Dirtiest Lie by Cleo Peitsche Read Free Book Online

luck,” Hawthorne says. “She’s on my team.”
    “Exactly my point,” Slade says.

Chapter 6

    It turns out that Hawthorne is correct.
    Slade is a decent player. He doesn’t make much of an effort, but he knows what he’s doing, and once he identifies that my footwork is… clumsy, he becomes even lazier.
    He’s the kind of player who would have driven my coach crazy. Talented but unmotivated. And he certainly doesn’t take the game seriously.
    Romeo surprises me. It’s not the first time that his agility catches me off guard.
    I’m starting to think that the bison thing is an attempt at fooling his opponents. When I think of a bison, I think of a slow, lumbering animal. Romeo is built like one, with his massive shoulders and his thick, dark hair, though his leg muscles are developed, which balances him.
    There’s nothing clumsy about Romeo.
    Watching my bosses play really turns me on. Of course they’re attractive, fit men, and their athleticism is mesmerizing, but it’s more than that.
    Tennis used to be my life. To be with them on the court, to see how talented they are at a skill that means something to me… It’s hard to explain how and why I should be so affected.
    And Hawthorne…
    Slade’s cryptic Exactly my point soon makes sense. Hawthorne takes the game seriously, and even though he doesn’t yell at me, I suspect that if I were someone else, another man, perhaps, he’d be cursing up a storm.
    He’s a different person when he plays. It’s like all the smoldering frustrations and disappointments that give him his aloof reputation get worked out on the court.
    So even though I’m no longer nimble, and even though my serves are particularly embarrassing, Hawthorne and I are able to hold our own, even if just barely.
    The number of times Hawthorne nearly bowls me over to hit a down-the-middle volley… I lose count. He’s a greedy player, intent on winning. I’m not sure if that surprises me or not. On one hand, I know better than anyone how much he dislikes having his authority challenged. On the other hand, it’s a little shocking to see his competitiveness laid bare.
    To shamelessly desire something is to expose oneself to the possibility of denial and heartbreak. It makes him vulnerable.
    I appreciate seeing this side of Hawthorne. Or at least I will once my clumsiness isn’t making me the object of my boss’s frustration.
    We win another game, and it’s my turn to serve again.
    Hawthorne’s eyes burn into me. Smiling, I ignore him completely.
    I bounce the ball a few times, enjoying the slightly hollow thump. The sun spreads warmly across my face, my arms, my legs. Up and down the courts, the sounds of squealing sneakers, rackets slamming the balls, occasional grunts…
    These are things I haven’t heard in years. Sudden emotion wells up in me.
    Even though I’m not ready, I have to do something or I’ll cry. I start to toss the ball high.
    “Stop!” Hawthorne yells. I sense him coming toward me.
    Across the net, Slade shrugs one shoulder in commiseration.
    “That’s it for me,” Romeo calls out. “I think Bill’s working. I’ll send him over.”
    “Or we could stop,” Slade suggests.
    But even though Hawthorne is driving me crazy, I’m not ready to stop. I didn’t know how much I missed this, but it’s like all the years of doing without have folded in on themselves, turning dense, turning into a black hole, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fill it, but I have to try.
    “Why don’t we work on your serve while we wait,” Hawthorne says. It’s not a question.
    I don’t mind.
    “Go ahead,” Slade says, backing up to the service line, his racket at the ready.
    For several minutes, I work on it. It’s easier to focus without the pressure of an ongoing game.
    My coordination, the muscle memory is there, somewhere. When I stretch up high, I can feel neglected muscles slowly uncoiling, stretching.
    “Watch your feet,” Hawthorne says, and to underscore his