Chapter 26

Marabelle worked on autopilot. She had slammed the door on her emotions gone wild and shut the floodgates on her tears. There’d be plenty of time later to alternate between falling apart and beating herself up.

The Friday afternoon golf tournament had been a big success, and all the celebrities put on a great show. Everyone had a terrific time. Yippee. Marabelle skipped the barbecue that evening due to pure exhaustion, but mostly she didn’t want to chance running into Nick. She needed to work on the format for the mixed doubles the next morning. She noticed Ginger had signed up with Nick as her partner.

Barf. They deserved each other.

Marabelle tried making the draw as even as possible, knowing some of the professional athletes would end up competing against each other in the end. To make the tournament more exciting, she purposely put Beau and his partner at the opposite end of the bracket from Nick and Ginger.

Early Saturday morning, Marabelle posted the doubles teams on a big easel outside the tennis pro shop. She scanned the courts to see if Nick had arrived. Sure enough, he and Ginger were warming up against another couple.

Since he was hitting three courts over and couldn’t see her watching, she took the time to observe him. Mmm, not bad. He hit with an open stance and had a nice follow-through on his forehand. What had she expected? He was good at everything.

And gorgeous.

But Ginger? What a dork. She had dressed from head to toe in the latest hot-pink Nike ruffled short skirt and halter tennis top that showed more cleavage than it covered.

Marabelle almost laughed. Ginger hit like a wimp, not putting any muscle behind her shots.

“Hey, Mary-bell. I need you.” Beau jogged over to where she stood on the veranda.

“For what?”

“My partner can’t make it. You need to play with me,” Beau said.

She shook her head while keeping a lookout on court three. “No way. Not in a million, gazillion—” Ginger giggled as she missed an easy overhead, and Nick gave her a playful swat on the bottom.

“Give me five minutes to get changed,” Marabelle said with steel in her voice.

“Way to go!” Beau smiled as she stomped off to the locker room.

Marabelle was as serious about her tennis as the NFL players were about their football. She took no prisoners and always played to win. This charity tournament was no exception.

Beau and she easily won their first three matches. Beau was just as competitive, but he managed to have fun at the same time, laughing and joking with his opponents during the changeovers.

Not Marabelle. Strictly business. She barely cracked a smile. And as she suspected, Nick and Ginger were winning their bracket, too. Perfect. It came down to the finals, and Marabelle couldn’t wait to kick some bony ass.

As she recorded the scores on the board, the air around her changed. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she peered over her shoulder. Nick had leaned against one of the white pillars in front of the clubhouse with his arms crossed, blatantly studying her. She sucked in a breath and stiffened; their gazes locked, and time stood still. Then Ginger sidled up to him and whispered something in his ear and the spell was broken.

You’re going down, girlfriend.

* * *

Nick surreptitiously watched Marabelle the entire morning. He couldn’t believe how much power she put behind each shot. She might look pint-sized, but she packed a real punch. She had game, and he couldn’t be prouder. She was a helluva tennis player.

He knew they would probably meet up in the finals. Marabelle had annihilated her opponents, playing not for fun, but to win. And today, she played for revenge. He’d be laughing if he still weren’t so pissed off.

He couldn’t help notice she looked cute as hell in a short black tennis skirt with a fitted white sports bra top. Every time she served, her top crept up and showed her belly. He missed that curvy belly and how ticklish she was whenever he kissed it.

Screw it. Get your head in the game, man. If he was going down, it wasn’t going to be without a fight.

* * *

The final match would be the best of three sets. Everyone gathered around the club veranda to watch. Marabelle glanced up as she changed the overgrip on her racket and saw some familiar but worried faces. Elizabeth and John sat together, Elizabeth’s attractive face marred with concern. Marabelle knew word had spread about her broken engagement. She figured everyone was waiting for this showdown. Well, so was she. Bring it. The tennis courts were her turf. She had the home field advantage.

“Hey, Coach! Rocker and I have some money riding on this,” Ricky DiMarco called out in jest from the rocking chairs in front of the pro shop.

Before Nick could respond, Marabelle piped up, “Make sure you place it on me…to win.”

Ginger’s hiss could be heard even over the guys’ whooping and hollering. Beau chuckled, but Nick remained silent.

“Come on, partner, let’s do this.” Beau patted her on the bottom in full view of Nick.

She grabbed Beau by the arm, gaining his attention. “Listen to me,” she whispered. “No fooling around. I want to win. I have to win. Remember…keep it low and deep and come in on the short balls.”

Beau nodded and winked. “I always keep it low and deep,” he said in a sexy voice, loud enough for Nick to hear. Then he pecked her on the lips. “For good luck.”

“Whenever you two lovebirds are ready,” Nick called out in a dangerous tone from the other side of the court.

Marabelle whacked two balls over the net at him. “Serve it up, Coach.”

Ginger disapproved. “Hey, shouldn’t we spin first to see who serves?”

“No!” Nick and Marabelle said in unison.

Marabelle never knew revenge could be so sweet. She loved their easy three-one lead in the first set. But even sweeter was the sight of Nick getting more and more irritated as Beau and she high-fived after every good shot.

At first, she hit every ball to Ginger, not because she feared Nick, but because she took great pleasure in watching her pink–bubble gum butt scramble all over the court. Ginger started to sweat, and it wasn’t pretty. Her fair skin turned blotchy, and her long ponytail hung lifeless and limp. After Ginger missed a deep forehand in the corner, Nick looped his arm around her shoulder, whispering some sort of strategy in her ear.

Fine. Marabelle wouldn’t hit to Ginger anymore. She could win either way.

“Whenever you lovebirds are ready, I’d like to serve,” she called out. Ginger glowered at Marabelle as she took her position at the net. Skin prickling, Marabelle felt rather than saw Nick’s steely blue gaze. When she glanced at him from under the bill of her hat, the corners of his mouth were turned up.

* * *

Nick wanted to pump his fist every time Marabelle hit a winner. He loved her competitive streak. She had proved to be a true athlete. She was also furious, and it showed in her intensity, but more important, it showed that she cared. Really cared.

He took his first calming breath since last Saturday night. He could deal with Marabelle’s anger any day. What he couldn’t bear were her tears and betrayal. That tore him up inside and left him with a big, gaping hole where his heart used to be. Today, she wanted to prove something to him. But he wouldn’t make it easy for her. Nah. That would only piss her off…more. He planned to give her the fight of her life.

Nick turned up the heat to overcompensate for his weak partner. The battle lines had changed as he and Beau tried to outmuscle each other. The second set was a lot closer than the first. And if Beau patted Marabelle’s bottom one more time, Nick would not be responsible for his actions. Nick purposely hit Beau with a ball in between points.

“Sorry.” Asshole.

* * *

Marabelle stayed in her zone. The score was forty-thirty, and she had returned one of Nick’s hard forehands crosscourt when bubble-gum Ginger decided to poach. Only she moved too late, and Marabelle hit her with the ball…not quite on the boob, but close enough—her boobs were so huge, they were kinda hard to miss.

“Owww! You hit me!” she screeched as she pressed a hand to her front. “What’s the matter with you?” Ginger rubbed her chest, trying to determine if there was a mark.

Marabelle raised her racket for the universal apology in tennis and walked off the court. The score was now five-four in Marabelle’s favor. Ginger continued to squawk about getting hit. Nick and Beau made a big production of checking out her “injury.” Idiots.

“Nicky, did you see that? She did it on purpose,” Ginger accused with fake tears.

“Let’s get some ice on it, and I think you’ll be just fine,” he said as he examined her boob a little too closely. Marabelle drank water and reapplied sunscreen. Someone from the crowd brought over a cup of ice.

“When did tennis become a contact sport?” Ginger whined, frowning at her. She jumped as Nick applied ice to her chest.

“Careful, they might explode,” Marabelle said under her breath. Someone in Nick’s direction coughed or laughed. She couldn’t tell which.

Marabelle headed over to the other side, stopping in front of Ginger. “Just a little friendly coaching advice. If you decide to poach the ball, you have to go. Don’t hesitate, or you’re going to get hit…again.”

Ginger’s mouth gaped open. Beau had trouble suppressing his grin as he picked up his racket and trotted after Marabelle. And Nick had some coughing, choking, throat-clearing thing going on.

The next game pitted Nick’s strength against Marabelle’s finesse. Nick seized the opportunity, rushing in on a short ball and angling it wide for a winner. Marabelle dove for the shot, falling near the players’ benches off the court. She hit the bench and bounced back on her butt on the clay. The crowd gasped, and Nick and Beau rushed over.

Beau reached her first. “You okay?” He tried to help her up, when Nick bent down and knocked his hand out of the way.

“Do you hurt anywhere, honey?”

She heard the alarm in his voice, laced with concern, as he checked her arms, knees, and legs for injuries.

“Only my butt and my pride. I’m fine. Let’s play.” She did her best to ignore him and his large, warm hands as he tugged her to her feet.

Sore butt be damned. She refused to whine like Ginger. Beau made a big deal of brushing clay off her bottom, and that triggered a low growl from Nick.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Quinton. I mean it.”

Beau patted her on the back and grinned, unfazed. “Come on, partner. Let’s put the nail in the coffin.”

For the next several points, all four players battled to the death.

Ginger dumped the ball in the net, making the score ad-in. Match point for Marabelle and Beau. Marabelle hit her killer slice backhand that gave Ginger no choice but to pop the ball up.

“Mine!” She reached up, snapped her wrist, and hit a beautiful overhead. The ball came down hard and missed hitting Ginger only by inches.

The crowd roared. Beau jumped up, tossed his racket in the air, and hugged Marabelle, twirling her around before planting a big kiss on her lips. She laughed and squeezed him back. Ginger stormed off the court and threw her racket down. Nick’s lips curved into a smile of pleasure until he witnessed the kiss.

Nick strode to the net to shake hands. He squeezed Beau’s hand with a murderous gleam in his eyes. Beau toned his brash act down a smidge. Marabelle figured he didn’t want to warm the bench for next season’s opener.

Nick clasped her hand and drew her toward him. The holey net was the only thing that separated her from falling into his broad chest. Her breath hitched. Was he going to kiss her? Dear God…no, yes, no!

“Way to go, Tinker Bell,” he said, wearing his sexy, crooked grin. “You’re one rockin’ tennis player.” She could feel his hot breath brush her sweaty face and smell his distinct, spicy scent. “But I want a rematch.”

She plastered on a cocky, bored expression. “Name the time and place, Coach. I’ll beat you like a drum…again.” To her surprise, he threw his head back and howled with laughter.

* * *

Afterward, before the awards ceremony, Ginger held court with Nick by her side, bellyaching: the match was unfair, Marabelle tried to kill her with the ball, blah, blah, blah. Marabelle didn’t stick around to hear more.

She headed home for a much-needed soak in her tub and to plot the rest of her life. Smothered in bubbles in her claw-foot tub, she finally returned her dad’s call and many texts. She hated to tell him the truth about Nick and the stupid stunt she’d pulled, but she needed some advice. She didn’t have to see her dad’s face to know he was hurting for her.

“What’re you going to do now?” Ed asked.

She gathered her courage and said, “I’ve been thinking. What if I come to visit you for a while in France?”

“I would love to have you visit. But don’t you think you’re running away from your problems?”

“Yes. But if it helps me get over Nick, how can it be wrong?”

“Because you need to face your problems. I know I only met him for a short weekend, but Nick is a good man. You need to swallow your pride and go after him. Running away is not going to solve anything. It could be your biggest mistake ever.”

She sniffed. The water had turned cold. Her toes looked like prunes, and her face probably looked even worse from all her crying. “How can you tell he’s a good man? How do you know for sure?”

“Anyone who goes out of his way to make you feel special and puts up with your mother and me is an excellent man. He won’t let you down. He deserves a second chance.”

She nodded, trying to keep from blubbering like a baby. “What do I do now, Daddy?”

“Dry your tears, get dressed up real pretty tonight, and then go to that gala. You’ve worked hard, and you deserve it. And the first chance you get, ask him to dance. I promise the rest will fall in place.”

“You think?” she croaked.

“Nick loves you, but his pride has been wounded. I’ll bet he hasn’t suffered many blows to his ego. You’re probably the first woman ever to break up with him. I’m sure he feels he laid it on the line for you. He’s waiting for you to make the first move. You can do it. Hold your head up high, be the bigger person, and go after him. He’ll appreciate the effort, and I know he’ll reciprocate.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because behind every good man is an even better woman. Nick is a good man, and he wants you because you’re the best. Now fix yourself up and go have a good time tonight.”

Marabelle felt better after his pep talk. “Okay, Dad. I will.”

“Good. One more thing…now don’t get upset. I’m not trying to control your life, but do you need some extra money? Just until you find another job?”

“Nah. I’m fine for—” She stopped and sat up, splashing water over the side of the tub. The low balances in her checking and savings accounts blinked red in her head. She swallowed her pride. “Uh, yeah. I could use a little money, but I’m paying you back. I promise.”

“Sure, honey. I’ll transfer some to your account.”

She unscrewed her eyes and released a pent-up breath. At least she didn’t have to worry about her mortgage for a few months while she figured out the rest of her life.

“Now forget about the money for once… I’ve got your back. Think about Nick,” Ed said.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I love you. Now, go get him!”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

* * *

“Whoa! You look fantastic.” Beau whistled low when Marabelle answered the door that evening.

Just the reaction she’d hoped for. She wore a short, baby-doll dress she’d bought on a whim with Paula one afternoon. She hadn’t had the nerve to wear it until tonight. A satin band circled the empire waist and hem. She ran a hand down the magenta-colored layers of silk fabric. Thin spaghetti straps held satin cups covering her breasts. The salesgirl had said it fit her small frame perfectly.

She had styled her hair in a loose French twist with a few stray curls brushing her neck. A gold and pearl necklace sparkled against her skin and dipped into her cleavage. She paired the necklace with large gold hoop earrings and her gold Manolo strappy sandals.

She wanted to be noticed, and for once, she didn’t care what anyone thought. She just hoped everyone reacted the way Beau had.

Before Beau backed out of the driveway, he reached in the backseat and handed her a large tennis trophy and an envelope.

“What’s this?” she said, flipping the envelope.

“You won a thousand dollars.”

“We’re supposed to split the winnings.” She attempted to push the envelope back in his hand.

“Believe me, you earned it. You were totally awesome. You should’ve stayed for the ceremony afterward. Everyone wanted to congratulate you. Besides, you’re gonna need that money when you bid on me at the auction,” he replied with all the self-confidence of a stud.

She laughed, shoving the envelope in her gold evening clutch. “That won’t even cover the opening bid. You’re gonna bring in way more than that… I’m counting on it!”

* * *

The ballroom was a huge crush. Everyone who was anyone in the Raleigh area had come out for this much-touted event. Marabelle wished they were there for the sake of the school, but she knew better. People packed the ballroom to rub elbows with all the celebrities. And she had to admit, the lineup was impressive.

Of course, the Cherokees players were a big draw, being the local heroes, but so were members of a local country band and a few basketball and baseball players.

Marabelle scanned the room for Nick the minute she walked in, but he didn’t seem to be there…yet. Thank goodness. She breathed a little easier. Well-wishers swarmed her about her win, as well as eligible and not-so-eligible men trying to hit on her. All because she wore a short dress and real cleavage. Jeez, men were so easy.

Ricky DiMarco saved her just in time from a lecherous coot old enough to be her grandfather, and swept her onto the dance floor. After Ricky, Ty claimed her for a dance, and even Rocker—if it could be considered dancing, as her feet never touched the ground. Beau cut in and brought her feet back to the floor.

“You don’t have to babysit. Won’t your adoring crowd miss you?” she teased as they swayed to the music.

Beau nuzzled her ear. “There’s plenty of me to go around. I want to dance with the prettiest girl at the party.” Marabelle laughed, finally enjoying herself as he swooped her around the dance floor.