Reluctantly Yours(31)

“That’s great.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Fred nods to the corner where I returned the ball on the line. “Your father was a great player as well.”

“I learned from the best,” I say, disregarding the nostalgia that Fred’s mention of my father causes. It was a lifetime ago that he was across the court from me.

“Shoot it to me straight, kid. I know you’re after Voltaire. You haven’t said it as plainly, but I know it’s your intention. I don’t blame you. If I were in your position, I’d want it, too. But, in my situation, I have to make sure that the company I sell to, the person at the helm is the right kind of person. That they have their priorities straight.”

Fred pauses to return the next ball, then turns back to me.

“I like you. I didn’t think I did, but then you surprised me at dinner with Chloe. I’m never surprised. I always know what’s coming. I can read people, their intentions. I thought you were a savage businessman with no heart, but now I realize there’s no way a woman like Chloe would be interested in a guy like that. And Frankie adores Chloe. They really hit it off.”

“I appreciate that, Fred, and Chloe feels the same.” It’s not exactly a lie, I know Chloe doesn’t have a lot of friends in the city so it could be true. “I want to start by giving you an idea of where SCM could go once we acquire Voltaire.”

“Hold that thought, kid.” Fred holds up a hand to silence me, his attention drawn across the tennis courts to where Frankie and Chloe are walking out onto the court. Fred’s jaw goes slack at the sight of Frankie in her tiny skirt and low plunging top. “Now I don’t want to say this is the only reason I’ve been playing tennis every day but it sure is a perk.”

Fred chuckles, his additional comments not even registering as I take in the sight of Chloe in a short white tennis skirt outfit. I don’t know how it’s possible but this tennis outfit manages to make the dress Bea picked out for dinner look like a tent. I can see nearly every inch of her toned legs. The tiny built-in shorts peek out from underneath the skirt that barely covers her ass and her breasts are exploding out of the zipper of the low V-neck top. Her bun has been replaced by a ponytail that swings with every step as they approach.

Fuck. I can feel the crotch of my starched tennis shorts tightening.

I’d be annoyed at Fred’s short attention span but I couldn’t form a coherent business thought right now if I tried.

“Ladies, you look lovely.” Fred wraps an arm around Frankie’s mid-section and pulls her in for a kiss.

When Chloe stops in front of me, obviously waiting for a response, I lift my hand and pat her on the head.

She swats me away like I’m a gnat.

“What are you doing?”

I have no idea why I did that. It was the only place on Chloe’s body I felt safe to touch. I shake my head because there are no thoughts there anymore. All the blood my brain needs to function has headed south.

“What are you wearing?” I ask.

“The regular sizes were too big and there was no petite section, so I’m tween Chloe, your tennis partner with her ass and boobs hanging out.” She groans.

“Your ass isn’t hanging out.”

“But my boobs are?” she exclaims.

“Nothing is hanging out,” I emphasize.

“Why do tennis clothes have to be so fitted?” She scans her body then looks over to mine.

Normally, I don’t have issues with getting spontaneous boners in public. That was before I started hanging out with Chloe. It’s like my dick knows she’s looking and wants to say hi. Fucking idiot.

Now I’m watching her look at my crotch and I’m begging my body not to respond. It’s an impossible feat. Her gaze only makes it harder. The way her mouth parts in surprise. Her eyes widen and her tongue slips out to wet her lips.

“You two ready?” Frankie calls from the other side of the net. The attendant has cleared the ball machine and Frankie is bouncing a ball at the serving line.

“Just a minute,” I call. I grab the white club pullover from my bag on the bench and pull it over Chloe’s head. The hem matches the length of her skirt.

“What’s this for?” she asks while I adjust the collar, then roll the sleeves up on both sides.

“This is so I can focus on the game,” I say, pulling the quarter zip up to Chloe’s neck.

“I thought we were going to let them win?” She rolls her eyes at me.

“Not by much,” I reply, knowing the competitor in me will have a hard time throwing the game.

I coach Chloe on the basics and what she can do to appear knowledgeable before we explain to Fred that she’s still recovering from a recent wrist injury.

I instruct Chloe where to stand, the opposite side of where Frankie will be serving the ball. She stays close to the net, bouncing on her toes like she’s jogging in place. The action makes her ass bounce and nearly distracts me from returning the serve.

Chloe does her best to return serves and play up at the net, but in the end I’m a single playing a doubles game. After two games, my shirt is drenched.

We take a water break. I towel off and get water while Chloe takes off my pullover.

“It’s too hot to wear that.” She fans her face then reaches for my water bottle.