That semi-final match had kicked my ass, but the post-match press conference was not the place to say that. I had won, after all.

“It was a long match and Dmitry gave a damn good fight, but sometimes experience trumps youth.” I smiled even though I wanted to fucking punch that guy in his throat. So what, Dmitry was a decade younger than me. Big fucking deal. But all the press wanted to talk about was how a guy my age could be such a competitor on the tour. Hell, Roger Federer was older than me and he was still the best.

But I wore my trademark grin as I answered question after question, each one honing in on my age. “I don’t think age has much to do with it. Sure, he’s got great stamina, but I have a great serve and my drop shot was on point today. He played good, but tonight, I played better.”

That’s what every match came down to and I worked hard to make sure I always played better.

“And how do you plan to approach the final match against Sanchez? He beat you the last time you played in Paris.”

I grinned at the question, meant to goad me into a reaction. To become the bad boy of tennis they’d always tried to make me out to be. Okay so maybe I was a bit reckless. But only when I wanted to be. I was nobody’s damn circus monkey.

“Yes, but I beat him the fourteen times before that.” They laughed as I meant them to. “His game has improved this year though, so I guess you’ll have to show up on Sunday if you want to know how it all plays out.” I stood and waved, the universal sign that the press conference was over.

They were always required and they never got any easier, especially when you were supposed to be poised and calm just minutes after the match ended. But they were a necessary evil, and by the time I left the press room, it was all behind me. The long tunnel that led out of the gardens and to the parking lot was barely lit, but halfway to the end I spotted a figure. The person was tall, and as I drew closer I realized, female. She wore a silky top that hung loose except where it clung to a set of incredible tits. And when the woman turned and the light shone on her red hair, I sucked in a breath and stumbled.

Sylvie. How in the hell had I not recognized my best girl? Hell, the best person I knew? I couldn’t believe it considering how much those curves had tempted me throughout high school. And beyond. We’d never gone there, but I knew we were aware of each other beyond the closeness of lifelong friends. But there was an unspoken agreement between us that our friendship was more important. But in that moment, when I hadn’t recognized her, the want and the need had been visceral. Instinctive.

“Brady!”

She drew closer and closer, finally crashing into me as she wrapped her arms tight around my neck and squeezed. Fuck she felt good in my arms, and not just because she was a hot woman, but because I hadn’t seen her since she’d surprised me in New York at the US Open. I always put her name on the list for my box, no matter where I went on the planet, and she often showed up.

But when I’d looked up last September and saw her sitting there, sandwiched between Ma and my twin sisters, I’d smiled and waved. And then went on to win my eighth grand slam.

“Looking good hot stuff!” She laughed her throaty laugh and pulled back, examining me carefully. “God it is so good to you in person.” She hugged me again, touched my face and shoulders and I flashed a sheepish smile at one of the passing coaches.

“You too, Syl. You’re looking so hot, I almost hit on you.” She smacked my arm and rolled her eyes before pulling me close and looping her arm through mine. “I’m happy you’re here. Let’s go eat.”

She drove while I directed her to a small seafood restaurant with good food and a quiet table where we were only bothered by a few autograph seekers. “You played well tonight. The crowd was out of control! Your drop shot is so soft now. Sanchez better watch out.”

I grinned. You’d think I would be used to having women tell me how great I am, and I was. But it was always different with Sylvie, because she wasn’t blowing smoke. She was always a straight shooter. It was an honest assessment of my game.

“Well, thanks babe.”

Glittering green eyes rolled skyward, but her affectionate smile was still in place. “Yeah, you’re welcome. But your serve is drifting wide on the toss and you’re losing speed.”

“Dammit, I felt it too! McEnnis and Rask said I was imagining it.” I knew I wasn’t imagining shit. As a lifelong athlete, I knew my body and I knew when something felt off. “Thanks Syl. So what’s new? Have you conquered the world yet?”

“No. But I did win a big case today. Marcos was acquitted.” She grinned, so proud of herself, but I could see the tension underneath her smile. She loved that she’d won, but these clients were slowly killing her spirit. “He put down a retainer for my services.”

“That’s great, Syl. Now tell me what’s wrong?”

She blinked a look she always thought made her look innocent. It didn’t, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her. “What do you mean? Did you just hear what I said? I won.”

Head cocked to the side with a bored expression on my face, I waited her out.

“Fine, there is something, but I’m not ready to talk about it yet. Let’s enjoy the next twenty four hours and then we’ll talk.” Her hand went to her silky red curls, smoothing them down in a slow, calming motion.

“Come on, Syl. Don’t make me drag it out of you. I’ll never focus if I’m worried about you.”

“Maybe. But once the final is behind you and another trophy is in your hands, you’ll be ready to listen better.”

“I’m a great listener.”

“You are, but this is important and I need you to really listen and keep an open mind.”

Now I was just plain intrigued. For years it felt like I got so much more out of our friendship than Sylvie did. She was the one who encouraged me to go to a smaller university with better coaches, and it was Sylvie who pushed me to take on a coach everyone else thought was washed up. But he had won four grand slams in the past, and she insisted his style was similar to my own. She’d been right. Just as she’d been right when she encouraged me to ask for more upfront money on my first endorsement deal from a startup that went belly up two years into a five-year contract.

“Fine. Sunday night over dinner, we talk.”

She flashed her killer smile. “Great. Now the question is, are we going to split that fudge cake or are you simply going to watch me eat it?”

I’d never been so glad that my internal thoughts didn’t appear in bubbles over my head, because somewhere deep down, a few dirty thoughts came to mind. About my best friend.

“Just enough frosting to be worth it.”

She grinned, thinking of the game we used to play when I was training. “I’ve missed you. Six months is too long. I hate only seeing you on TV.”

“Even though I look so handsome?” I preened mockingly, and she laughed.

“I don’t know, they say the camera ages you.” She could barely contain her laughter, it damn near bubbled out of her. The harder I glared, the harder she laughed. “I’m just kidding, you’re still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s better.”

With Sylvie here, everything did feel better.

* * *

“Damn Sylvie, take it easy on a guy.”

She gone out early this morning while I was at practice to get a new dress for the reception tonight. She refused to show up, “looking like a hot mess on the arm of the number one tennis player in the world.”

Her words, not mine.

She laughed and twirled, doing her patented shake and shimmy as she did. The red dress clung beautifully, hugging all kinds of curves and showing off her shapely legs. Her red hair hung in sexy, touchable waves that shielded most of the flesh bared by her backless dress. And the shoes, well I wouldn’t even think about them because she was my best friend. But I am a man, and the whole outfit made it hard to remember who she was.

“What fun would that be? I have to look like the kind of girl who could attract Bad Boy Brady.” She did another little hip shake and I grabbed her arm and pulled her along.

We arrived at the reception fashionably late, which meant the bulk of the press attention was on us as we posed for photos and interviews. It was all part of the song and dance for the final of pretty much every tournament.

“Put on your best smile.”

She did and clasped my hand in hers, giving me a confident nod as we progressed on the line, answering questions about who she wore, who I wore and whether or not we were a couple. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I joked to a well-known sports journalist. Everyone wanted to know about the bombshell on my arm but Sylvie just smiled, whispering jokes and smiling beside me to make sure I didn’t take any of this too seriously.

“Is it serious?” The question came from a popular entertainment show host and I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

“Deadly serious.” That much was true. My relationship with Sylvie was serious. And permanent. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I promised to twirl my girl around the dance floor.”

“You handled them smoothly.”

“Not my first rodeo,” I said and pulled her into the big ballroom where the dinner and dancing were well under way. We said our hellos to all the important people in the room, Sylvie impressed a few of them with her fan girl stats.

Tennis icon, Eric Gladden approached us before we made it onto the dance floor. “Brady, great match tonight and all week. If you’re ever ready to replace McEnnis, I’m interested.”

“Thank you, Eric. It is something to consider before the Open.” I had been thinking of replacing McEnnis who was now what everyone thought he was a decade ago.

Eric’s smart brown eyes flashed surprise. “Great. And Mira has been gushing all night about how adorable you are together,” he wrapped an arm around his wife, who’d famously won a Golden Slam which meant she won all four grand slams plus the Olympic gold in the same year.

“Uh, thanks?”

Gladden shrugged. Men didn’t notice these things. “She said she’d never seen you so happy and in love, and to make sure I passed on the message.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gladden. I am huge fans of both you and your wife, so I’ll take whatever compliment you pass on.” Sylvie flashed a sweet smile that mesmerized Eric for a brief moment before he pulled back.

“Thank you.”

“Sylvie.”

“Great to meet the woman able to tame this guy,” he told her and shook his head as he walked off with a smile.

Sylvie turned to me with a disbelieving stare. “I can’t believe you did that! Don’t blame me when it’s all over the world that you’re in love and then you can’t get a date.” She stuck her tongue out and all I could do was laugh.

“I won’t because you’ll just have to be my date. Problem solved.” I’d rather spend time with her most days anyway.

She snorted and bumped my shoulder as we finally made it onto the dance floor. “Yeah but I don’t put out.”

True. “You say that now, but I haven’t put the moves on you. Trust me, my moves work.”

She tossed her head back and laughed, sending her soft curves in even closer contact with the harder parts of me while I spun her around the dance floor. “It’s been so long they just might work.”

I couldn’t stop thinking about whatever she needed to talk about. So as soon as I could leave without being rude—after the awards and speeches and rubber chicken—I grabbed her hand and reversed our path back to the limo. We laughed and talked the whole way back, especially when she told me how the notorious Marcos Antoni was jealous of me this weekend. The man was smart to be jealous.

Back at the suite we changed into comfortable clothes, made drinks and ordered room service as we prepared to talk. I handed Syl two fingers of whiskey in a crystal tumbler. She took a long, fortifying swallow.

“Now spill.”

With a twitch of her lips, Sylvie nodded and took another sip. She sighed and drank a bit more. Fidgeted and then sighed before finishing off her drink.

“Okay,” she said on an exhale. “You know how hard I worked to make junior partner, and I think soon they’ll make me senior partner. Which is all great, except it hasn’t left time to develop any significant relationships, not that I did all that great with the insignificant ones,” she joked. “Let’s just say I’d rather do another green juice cleanse than try another relationship. But that doesn’t mean I want to give up all my dreams for the future. Specifically, a child.”

Okay, I could handle that. “You’re going to be a great mom, Sylvie. You’re bossy as hell and so damn nurturing. Most people didn’t think of that when they thought of the powerhouse shark attorney Sylvie Porter, but I knew her best.

She grinned, just as I hoped she would. “Thanks, Brady. I’ve done a consultation, two actually, with a fertility clinic and I got as far as looking at donor profiles when I realized I couldn’t do it. I can’t let a stranger father my baby.”

She sounded so bleak, so hopeless I nearly volunteered to give her a baby myself. “Okay,” I said instead, unsure how else to respond to that. She took another deep breath and laid those big blue eyes on me.

“I want you to give me a baby, Brady. Just listen before you say no. I’ve known you forever, so I know your family’s mental and medical history. Which let’s face it, is a crucial fact with a stranger who sells his jizz. Plus, we’re best friends, so you’ll always be around to answer questions, if you want,” she added the last part late, as though it had just occurred to her. “Oh, and you don’t have to be the ‘dad’ if you don’t want to be.”

I let her words sink in for a moment, because it was a hell of a lot to process. In one breath, she’d just sent my world tumbling headlong into uncertainty. I turned back to the bar and grabbed two big handfuls of mini bar bottles because this was no time to worry about quality.

Sylvie wanted a baby.

My Sylvie wanted a baby. And she wanted me to give it to her. That was enough on its own, but she was giving me the option of being involved or not. “Wow,” I said and drained another bottle.

“I know, and I don’t mean to spring this on you Brady. If you feel uncomfortable you can say no, and it won’t change us. Take some time to think about it.”

“How long until you need an answer?”

She sighed in resignation. “Well I’m already off birth control and I don’t think I’ll need any hormonal help getting pregnant, so I can give you five or six months to decide.”

I heard what she didn’t say, which was she hoped I’d make up my mind much sooner. “And after that?”

Then she did sigh, and I heard the disappointment. “I’ll go back to a fertility clinic. Too bad you don’t have any brothers,” she offered with a smile that didn’t quite reach her big blue eyes.

“Tell me about it,” I laughed.

“Yeah, yeah. Poor Brady never got a brother or a pony for Christmas.” She rolled her eyes affectionately and patted the cushion beside her. “Come on then, let’s table this discussion until you’ve had some time to think about it. Right now, I’ll rub your stinky feet while we veg out right here.”

I took a seat and she rested my feet in her lap, flipping on a music station before she began to dig deep into the tension in my feet. “Fuck that feels good, Syl. Why are you so good to me?”

“You’re my best guy, Brady.” She flashed that girlish smile that reminded me so much of teenaged Sylvie. Even then she’d been unaware of her own appeal, but even with glasses and a poor fashion sense, she’d been beautiful to me.

I relaxed into the sofa, trying hard not to think about the fact that Sylvie wanted me to give her a baby.

Or the erection her massage caused.