Page 88 of Long Shot

Taylor tried to avoid Mac’s stunning brown eyes. But as their bodies moved past each other, she couldn’t stop herself from looking up to meet them.

There was a softness in Mac’s gaze, something that saidyou’re going to be okay. And in that moment, Taylor felt truly seen.

Taking her seat, Taylor drank more water. They would both be desperate to win this set. A $3 million prize waited on the other end of the match along with the adoration of this audience.

“Players, ready.” The umpire nodded to both of them.

Grabbing a fresh racket from her bag, Taylor stood and nodded to Mac.

Mac jogged to the next before heading to her side. “Tay.”

Taylor stopped in her tracks, her forehead wrinkling.

“Can we have some fun… like we used to?” Mac’s eyes lit up at the thought, a smile playing at her cheeks.

It was infectious. And who was Taylor to say no?

Nodding, Taylor shrugged. “If you can handle it, Macky.”

37

Mac

A smile tookover Mac’s face as she turned her back to Taylor and walked back to her baseline.

Tied up and entering the third set, Taylor and Mac would have to fight for their victories. To walk away with the Championship, Mac would need to subvert all of Taylor’s expectations of her gameplay. Both of them were more familiar with each other's style than they had been in the last ten years.

Mac licked her teeth as she chose her first serve ball. It was clear to Mac that Taylor’s time at the McEnroe center had been good for her game. She was fighting harder than she had in a long time. Her old school tennis had been replaced with Mac’s more familiar guerrilla still play.

Bouncing the ball against the rubber, Mac knew this meant she’d have to find a way to surprise Taylor.

Not wanting to waste any time, Mac raised her arm and the felt ball in sync. Letting a primal scream escape her lungs, Mac soared the ball over the net. It made a slight whistle as it passed over the next, landing in the service box.

Whimpering, Taylor smacked the ball back.

Mac beamed with excitement as the game zipped off to a fiery start. With each hit, the duo spoke to each other through forehands and tennis grunts. Every issue they had with each other, unraveling on the court in front of them.

After Mac sent a shot straight to Taylor, she rushed up to the net. Taylor’s forehead wrinkled with confusion as she watched Mac make an unorthodox move. Taylor hit the ball back with as much fervor as she could. But as soon as the ball crossed the net, Mac hit it back from the service box.

Mac kept her racket up near her face as she faced a fast volley with Taylor.

With no other choice, Taylor closed the distance between them and met Mac at the net. There, the ball bounced off their rackets in rapid succession. At this distance, the ball didn’t bounce on the court. Instead, it simply flew over the net from one racket to the next.

In the zone, Mac’s brain no longer thought of strategy. Her body was in complete control, moving wherever the ball went. With each volley, Mac slowly forced Taylor to the edge of her arm’s range.

Taylor lobbed the ball over the net, desperate to keep it on Mac’s side. But Mac smirked at the slow moving felt. With all the force she could muster, Mac launched the ball to the back corner of the court. It zipped over Taylor’s head and landed just inside the lines.

“Fifteen, love.”

Mac pumped her fist. “Let’s go!” Some spectators rose from their seats as the tension released. Looking into the stands, Mac nodded to Piper and Babs who cheered her on.

Taylor laughed, shaking her head as she walked back to her baseline.

Winking at Taylor, Mac shrugged. Now she knew just how fun this was going to be.

With each serve and volley, Mac let go of the technical. She embraced the chaos of their match, of the energy that flew between them. Unable to touch each other, their rackets expressed everything they couldn’t – the lust, the pain, the love.

It was all right there, written in the skid marks on the rubber courts of Arthur Ashe.

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