Maddie Cochere - Susan Hunter 02 - Big Apple Hunter Page 2

  He reminded me of a 50’s-style lounge singer, and not necessarily a good one. His hair was too greasy, and it was slicked back. He was wearing a pastel blue suit when every other person in the club was wearing sports clothing. He was definitely in a league of his own.

  “Money on me?” I asked. I had never heard of betting on racquetball and was surprised. “Who’s running a pool?”

  “Just a few of my friends,” he said. “We place our bets a week before the tournament based on the names of the entrants and the little we might know about them. They’re almost all hunches, but the money is in the pot, and we have to live with our picks. The moment I saw you step on the court, I knew my money was well spent on Susan Hunter.” He smiled again, but this time it was more of a lecherous smile. I started to feel uncomfortable.

  “You know, Susan,” he went on, “you really need to ditch Samantha. She’s playing at a class below you, and she drags you down in doubles. You wouldn’t have to play so hard if you had a stronger partner.”

  I was astonished at his words. “I would never think of getting another partner,” I replied indignantly. “Sam introduced me to the sport, and we’ve been playing doubles from the beginning. We play well together, and we’re going into the finals tomorrow. I don’t know why you would say such a thing.”

  He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, it seems to me you run around taking a lot of the shots when Samantha could step up and take more of them if she was quicker and stronger. I’m just sayin’.”

  I was starting to get more than a little irritated and raised my voice, “Maybe I like to run around and take most of the shots. Maybe that’s how we play together.” But part of my irritation was the fact that I did take too many shots, and maybe I should let Samantha be more offensive rather than defensive. The words ball hog were creeping up in the back of my mind, and I didn’t want to admit to being one.

  Reggie sensed my agitation and backed off. “Don’t worry about it, but I’m telling you that you’ve got it all, angel, and I’m really counting on you.” He slid his hand over and put it on my knee.

  I was shocked. “Reggie!” I snapped as I grabbed his hand and tossed it back his way. “What are you doing? Come on! You’re a friend of Husky’s, and he’s my coach.” I was starting to feel afraid.

  “Angel, you’re just so beautiful,” he said as he reached over again and put his hand on my arm. “I think we could have a very good time together.” I swatted his hand away and was nearing a full panic, when I realized we had stopped in front of the hotel. “Let me come in with you,” he said. “You won’t regret it.” His eyes were definitely oozing lecherous.

  “No!” I yelled at him as I threw the car door open and bolted for the front door of the hotel. It was several hours later before I completely calmed down and realized with a sinking feeling that I’d left my racquetball clothes, shoes, and gear in the back seat of his car.

  By 10:00 on Sunday morning, there was no sign of Reggie, and I was so agitated, I was practically hyperventilating. Samantha and I were due on the court at 11:00 for our doubles finals, and I was still in street clothes. At 10:45, I had no choice but to head for the club’s pro shop. I was going to have to buy clothing and equipment that I wasn’t going to be comfortable wearing or using.

  As I was pulling out my credit card to pay for my selections, Reggie walked through the front doors with my bag in hand. If he wasn’t such a lecherous jerk, I would have given him a hug; instead, I wanted to slug him. I marched over and jerked the bag out of his hand. “Thanks for bringing my stuff,” I muttered.

  “What? What did I do?” he asked with a laugh. “You left it in the car. I knew you played at 11:00, and I’m here on time to watch you win some more money for me.”

  I flounced off but quickly broke into a run to the women’s locker room. After changing as fast as I could, I took a quick look in the mirror. At 5’ 7”, I was trim and liked the toning my arms and legs had from the strenuous sport. My shoulder-length blonde hair was loose today, and the barrettes on either side would hold my hair back from my face during play. My bangs were long but not in my eyes.

  I was wearing a baby blue outfit of soft cotton shorts with matching tee top and white shoes with white laces. I used to wear pink laces in my shoes as a type of trademark, but gave up on the look a few months ago. I still liked to dress as femininely as possible on the court and found it gave me an edge I hadn’t anticipated. An opponent once told me she had me pegged for a ditzy blonde in froufrou clothes with no ability. It threw her off her game for at least half the match, and I easily won.

  I found our court and stepped inside. Samantha was waiting. “What happened to your clothes?” I asked with a laugh. She was dressed in what appeared to be Larry’s gym clothes.

  “I guess I wasn’t as confident as I should have been,” she said. “I didn’t bring enough outfits, and I didn’t want to find a laundromat last night, so Larry dressed me today.” She burst out laughing as she looked down at herself. Her stocky build was actually really cute in Larry’s baggy shorts and shirt. Her long, dark, curly hair was in its usual position piled on top of her head with clips sticking out as they tried to hold the hair in place.

  An hour later, we went down to defeat. We won the first game, lost the second, and then lost the third by two points. Maybe this match wasn’t the time to stop running around like a chicken with its head cut off, but I did try harder to stay in my own quadrant. We both played well, and we weren’t ashamed to come in second. I still had my semi-finals match in singles, and then hopefully, the finals.

  There was only forty-five minutes until my next match, and I took the time to drink a bottle of water and cool down. Once again in the locker room, I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and changed into the same style of outfit as before, but this one was pink. I was ready to go again.

  I nearly lost the match due a puffed-up, know-it-all, try-to-make-me lose jerk!

  The referee gave the first game to my opponent by giving her an unearned point when the score was tied 14-14. If a ball passed me on the left side, he continually stopped play and either gave the serve or the point to my opponent. He refused to wait to see if I could return the shot off the back wall. By the middle of the second game, I had smoke coming out of my ears.

  “Come on!” I yelled up at the referee. “You aren’t even waiting to see if I return the shot!” One of my shots had just rolled out flat for a kill shot, but he was oblivious and wouldn’t allow the point.

  My opponent, a small linebacker dripping with sweat, gave me a knowing smile. She knew I had returned all of the disputed shots, but she wasn’t going to complain about a free game and more free points. I called for a time out and left the court, demanding to see the tournament director. I ended up in a near screaming match with the referee. The director finally assigned two line judges to our match. Going forward, the judges overturned several of the referee’s calls. I went on to win the game and then the match, moving me into the final bracket.

  It was shortly after 2:00, and I was mentally and physically exhausted. I forced myself to eat a banana and drink a Gatorade. I put on my warm-up jacket, found an unoccupied sofa in a corner of the lobby, and crashed on one end of it. Samantha was on standby to be sure I was awake by 3:15 so I could change clothes and warm up for my finals match at 4:00.

  It felt as if I had only been on the sofa for a few minutes when I felt a tickle on my nose. I was ready to bite someone’s head off, but I opened my eyes to familiar hazel-green eyes.

  “Mick!” I exclaimed with delight.

  Mick Raines was my love interest at the moment, although we had never made love. We were close to the moment once. After a late-night trip to the emergency room for several stitches to my head from a racquet blow, Mick helped me back at my apartment. It was nearly dawn when he carried me to the bedroom, gently settled me onto the bed, and undressed me. After covering me with the sheet, he kissed me softly on my forehead.

  I was sure he woul
d undress and slip in beside me, but fatigue, coupled with a slight concussion, was more than I could handle, and I quickly fell into a deep sleep. I awoke twenty-four hours later to a note from Mick telling me he would call me later, and to Darby, my best guyfriend and neighbor across the hall, sitting on my living room sofa watching Food Network on my television.

  Mick was also an absolutely gorgeous hunk of a man. He was 5’ 10” with thick dark hair showing a hint of a curl, and he had the most beautiful hazel-green eyes I’d ever seen. A handball player, he was rock solid with a fantastic build. He shared ownership of Raines Construction with his uncle, and Husky was one of their employees. Mick had promised if any of us won at tournament, he would take all of us out to dinner to celebrate before heading for home.

  Now he was standing in front of me in sexy tight jeans, a button-down shirt, and a midnight blue cardigan. The sleeves were pushed up to three-quarter length with just a bit of the colorful shirt peeping out of the cardigan sleeves. It was a super hot look. I stood up and was quickly gathered into his strong arms in a big hug followed by a quick kiss.

  “I’m so glad you could make it,” I gushed with happiness. “When you weren’t here by noon, I thought you wouldn’t be coming.”

  “I almost didn’t make it,” he said. My heart fluttered at hearing his masculine yet warm voice. “The starter went out on the BMW, and I had to scramble for a rental car, which is not an easy task on a Sunday.” He gave me another quick kiss, sat down on the sofa, and motioned for me to sit beside him. I scooted in close and put my head on his shoulder. He smelled wonderful. I loved his cologne with its woodsy, earthy scent and light citrus notes. I wanted to bury my face in his neck and take deep breaths. I swear the guy was walking aromatherapy for me.

  “I hear you caused quite a scene earlier,” he said with humor in his voice.

  I pulled up quick and said with agitation, “Oh my gosh! You should have seen this guy doing his best to take points away from me. I was pretty mad, and very loud, but it all worked out in the end.”

  He nodded his head. “I talked with Husky, and he told me about your dustup with the referee. He looked into it right away and found out the guy was from the same club as your opponent. He shouldn’t have been allowed to score your match.”

  “I figured it was something like that,” I said. I looked around and was suddenly concerned I might be late for my match. “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Well, I came over to wake you and tell you to go get ready, but I couldn’t help myself and had to steal a few minutes with you.” He grinned like a Cheshire cat before checking his watch. “It’s 3:20. Is that enough time?”

  “I can’t believe I slept for an hour,” I said. “It felt like two minutes.” I threw an arm around his neck and practically purred, “I’m wide-awake now though and ready to go.”

  He gave me another quick kiss. “What are you going to wear? What fashion statement will you be making next?” He was still grinning, and I knew he was teasing me, but I also knew he liked how I looked on the court.

  “No fashion statement,” I told him with a smile, “but I did buy a new outfit just in case I made it to the finals. I’m taking a page from the Tiger Woods playbook and wearing Sunday red.” He raised his eyebrows, and I could see a gleam in his eye. “Solid red shorts and a matching top with a little black trim around the sleeves. I know you’ll like it,” I teased him.

  “I’m sure I will,” he said as he gave me a peck on the cheek and shooed me off the sofa.

  “Ponytail or down?” I asked.

  “Oh, down, please,” he said. His smile was getting bigger by the minute.

  I walked on air all the way to the locker room.

  I couldn’t have asked for a better finals match. My opponent was a Korean girl who was pleasant, fair, and good-natured. We both played smart, and our points were earned by strategically placed shots rather than blasting the ball to overpower each other. I won the first game 15-13. She realized late in the second game that my weak spot was ceiling shots, but Husky’s coaching had made quite a difference, and I was at least able to keep the volleys alive. I won the second game 15-14, eliminating the need for an 11-point tiebreaker.

  True to his word, Mick took everyone to dinner at a local barbecue restaurant. Corey agreed to drive Husky’s car home, so the rest of the guys celebrated our wins with several pitchers of beer. The waitress brought a mountain of barbecue chicken, ribs, and wings to the table as well as french fries, coleslaw, and baked beans. You would think we hadn’t eaten for a week the way we attacked the food. Halfway through the meal, I looked over at Larry and said, “I never did hear how you and Ron fared. What’s the story?”

  Everybody at the table roared with laughter. Obviously, I was the only one in the dark. Larry, still laughing, looked to Ron, who was seated to my right, and asked, “Do you want to tell her, or should I?” Ron’s huge smiled and the tilt of his head intimated pride rather than anything to be ashamed of, so I had no idea what he could have done now.

  Ron had classic, dark, Italian good looks. He was a year older than me at twenty-nine, single, a player even, as he enjoyed dating several girls at one time. He had no desire to settle down, and he was always the life of the party. “You tell her,” he said with a goofy grin.

  “Well,” Larry started, “we both had singles matches at noon. I won mine in two games, so I went to see if Ron was still playing, but there wasn’t anyone on the court. I finally found him in the lounge having a beer.” There was more laughter from the table. “His opponent had a bad habit of blocking Ron’s attempts to reach the ball. After they collided more than once, Ron protested to the referee, but the ref didn’t see the problem. When the guy finally tripped him on purpose, and the ref wouldn’t call the hinder, Ron gave him some very loud words to live by, and they were mostly the f-word. Then he went to the service box, dropped his pants, and mooned the ref and all the spectators.” Larry was doubled over with laughter now and could barely get the rest of his words out. “They threw him out of the tournament!”

  The mooning may have been funny, but I didn’t think getting thrown out of the tournament was humorous. “Was he disqualified from everything?” I asked incredulously.

  “Oh yeah,” said Larry still laughing. “Not only did he have to forfeit his singles match, which he was winning by the way, but he wasn’t allowed to play doubles with me either, so we were both out.”

  “Ouch,” I sympathized.

  “I don’t care,” Larry said. “I made it two more rounds in singles before I lost, so I got my money’s worth. Besides, knowing I wasn’t going to be playing today made for a lot more fun last night.”

  I leaned into Ron with a little shove of my shoulder and asked affectionately, “What are we going to do with you?”

  His goofy grin became even bigger as he said, “Hey, someone has to keep things interesting around here.” Everyone laughed again. He certainly did do that.

  Husky raised his glass and crowed in his deep, raspy voice, “Here’s to Susan! I’ve helped a lot people over the years, Susan, and you are my first state win. I’ll always be proud of that, and I’m proud of you.”

  “Here, here!” echoed the others at the table, and they all drank to Husky’s toast. I know I blushed, but I was secretly thrilled with his sentiment. We had put in a lot of practice hours on the court, and I was happy I hadn’t let him down.

  We finished our dinner, left the restaurant, and said our good-byes. With my luggage, racquetball gear, and my trophies safely on the back seat of Mick’s rented car, I slipped into the passenger seat with Mick closing the door behind me. He slid behind the wheel, and we started the long drive home. We would be arriving late, and I had to be at work at 10:00 in the morning.

  The car was dimly lit by the dashboard lights. Mick found an easy listening station on the radio, and I completely relaxed to Too Marvelous for Words by Frank Sinatra. I grew up listening to my parents’ music, and crooners were at the top of the list. I ap
preciated the lyrics, the masculine voices, and the soft sounds of the music. I had recently read in magazine reviews that Michael Buble put on a fantastic show of old standards, and I hoped to see him one day.

  Mick reached over and gently grasped my hand. “I’m proud of you,” he said lovingly. “You really did deserve this.”

  “Thank you,” I said softly. “Once you were there and rooting for me, it seemed easy to do everything I wanted. It’s silly, but I find myself wanting to play to impress you.”

  “Oh, you do that,” he said with a chuckle. “You should have heard some of the people in the crowd. It was hard for me to hear some of the guys talking about how smokin’ hot you are, but I realized they respected the quality of player you are, too. All of them would die for your backhand, and I heard several girls wondering where you found all of those great outfits.” He laughed. “I think you might start a trend.”

  I was tired and didn’t respond. I smiled and gave his hand a little squeeze. I was in heaven. At this exact moment in my life, everything was right with the world. I glanced at him and couldn’t contain an audible satisfied sigh.

  Our relationship was finally past the complicated stage. When Mick and I first met, he was separated from his wife, Jenny. They were in the final stages of their divorce - which was information he had decided not to share with me. When I found out he was married and had a fourteen-year-old son, I freaked and didn’t want to see him, but everything eventually worked out better than I could have hoped.

  His divorce wasn’t contentious, and Jenny had been pleasant on the few occasions we had seen each other. Mick and I had even taken his son, Alex, to the Marshall Community Theater to see his mother perform when she had a stand-in role one night for Mrs. Mayor in Suessical the Musical. With all of the drama behind us now, Mick and I were having a good time getting to know each other better.

  “Susan?” he asked, his voice soft and low.

  “Hmmm?” I closed my eyes and listened to his soothing voice.