Page 11 of Courting Trouble
‘The session. Two hours. Two. I was supposed to survive one, maybe crawl out alive. She stretched it into eternity.’
‘So she pushed you. That’s what you need, isn’t it?’
‘I wanted training, not… medieval punishment,’ Delilah said, pressing a hand to her thigh. ‘I thought my lungs were going to crawl out of my body and flee.’
‘And yet,’ Ashley said, ‘you didn’t quit.’
Delilah opened her mouth. Closed it again. It was true. She didn’t. And wouldn’t. She just wanted someone to tell her she was doing OK, and she wasn’t about to crowbar a compliment from Cassie.
‘Well done for not quitting,’ Ashley said.
OK, there was the compliment.
‘Thanks,’ Delilah said, frowning. The compliment hadn’t satisfied her remotely.
‘What’s wrong? I just said, well done.’
‘I know. I appreciate it,’ Delilah told her. ‘God knows, I’m not getting anything out of Cassie Thorne in that department.’
‘Is that what you want? You want her to pat you on the head?’
‘No,’ Delilah said. ‘I’d just like the occasional acknowledgement of my efforts.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ Ashley said slyly.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I mean, maybe you like working for Cassie’s approval just a tiny bit.’
That made Delilah very glad Ashley couldn’t see her face. Because the stupid thing was turning pink. Was that true? Did she like working for Cassie’s approval?
She really didn’t have the time to think about things like that.
She groaned and tipped her head back against the sofa. ‘Ashley, cut that out. This is a professional situation.’
Ashley laughed. ‘Ooh, nerve plucked. I predict you’ll either fall in love with her or beat her to death with a racket.’
Delilah hung up.
She tossed her phone aside and stretched out gingerly, every muscle singing in protest. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could still hear Cassie’s voice: Split stance. Racket up. Again.
She closed her eyes and mouthed silently, just once: ‘Again.’
Then she reached for the ibuprofen.
Fourteen
Sunday morning found Cassie making tea and thinking about Delilah’s stance. She was always standing flat-footed. She’d need to work on that. If she didn’t remember to move, the rest didn’t matter.
Cassie took her tea to the living room of her one-bedroom flat above a chip shop. It was a crappy place. But it was hers. Paid for with prize money her mother had demanded she save every penny of.
‘You’ll need something to fall back on,’ her mum had said.
At the time, Cassie had laughed. What could go wrong for tennis phenom, Cassie Thorne?
She was thrilled now about her mother’s pessimism. It meant she had a roof over her head, at least. Even if it leaked.
The tea tasted like cardboard. She drank it anyway, trying to watch a show about competitive Lego builders. It didn’t exactly hold her attention.
