Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats #6)(63)

Instead, he forced himself to take a step back, literally as well as figuratively. And noticed that both Thomas and Gary had suddenly become scarce. “Where’d your coach and his whipping boy go?”

“Whipping… oh, Thomas?” She rolled her eyes and pointed toward the back courts where the lights weren’t on as they weren’t being used. “There’s a storage closet back there. Most likely finding cones to make me aim at. Then Gary gets to berate me for being an idiot when I miss them all, saying I’m doing it on purpose.”

“Are you?”

Kat ignored that, grabbed a wire basket with a tall handle, and began picking up balls. He grabbed another and started doing the same.

They picked up balls in silence, occasionally dumping them into a larger basket on wheels that Michael had seen Thomas digging balls out of during the drills. After a few minutes, Kat quietly said, “Thanks for coming.”

“Anytime. Seriously,” he added when she gave him a get real look.

“You. Big guy.”

Michael turned around to find Gary walking back with Thomas, carrying a cone and a racket. “It’s Michael.”

“Whatever. Big guy, stand right here.” Gary used the racket to point to a spot on the court.

“I have no clue how to play tennis.”

“Did I ask you to play tennis? I asked you to stand. Uncomplicated, really.” Gary shook his head at Thomas. “One too many hits to the noggin, I think.”

Michael shot a death look at a snickering Kat, then grudgingly walked over to stand in the spot, on the line of the front left box, a few steps over from dead center. “Here?”

“Good work, Big Guy.” Gary turned to Kat. “You’re at the net.”

“But—”

“Na ah ah.” Wagging a finger, her coach cut her off before she could begin. “What happened the last time you argued with me?”

“You threw a shoe at me,” she muttered. Michael snorted, earning him a glare.

“At the net. Here, this is for you.”

Michael took the racket Gary handed him, then just stood straight. “What am I doing with it?”

“Standing!” Gary shook his head at Thomas, who was now silently laughing, the bastard. “So many head traumas. Kat, you are at the net. Your partner—”

“Partner?” she squeaked. “I’m a singles player!”

“Yes, and that’s worked out so well for you.”

Kat’s face turned red, but she took her position at the net as requested.

“Good, good. Now, your partner has served. Thomas back here is returning the serve. You are at the net, taking up as much real estate as you can. You want all the boardwalks. Build hotels like it’s your job. It’s Monopoly time, baby, and there are no mercies shown at family game night.”

That made Michael smile, thinking back to his own family game nights and several bloody rounds of Monopoly with his brothers and parents. Accurate description.

“You’re cracked,” was all Kat said.

Gary ignored that. “You are aiming at the other net person. Why?”

Kat blinked. “Because they have—”

“Because they have less time to react!” Gary cut her off. “Aim for the feet, but I won’t yell at you if you plant a facer. Thomas, go!”

“Wait, I’m sorry.” Michael held up his hand, waiting to be called on.

Thomas barked out a laugh before stopping himself. Kat bit her lip. Gary rolled his eyes, then nodded. “Big Guy.”

Big Guy was suddenly surpassing Manny as his new least favorite nickname. “What exactly am I supposed to be doing?”

“Not dying.”

Kat doubled over, looking like she was having stomach troubles, but he knew she was laughing so hard it just hurt. Thomas cleared his throat as he dropped a few balls, then turned his back on the group to pick them back up. Probably to hide his laughter.

Gary looked at them each individually, then threw his hands up. “What are you waiting for?”

Thomas fed the first ball to Kat, who slammed it right into the net. “Gary, really, I—oh!” She had to lunge for the next one, and it sailed out of bounds. Way out. “Gary, I’m a singles— Thomas! Stop!”

Michael shook his head. She was fighting it too much. If the coach asked you to jump, you didn’t ask how high, you just went as far as you could go until they said stop.

“Gary, Peter always said the money was in my ground strokes.”

“Peter is a Russian shithead,” Gary said without any emphasis. “You’re not a singles player. You’re a doubles player.”

“I’m a what?” Kat’s racket nearly dropped to the ground. She looked so offended Michael wondered if this was some sort of tennis-specific obscenity he didn’t know about.

You’re ugly.

Yeah, well, your mother’s a doubles player!

“Give it a try. If you suck, we try something else. Just hit the ball.”

Thomas fed another, and Kat connected solidly, right back at Thomas.

“At him.” Gary pointed. “Hit the ball at Big Guy. Make him cry. Make him weep. Make him wish he were playing football where his life is safer and he’s not at risk of death.”

A sudden gleam shone in Kat’s eyes, one that warned of bad things to come. Michael shifted on his feet, not sure what to do or where to go. But he’d been told to stand there, so…