Page 109 of Drop Shot
“Yeah?” It comes out as a question.
The next thing I know, Elias is pulling my skirt up and shoving two tennis balls under the edge of my shorts.
“Rude,” I accuse, but it falls flat because I can’t stop laughing.
“You’ll get over it.” He winks and bounces one of the balls. “You take that side of the court and I’ll take this one.”
I notice he purposely puts me in the shaded area. Good man.
He hollers out a few quick instructions, telling me how to adjust my hold and the proper placement for my feet.
I’m not sure why I feel so nervous, but my question is answered when he serves the ball and it comes flying at the speed of light toward me. I scream and toss the racket before I drop dramatically onto the ground.
“Shit,” he curses.
The sounds of his footsteps jogging over to the net has me slowly peeking in that direction.
“I’m not a professional tennis player,” I remind him. “I’m just a newbie.”
“I know, I know,” he chants. “Totally my bad. I’m not used to pulling my speed back. I’ll do better this time. Promise.”
With a sigh, I get up and collect my fallen racket.
“Please, don’t kill me,” I mutter.
His chuckles carries back to me on the wind as he gets in position to serve again.
Thankfully, he does as promised, and hits it much lighter this time—so much so it doesn’t even make it across the net.
“Give me a minute,” he says, collecting the ball. “I can do this.”
I watch his movements and anticipate the ball so when he serves this time, I’m ready.
I might not have played tennis before, but I’ve watched enough of it to pick up on the sport. I let the ball bounce once and then I hit it across the net to Elias.
He grins as he hits it back and I run to get the ball. By some miracle I make contact in time and even though Elias could’ve easily gotten it, he lets me get the point. Not that we’re actually keeping score. This is just for fun—and already it’s way more than I expected. Do Iliketennis? Maybe I do. Or maybe I just like playing with Elias.
“Can I try serving?” I call over the net.
“Go for it.”
I pull one of the balls from my pocket and give it a few bounces.
“Move your left foot back more,” he calls out. “Bring it forward when you go to hit the ball.”
I nod in understanding, adjusting my stance.
I bounce the ball several times again before holding it against my racket. I toss it and completely miss.
Laughter bursts out of me and I run after the ball.
Even though I hadn’t planned on spending my day on a tennis court getting sweaty, I’m not at all mad about this change in plans.
“You’ve got this,” he encourages, bent low and waiting for my serve.
I take a deep breath, and try again. It makes it over the net this time, but barely.
“This is harder than it looks,” I gripe.
