the courtside spectator bench.
My bestie bagged her racquet and the balls. Then she started humming the bars of a song. I tried to pick the tune as Coral zipped her bag with the summer sun blazing on her face. Her freckles gathered together. In a smile or a brood?
Her hum found the beat of the tune: Sugar Baby Love.
I thought her mind soars to Ruby.
Then I wondered if she was ferreting for Josh across the countryside.
To deflect her to me, I seized the simple path.
"Let's get cake," I coaxed.
"Acland Street?"
"Where else, let's go."
I nabbed a handle of her tennis bag, and Coral snagged the other. Then, swinging it between us, we strolled to her car—a polished, two-door Holden.
"Pretty cool," I said.
"Love the pastel orange."
"Yes, it's peachy. My dad brought it, and he let me choose the colour."
Coral beamed, as she indicated, a better hue.
The genuine peach, my best friend!