Game of Love by Ara Grigorian Read Free Book Online

she was ready to practice her serves, she risked a quick glance toward Andre. He looked young, full of life, sitting at the edge of his seat, watching intently. He was possibly a masterful scoundrel who had lied to her and she had bought it. Or maybe he was a good guy. Or maybe…
Stop it.
    Why was it that when he was around she suddenly felt like a schoolgirl?
    She stretched her neck, and bounced up and down to loosen up. At the baseline, she took a deep breath, relaxed, bounced the ball, then tossed it…
    He’s just someone I met
.
    … She leapt…
    Nothing more, nothing less.
    …
And ripped a 118-miles-per-hour serve.
    The crowd exploded.

    Andre could not claim to be an expert at the game. At best, he had seen highlights on TV. But watching Gemma play, he couldn’t help but think she was the most amazing athlete who had ever lived.
    Clearly this wasn’t based on objective criteria. Just an instinct. Also, the score did not support his assertion. The match continued to be tightly contested. What made her the best was something he couldn’t put his finger on.
    Whether she was serving, or returning Sonia’s hits, Gemma seemed to explode with power and focused energy. The clay beneath her feet detonated with her movements. Yet the same clay converted to ice when she needed to glide. He wanted to film her and slow down the footage to study what happened to the environment surrounding her. No, what she caused wasn’t otherworldly. Quite the contrary. This was natural, innate greatness in action.
    Gemma charged the net, slid gracefully, and volleyed the ball past Sonia’s outstretched racquet. She was a handful of feet away from Andre now. She glanced at him and nearly smiled before she returned to the baseline.
    “Do you know each other?” Roger asked.
    Andre had to be careful. “Don’t I wish,” he chuckled.
    Roger studied him. “I suppose most would,” he finally said.
    Andre didn’t want Roger to meddle, nor give him reason to speculate. He didn’t like the tone in Roger’s voice, the shift in his eyes, the bunching of skin on his brow. All signs of stress.
    Andre returned his attention to Gemma, the goddess on clay.

    All Gemma had to do was keep her composure, and not react too quickly. She was grateful for the water bottle in her hand. She needed something to squeeze during the press conference.
    “Gemma, this was the longest match of your professional career. You seemed fatigued. Was it a conditioning issue due to your extended time off?”
    She hated post-game interviews.
    “Anyone who competes in a three hour match against one of the best is bound to feel fatigued. Sonia is a phenomenal athlete.”
    “After you lost the first set, how did you turn it around by winning the second?”
    “One point at a time, like always. Each set could have gone either way. The first set was close all along. So were the second and third. The ball sometimes bounces that way.”
    “How did it feel when you couldn’t reach the last decisive ball? What went through your mind?”
    The bottle whined in her fist. Did this guy actually expect an answer? How would he feel? She wanted to collapse when she hadn’t reached the yellow furry ball that eradicated her chance at a Grand Slam. She wanted to fall and cry. She wanted to disappear.
    The press awaited her answer. She drank water, counting to ten.
Don’t snap.
    “How did it feel? Was that the question?” She crossed then uncrossed her legs. “As you astutely put it, it felt very decisive.”
    The press corps laughed.
    “Gemma, the fans have voted online, and it’s official. They say this is the best match of the year. What are your thoughts?”
    “Those must be Sonia’s fans.” More laughter. “Tennis fans like to see good battles and athletes who leave it all out there. That’s what we gave them today.”
    “Overall, a much better performance in this semifinal–”
    “With unfortunately the same results,” she said and stood. “Thank you all.”
    Tish