Page 16 of Long Shot

Mac woke up the next morning to Babs’s blaring alarm. “Dude, it’s my one rest day before the first round.” She rolled into her pillow, burying her head in the plush fabric. She was starting to get attached to the comfortable mattress, wondering if she could buy it off the hotel if she won the grand prize. After a week of intense matches, Mac dreamed of lounging in the pillowy duvet for days on end.

Babs shot up from her bed across the room. “No rest for future champions. We want to wipe that smug grin off Kimberly Young’s face.”

“Harboring some resentment?” Mac laughed as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Of course, Mac knew she was right. The longer Mac rested, the more the exhaustion and soreness would set in. Then, she’d stand no chance against the pros.

Babs stood and did a few stretches. “She’s bought that kid a place in the top ten, and I think it’s bullshit.”

Mac opened her mouth to fight back but stopped herself. Sure, Taylor’s mom accelerated her path to going pro. But Mac also saw just how hard Taylor trained. She was undeniably talented, and money alone couldn’t buy her a spot as number three in the world. But if Mac knew anything about Babs, it was that she wasn’t a very good listener.

Ripping herself from the cloud under her body, Mac grabbed her training clothes and headed to the bathroom. She still wasn’t used to how nice the hotel was; even the cheapest room was brimming with luxury. For instance, housekeeping made sure the bathroom was pristine every time she used it. Setting her toiletries on the vanity, Mac peeled off her pajamas and tugged on a clean pair of workout shorts.

As the fabric slid up her legs, Mac examined the bruises developing on her skin. The clay certainly made it harder to avoid slamming into the ground. But at least her legs looked more toned than they had a week ago.

Mac wiggled her eyebrows.I guess that’s where I can get if I manage to make it full time.Between matches, Mac was still struggling to finish her remote work. She’d even asked her mom to finish an assignment or two while she trained. So far, she was getting away with it, but worry lingered in the back of her mind.

Once she was dressed, Babs and Mackenzie took the elevator downstairs. While they walked through the lobby, Babs was too busy to chat, dealing with something on her phone.

Mac’s eyes wandered up the columns that lined that lobby; even the ceiling was ornate with gilded crown molding. But when Mac looked back to the ground, Babs wasn’t next to her. Turning to check behind her, Mac tilted her head when she saw Babs stuck in place. “What’s wrong?”

“Brackets are out.” Babs swallowed the lump in her throat.

Mac crossed the distance between them in a matter of paces. “Let me see.”

Passing the phone to her, Babs crossed her arms as she scanned Mackenzie’s face.

“Well, okay.” Mac nodded, giving Babs her phone back. “At least we won’t have to face off in the finals.”

It wasn’t ideal, but Mac and Taylor being on the same side of the bracket meant if all went to plan, they’d only have to face off in the semifinals… assuming both of them survived that long. It would be far less humiliating to lose to her there than in the final. At least, that’s what Mac was trying to convince herself.

Babs smiled and smacked Mac’s back harder than she meant to. “Let’s get to work then.”

Mac winced but followed Babs out of the hotel’s looming, glass and wrought iron doors. As soon as they made it outside, Mac groaned. “It’s pouring.”

“Nice break from the relentless sun on the court.” Babs eyed Mac as she hailed a cab. She hopped inside the first one that stopped, closing the door in Mac’s face.

Mac raised her arms. “What the hell?”

Babs laughed. “Run to Stade. It’s your cardio, and it’s probably the only time you’ll get to explore Paris.”

Before Mac could fight her on it, the taxi was speeding down the road toward Roland Garros. It was at least a three mile run. At her best pace, Mac could be to the grounds in fifteen minutes – quick enough to catch up with her coach and give her a piece of her mind. There was no time to waste on annoyance.

Giving her back a quick stretch, Mac took in a deep breath before heading down the road. She hit her pace quickly. With each step, Mac felt a bounce in her step from the new shoes without any rubbing against her heels.I guess Babs’s trick really does work.

As she ran, she heard the click of a camera from behind her. Glancing over her shoulder with furrowed brows, she noticed a paparazzi a few hundred feet behind her, struggling to keep pace as they snapped a few pictures. Mac gave them a friendly wave before turning her attention back to the run.

As she rounded the corner of Avenue Paul Doumer and Avenue Mozart, Mac couldn’t help but smile. Piper had shown her a few social media posts about her qualifying matches, and she couldn’t help but enjoy the attention. There was some chatter that she could be the next big U.S. underdog.

Dodging elegantly dressed pedestrians as she made her way down the tree-lined streets, Mac was suddenly struck by the thought that any one of them could be Taylor. Her breath caught in her lungs as she pushed her body forward.It wouldn’t be the craziest thing. She already showed up at my match, and the Youngs always stay in the Four Seasons.

With each pound of Mac’s feet against the pavement, snapshots of Taylor flashed in her mind: the sunglasses, the crossed arms, her toned forearms, the abs peeking out of her trousers.

If Mac wasn’t running so hard, her body would be begging for Taylor: a feeling she had tried to suppress for a very long time.

But as she picked up her pace, Mac tried to push it down. With any luck, she could turn this unresolved frustration into points against Taylor if they finally faced off.When, she corrected herself mentally.

Before she knew it, the Suzanne Lenglen Court was on the horizon. She kicked it down a gear as she approached the player entrance, where Babs tapped her foot against the ground. “Took you long enough.”

Mac gasped for breath. “You’re such a bitch.”

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