Grand Slam

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

I admit I was dragging my feet as I headed to the top floor of the academy for my first official meeting with the new sports psychologist. All that psychology crap was just that… Crap. Yes, I’d been in a car accident and had broken two ribs, but it was no big deal. I was really getting back into the swing of things now. Training with Peter, my coach, and working my way to peak fitness once more. I didn’t see what fractured bones had to do with my thoughts and feelings and all that, but unfortunately it was in my contract that I had to go and see this woman and let her work her mumbo jumbo on me. Ugh.

Exiting the elevator, my trainers—or sneakers, as my new colleagues called them—sunk into the thick carpets and I almost felt as if I were bouncing down the corridor toward the relevant room. The academy had obviously been well prepared for her arrival because there was already a name plaque on the slightly ajar door—Marie Sherratt, Ph.D.

So now I knew her full name, as well as her job title and that she was from England, like me. That was the sum total of my knowledge. Oh, and that she liked to wander into male changing rooms and gawp at players while they were showering.

I gave a little snort as I remembered that moment. I’d hidden my surprise and watched as she’d asked what the hell I was doing in the female changing rooms. When I’d corrected her, she’d fallen silent for a second, then stuttered, telling me her name and job title and something about a wrong turning and jet lag. Then she’d shot out of the changing room faster than any first serve I could ever belt out, with her cute little bum wiggling in her tighter-than-tight jeans.

I hadn’t done or said anything as she’d spoken, just stood there, let the water beat down on me and watched her wringing her hands together and trying not to look at my c**k. I did wonder though how long she’d been watching me. Not that it was the first time a woman had seen me showering, and hopefully not the last, I just preferred it if we were both naked. Made it so much more fun, or at least it did when it was Elle with me.

Clenching my fists, I pushed thoughts of Elle from my mind. She was on the other side of the Atlantic, belonged to someone else, and thinking of her in the shower was not only delusional, it was self-destructive. And right now, I had other things to concentrate on. Starting with this Peeping Tom woman.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she’d just be a form filler, a pencil pusher who would skim over the details and then send me on my way. That was often how it was with these office folk.

Who was I kidding? As if the academy would employ someone like that. No, she’d soon be asking a load of questions to find out all about me. And one of the things I disliked most in the world was talking about myself, my feelings. So it was understandable why I was so reticent heading to my appointment with Miss Nosey Pants.

A glance at my watch told me I couldn’t mess around any longer. I may not have been remotely interested in attending the meeting, but I also hated being late. Things like getting stuck in traffic and delayed flights drove me crazy, especially since there was nothing I could do about it. I’ve often been called a control freak and don’t deny it. In fact, I don’t see a problem with it, whatever I’m doing.

There was also no doubt in my mind that Miss Nosey Pants would call me something similar by the time our hour was up. I didn’t often wish away my life, but I really wanted it to hurry up and be one o’clock so I could leave that damn office and go back to what I did best—being an athlete.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door, just to the right of her name plaque.

“Come in,” called a feminine voice.

I pushed open the door and walked into the room.

“Hello,” she said, getting up from the huge leather chair that made her look tinier than she already was and walking around to meet me. “I’m sorry about yesterday’s misunderstanding. I hope you’ll forgive me and allow me to introduce myself properly. I’m Marie Sherratt, your new sports psychologist. It’s lovely to meet you.”

If I wasn’t mistaken, she was blushing, something that was easily noticeable on her pale skin. Good, I was glad that she had the good grace to be embarrassed that she’d ogled me showering. She’d have to take care in the scorching California sun too, otherwise she’d be burnt to a crisp. I took her small hand in mine and we shook.

“Travis Connolly. It’s great to meet you, properly, and there’s nothing to forgive, mistakes happen.” It was just politeness and habit that fueled my words—obviously she knew who I was because I had an appointment. I was no mystery caller. Plus she’d seen me naked. I didn’t look that much different in clothes.

She nodded in acknowledgment of what I’d said, her glossy brunette hair bouncing. Instantly I found myself thinking about her naked in the shower and me tangling my fingers into her wet hair, forcing her to her knees in front of me and ordering her to open up, take me, all of me, deep and deeper still…

God, where had that come from? I pushed the thought quickly away, pasting a smile on to my face.

“It’s nice to hear a British accent, to be honest,” I said, my grin widening as she looked up, her brown eyes gazing into mine. “Don’t get me wrong, everyone here is great, but it takes a bit of getting used to the sense of humor and the slang. I almost wet myself laughing the first time I heard someone say fanny!”

Marie smiled back at me, tucking her hair behind her ears. The gesture was cute and I felt the tickle of more filthy thoughts at the edge of my consciousness, trying to get in. I resolutely ignored them.

“I’ll have to watch out for that then,” she said. “It wouldn’t do for me to start laughing at my new colleagues, would it?”

“Not really,” I replied. “I’ll have a think if there are any more phrases I should warn you about and let you know.”

“Thanks.” She gestured to the shiny leather sofa. “Want to take a seat and we can get started?”

She’d done a subtle switch—from friendly human being to consummate professional—and I figured she was trying to make a good impression on her first day so if anyone asked me I could profess to her proficient manner. Clever girl.

I sat down in the deepest part of the S-shape and watched her lithe figure as she grabbed a chair from the side of the room and moved it over to where I sat.

“So,” she said, lowering herself onto the seat and crossing her legs, “as this is our first session—not to mention my first day—we’ll just have a very informal chat so we can get to know each other better, okay? Then I can work out how best to help you going forward with your pre-performance routines and your positive mantras.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything, lest I betray my true feelings about being there. She was just doing her job, after all. It wasn’t her fault that I was being made to attend appointments even though I didn’t need a damn psychologist. So I wouldn’t take it out on her. I’d just do everything she asked of me in the hope that she’d discharge me as quickly as possible so I could get on with being a tennis player.

She didn’t seem concerned by my silence—she was probably used to clients even more awkward than me—and paused for a moment before posing her first question. “Travis, can you tell me about your accident? Everything you remember.”

I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes. She already knew everything there was to know about my accident—everybody did. It had been reported widely in the media, especially in Britain, and she must have read my notes. Again, I had to remind myself that she was only doing what she was paid to do, and that I’d just promised myself I would do everything she asked of me. So I waited for a second to gather my thoughts, then told her what she wanted to know, as honestly and in as much detail as possible.

* * * * *

By the end of the hour I felt violated, as I’d known I would. Wrung out, like she’d squeezed my most private thoughts out of me as though I were a wet rag. But I couldn’t resent her for it—she was very skilled at what she did and I’d certainly been stuck in rooms with less pleasant people. Less attractive people. As we’d talked—or she’d asked questions and I’d answered them—I’d found myself surreptitiously checking her out. From her beautiful hair to the tips of her sexy stiletto shoes, she was gorgeous. Way too hot to be a nerd too. I’d say she was a few years older than me, but damn, she was in fine condition.

In the absence of a pen and notepad—or whatever else she’d use in our subsequent sessions—it appeared her hands were itching to do something. She’d tucked her hair behind her ears umpteen times, swept several nonexistent bits of fluff from her navy-blue skirt and repeatedly tugged at its hem. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was still embarrassed about the shower incident.

I wondered if she was having flashbacks of me stark naked beneath the flow of water, and that was what was making her fidget? I found myself sincerely hoping so, and not just as some kind of payback for her walking in on me. For some reason, I wanted her to be thinking of me. Naked.

* * * * *

“So,” Peter said, as I met him in the gym for our workout session, “what do you think of the new doctor?”

“Doctor? I haven’t been to the doctor.”

Peter frowned. “I thought you’d been to see Marie Sherratt? It was on your schedule.”

“I have.”

His laughter echoed around the room. “Well then, you’ve been to see the doctor, haven’t you?”

“Oh, I see what you mean. I always forget psychologists are doctors. She didn’t introduce herself as one either.”

He shrugged, starting to jog on the spot. “Maybe she doesn’t like to show off or something? Anyway, forget that. You haven’t answered my question. What do you think of her?”

“She’s all right.”

My answer was obviously too fast, as it aroused his suspicion and his eyes lit up. I looked away and joined him in his stretches.

“She’s hot, isn’t she? I only met her for a minute and she’d just got off a plane from England but she still looked gorgeous. I’m right, aren’t I? She’s a babe. And damn I love that accent of hers. It’s much better than yours.” He shot me a good-natured grin and I ignored his last comment.

“What about Penny?” I asked, for some reason eager to deflect his attention away from me and remembering he’d told me a couple of weeks ago that he was dating a blonde with legs that went to Heaven and back.

Peter waved his hand dismissively. “Penny and I are through. She’s too high-maintenance and we kept arguing about all the time I spend at the academy, so I told her we were over. I’ve worked damn hard for this career and I’m not throwing it all away for a woman.”

“She obviously wasn’t the right woman then. Because when you meet the right one, you’d sacrifice your life for her, never mind your career.” I raised my eyebrows, surprised at myself. Where had that sage—and somewhat soppy—advice come from? Elle? What she’d given up to live with her Master, maybe? Well, wherever it had sprung from, I was annoyed that it gave away more about me than I felt comfortable with. In Britain, I’d have gotten laughed out of the gym for a comment like that, but it seemed American men were more comfortable discussing such topics because Peter didn’t bat an eyelid. Instead he nodded and carried on with stretching out his hamstrings.

“Yeah, you know, that sounds right. Penny was a great girl, for all her faults, but she didn’t bowl me over or anything. Perhaps I was sticking with her for the sake of it. Because there was no way I was gonna ask her to marry me or anything. Maybe I just wasn’t in love with her.” He sighed. “I keep waiting to meet a woman to fall in lust and love with, but it isn’t happening.”

I resisted the urge to run from the room. God, I’d started something now, hadn’t I? I’d hit the nail on the head with the problem with Peter’s previous relationship and now he was ready to tell me his innermost thoughts and feelings. Was he going to start crying or something? I bloody hoped not. Damn, I missed stuffy Brits. Keeping it all locked inside suited me well.

Either because he’d noticed my discomfort or because he’d simply said enough, Peter turned to me with a grin. “Well, whatever. It doesn’t matter now anyway. I’m not heartbroken, so I’m going to move on with my life. And what better way to do that than to find a new girl? I just happen to have one in mind. Which brings me neatly back to the conversation you managed to divert me from.”

I frowned, pretending not to know what he was talking about.

He gave me an incredulous look. “You got short-term memory loss? I was talking about the good doctor. I asked whether you thought she was a babe.”

“Uh, yeah,” I replied, “she’s certainly easy on the eye, but I don’t know much about her as a person. Our conversation was purely professional.”

“Ugh, you uptight Brits. The way to find out more about her as a person is to get to know her better. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“And how do you propose to do that, smart-arse? Read her diary? Hack her email?”

“No, you i***t. I’m going to ask her out on a date.”

An irritated prickle swarmed up my neck and I clenched my jaw. “Well, best of luck, mate.” My words sounded genuine but they weren’t, not exactly. And I didn’t even know why, really. I’d only just met the woman, and although I thought she looked damn good on the outside, I didn’t know enough about what was on the inside to figure out if we could have a connection or not. I certainly couldn’t lay any kind of claim to her.

But there was just something about her that made me feel annoyed at Peter’s intention to ask her out. And by the time I put my finger on it, it could be too late.