Page 75 of Forged By Sacrifice

I waved at her. “You’re practically naked.”

She looked down at herself and then crossed her arms over her chest, which just pushed her cleavage up in a way that made me want to kiss it more.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to learn tennis at seven in the morning,” she said.

“I promise you coffee and a homemade blueberry muffin first.”

“You made muffins?”

I smiled. “No, I’m an awful baker, but Mom makes the best. Plenty of sugar-coated goodness on the top.”

Her smile filled the room more than the sunlight. “Sugar.”

I shrugged, knowing she was making fun of my sweet tooth and not caring.

“I’ll meet you downstairs. But hurry, the court won’t be available for long. Some of the others will want to warm up before the tournament begins.”

Georgie snorted, but she didn’t understand the driven nature of my family. If she’d thought poker last night was competitive, she was in for a real surprise over how cutthroat it got over tennis.

She stood up, and I had to combat my desire to close the distance and wrap myself around her. Instead, I opened the door without thinking and ran right into Bee.

“Morning, Robbie,” she said with a smile.

“It isn’t what you think,” I said automatically.

She snorted. “Of course, it’s not. You aren’t coming out of the guest room after a night spent with Gorgeous-Georgie.”

“We didn’t—She isn’t—Never mind.” I gave up because anything I said would have just dug me in further with any of my sisters.

By the time Georgie came down, I had two cups of coffee sitting on the counter in travel mugs and two muffins I’d heated up. She went directly for the coffee.

She was in a pair of white shorts with buttons on both sides of her hips?like sailor pants of old—and they were tantalizing me to undo them. The shorts weren’t much longer than her pajama shorts had been, but they covered her butt, which at least helped my body’s reaction, if only slightly. She had a red, white, and blue striped top on, and it made me think of Fourth of July, and the fireworks, and how she’d said she loved America.

She looked like America. Freedom and independence. Elegance and charm. At least, the America that I wanted for our world?that I wanted for my niece and nephews. Her hair was up in a ponytail, the way she wore it the most, but I liked how it showed off the graceful lines of her face with her high cheekbones and slender nose.

“Thank God for coffee,” she said.

“We don’t have much time. I reserved us until eight, but Bee and Thomas are after us, and they won’t give us thirty seconds of extra time.”

“Wow. First poker, and now tennis. This family does take its games seriously.”

“You haven’t even seen the worst of it yet.”

After we finished the muffins, I led her out toward the court. It was hidden from the pool and patio area by trees and shrubs. I had never thought much of it growing up—having a tennis court in my backyard—but I realized, now, that it made a statement about us?about me. And I wasn’t sure if Georgie would see the lifestyle of my family as a good thing or a bad thing.

I already had my custom racket in my hand. Even my nephews and little Savanna-Rae had their own, custom-made ones. We had a shed full of all our old castoffs that were for guests, and I helped Georgie pick out one from those.

Tennis was not only a big deal for my family; it was a big deal for the country club I’d grown up at. Competition was high, but our family had been one of the top three finishers every year going back to when Granddad was a teenager. We had a title and a streak to hold on to, so if you weren’t good enough today, you would be cut with no qualms from anyone. No pouting to Mom or Dad would ever get you back in. No crying to the grandparents would help.

My time on the court this morning with Georgie was just for fun. I was planning on warming up a little while I showed her the basics and before I got serious. Serious enough to play tomorrow. I wasn’t going to let Gooberpants win this year. Not if I could help it.

I explained the rules, what the lines were for, where she should serve, and the scoring process. Then, I served the ball into her court gently. She went to hit the ball, and the racket flew out of her hand. She turned as red as the stripes on her top, and it made me smile.

“It’s okay. It happens.”

“Has it ever happened to you?”

“Premature…racket…happens to him all the time,” Thomas said from the sidelines. I hadn’t heard him come into the court, but then again, I hadn’t shut the door, either.

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