“I’ve set up something great for you,” my agent, Scott Barr, says when he walks inside my home in Paradise Valley. It’s in the same area as my mom’s place, but in a more exclusive neighborhood.

I’m feeling relaxed after my month-long sabbatical at a Sedona spa and ready for the rest of my hiatus. Micah is on an extended vacation. The young man was excited about the break and stated he planned to bum around Europe for a couple months.

“Hello to you too.” I roll my eyes as Scott walks inside.

I close the door and follow him into the living room. As usual, Scott is dressed immaculately in cut trousers, a silk button-down shirt and leather loafers sans socks. There isn’t a hair on his head that’s ruffled or out of place. Scott prides himself on his appearance.

“I hope it’s not another match on the tour. I told you I need a break.”

“It’s what you always say,” Scott responds and takes a seat on the plush sofa. “I know you. I’ve been your agent for over a decade, which is why you’re going to thank me for this.”

“Ya think?”

“Hear me out. Yes, you would play tennis, but it’s only for fun. A charity tournament called the Phoenix Desert Smash. It would be great press for you. Not to mention it’s a cause near and dear to your heart, foster children.”

Dammit if the man’s not right.

Do I want to play right now? No. I’ve enjoyed the last month. Sleeping in rather than getting up at the crack of dawn like I usually do when I’m training. At the spa, I relaxed with long walks on the hiking trails and wonderful ninety-minute sports massages.

When I’m quiet, Scott stares at me. “Well?” he asks. “What do you think?”

“How much time would be required?”

“As much or as little as you want to give,” Scott replies. “They’ve only asked you to play in the one tournament, but if you lend your name and efforts to help raise more cash, I’m sure the country club’s tennis committee would be thrilled.”

I rub my goatee thoughtfully. When was the last time I played for fun? Too long. Plus, it is for a good cause. “All right, I’m in.”

“I thought you would be.” Scott reaches inside the briefcase he brought with him and pulls out some legal documents. “I took the liberty of negotiating the contract and one appearance.”

I laugh out loud at his high-handedness. “Am I really that predictable?”

“No, but you pay me well to know what you will and will not take on.”

“Yes, I do.” Scott is one of the top agents in the business, and he’s worth every penny. He negotiated the highest endorsement I ever received, one hundred million dollars, when I was twenty-two years old. It was no small feat and everyone wanted to sign with him, but Scott doesn’t accept just anyone. He wants consummate professionals. Divas need not apply.

“When do I need to show up?”

“The event is at the end of April, which works perfectly with your hiatus. You’ll be gearing up for the French Open at the end of May. It’s up to you how much or little you wish to practice beforehand.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Now that you’re committed, they have asked if you’d be willing to come to their cocktail party event for sponsors next weekend. You absolutely don’t have to do this, but my friend’s wife, Mitzi, is chairing the event and it would mean a lot if you could do me a solid.”

“Scott Barr is asking for a favor?”

“Yeah, don’t get used to it.” He chuckles. “Can I depend on you to pull through?”

I smile good-naturedly. “Of course I’ll come. You don’t usually ask for favors so it must mean a lot to you.”

“Darren and I go way back. He spotted me the money to help set up Barr Sports Management. I wouldn’t be where I am if he hadn’t given me a chance.”

“You’re a good man, Scott.” I lean across the short distance and shake his hand. “I’ve always appreciated your loyalty.”

“I’ll always have your back, Dominic, even if I don’t always agree with your choices. I’ll text you the details,” Scott says.

I chuckle. Scott didn’t want me to come on this sabbatical. He wanted me to stay focused on the tour and prepare for the French Open, but it’s months away and I need downtime. After the injury last year, I clawed my way back to the top. I’ve realized over the last month that my time with tennis is nearing its end. Although I love to win, it’s getting harder and harder to push my body to compete against my younger competition.

I walk Scott to the door and then head back to my brother’s prospectus for his new business. I need to get prepared for the next phase of my life.

*

The following weekend, instead of driving myself to Manuel’s, the upscale restaurant where the Phoenix Country Club is holding their event, I hire a driver in case I want an adult beverage. Rather than wearing jeans and a T-shirt, my normal attire while on vacation, I settle on a black silk shirt and trousers with Gucci loafers. I read through the info Scott gave me about the tournament, which is nearly twenty years old.

When I arrive at the restaurant, a valet opens my door. There’s a small red carpet and backdrop for the event, but I don’t pause for photos. I hate the whole song and dance that’s part of being a celebrity athlete. For me, it’s about the game. I walk to the entry and am greeted by a brunette in a slinky dress.

“Omigod, you’re here!” she squeals as I step inside the lobby. “My husband told me he could make things happen.”

“I take it my presence is a good thing?” I inquire. I glance around. The restaurant exudes sophistication and timeless glamour. There’s a lush dining room with crystal chandeliers, a floating fireplace and a cobblestone terrace with mountain views.

“Oh, absolutely. You’ll lend authenticity to the tournament. Having someone of your caliber is a godsend. You’re a legend.”

I smile. “I don’t know about all that.”

“You’re a Grand Slam winner. You’ve won five Wimbledons, five Australian Opens, two French and five US Opens.”

“Keeping score?” I ask with a smile.

She shrugs. “I love tennis. I’ve been following you a long time.”

“I appreciate the support. And your name is…?”

She smacks her forehead. “I’m so sorry, my name is Mitzi Jones. I’m cochair for the event tonight. My fellow cochair is over there with a former player you might know, Teagan Williams.”

Hearing her name with no warning, after thinking about Teagan earlier, leaves me shell-shocked. “P-pardon?”

“They’re over there.” Mitzi points to a crowd of women across the room, but all I can see is the spotlight beaming on Teagan, making her shine brighter than any other woman. Bright like a diamond. Seeing her is like a punch in the solar plexus. I don’t know if I want to rush over and take her in my arms or rail at her for giving up on us so easily.

I need a moment. “Where is the restroom?” I ask quickly, desperate for some purchase.

“Across the hall,” Mitzi advises. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll introduce you around.”

She walks back inside the restaurant, giving me time to move into the shadows and get a better look at the woman who has haunted me for years.

Teagan is more stunning now than when she was the teenager I fell in love with, on the cusp of womanhood. Even from where I’m lurking, I can see her beautiful peanut-butter-colored skin is clear and bright. Her deep-set dark brown eyes are alight with merriment as she chats with the other cochair of the tournament. She’s got the same short haircut she rocked when we were young, but now the style is chic, slicked back and coiffed to surround her face. As for her figure, the years have been good to Teagan. Her curves have filled out in all the right places, and she looks divine in a beaded strapless black dress. Is she taller than the five foot nine I remember? I glance down to her feet. She’s rocking some killer stilettos.

She’s fascinating.

A woman I’ve never forgotten. Teagan Williams knew me inside and out. We shared the same passion for the sport that brought out our competitive nature. At times rivals. At times lovers. No woman has ever come close to comparing to Teagan. She knew exactly how to kiss me, touch me, love me.

She’s the one who got away.

I know she thinks I let that happen, but there were more circumstances at play, ones she has no idea about. I’ve never told her, not that she would have allowed me. Teagan was so angry with me after she was injured. I could continue to play the sport we both loved and she might never play again. I would have been there for her, but she didn’t seem to want that. Preferred to believe I didn’t want to be there for her.

And I was angry at her for thinking so poorly of me. I’m not the kind of man to walk away from the woman I love for money. But that’s who she thought I was. A spineless coward in love with the almighty dollar. True, I had a family to support who needed my income and the endorsements I was bringing in, but I would never have given up on us.

She gave up on us first.

Seven

Teagan

“Did you hear?” Charity asks when we’re standing at the bar at Manuel’s waiting to be served. I ordered an old-fashioned while Charity opted for prosecco.

“Hear what?” I ask absentmindedly. I would give anything not to be here, putting up a front. I don’t want to be any more involved in the tennis world than I already am, but I’m here for the business connections.

“Our special guest has arrived. It’s a big get for Mitzi. She’s over the moon.”

“That’s awesome! I’m glad her husband pulled through.” I hadn’t exactly gotten around to making those calls to my old tennis colleagues, which would have gone nowhere. So this special guest, whoever he is, had better have real star power.

“Pulled through?” Charity laughs derisively. “Teagan, she shattered the glass and if you don’t think so, I invite you to set your eyes on Dominic Fletcher.”

Dominic?

My stomach plummets as if I’m on a high-octane roller coaster.

No, no, no, I must have heard wrong. Surely, the man who is the reason my tennis career blew up isn’t here tonight at the event where I’m trying to rebuild my real estate agency?

This can’t be happening.

However, when I spin around, I see Dominic at the edge of the crowd. My eyes aren’t deceiving me. Exactly how long has he been here? Does he know I’m part of the tournament? If he does, he had the advantage of time to assess me without my knowing. I hate that because I haven’t been able to do the same.

I blink several times and when I do, he’s gone.

Where did he go?

“Isn’t it insane?” Charity asks. “The Dominic Fletcher. He’s a Grand Slam winner and he’ll be playing at our country club for Phoenix Desert Smash! This will give us so much cred.”

Charity leaves me to share the great news with others. Meanwhile, my eyes scan the crowd for his tall, dark frame. Dominic is head and shoulders above the rest.

I don’t have to wait long because our eyes make contact from across the room, and he comes straight for me.

*

It doesn’t take him long to reach me. He does so with several easy strides. Seeing him again almost brings me to my knees, but I catch myself. I close my eyes, hoping it’s a nightmare, but when I blink them open, he’s standing right in front of me. His smoldering ebony gaze pierces through me, making me lose my breath. No one since Dominic looks at me quite like he does, or makes me want to drop my panties. I find myself standing taller despite the wetness forming between my thighs. My nipples tighten of their own accord and push forward in my strapless bra.

“Teagan.” Hearing my name on his lips again makes me think of the times he growled it out when my tongue swirled around his dick.

I find my voice and give it as much levity as I can. “Dominic.”

“You look good.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

His mouth quirks into a grin. “Still bristly, I see.”

“I have a right to be,” I say. “We didn’t exactly end on good terms. In fact, it was quite the opposite.”

He nods as if recalling the horrible argument the entire world heard, and how afterward I was labeled as the stereotypical angry Black woman.

“I had no idea you were going to be here,” Dominic says. “I’m doing my agent a favor.”

“Lending your star power?” My words drip with sarcasm. I’m angry. Dominic got to live the life I wanted—that I deserved—while I had to pick up the pieces and figure out a new game plan.

His eyes narrow. “Can’t we be civil, Teagan? It’s been over a decade.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Dominic. You didn’t lose everything. I did.”

“Teagan—” Dominic wants to say more, but Charity interrupts us.

“Dominic Fletcher, as I live and breathe. It’s so great to have you here with us,” Charity gushes.

Dominic gives her a cursory nod.

The tension is palpable and Charity looks back and forth between us. “Wait a second. Do you two know each other?”

“Something like that,” I mutter.

“Well, I’m sorry to interrupt,” Charity replies, “but I need to steal Dominic away so we can introduce him.”

“Of course,” I respond. “I wouldn’t dream of stealing the spotlight from our illustrious guest.”

Dominic’s eyes spark at my words. “We’ll speak later, Teagan.”

As if. I don’t want to talk to him, much less see him or hear his praises lauded by Charity or Mitzi. Having him here, seeing him again, reminds me of all my old failures. How l let myself down, let my parents down. Intellectually, I know the accident wasn’t my fault. I had no idea when I did that backhand that I would lose my footing, fall and injure my meniscus.

What I should have done after the injury was focus on my recovery and rehabilitation. Instead, I was too focused on me and Dominic. I worried that not being present in our tennis bubble would make me lose him. I acted out because of fear and insecurity. I blamed him for winning and being what I couldn’t be. How was I to know he still had his microphone on and everyone heard my plea for him to stay and see me through my injuries? They heard a desperate, clinging woman who became angry when he wouldn’t stay. Who became even more irate when she realized the audio and cameras were rolling.

Dammit!

I hate these old feelings of not being good enough. I was made to feel that way my entire life. My father always pushed me to succeed, to be better than the rest, and when I finally wasn’t, he felt vindicated that he was right. I would never amount to anything. And now, having Williams & Associates on the rocks has me on edge.

I force myself, on wooden legs, to walk out of the restaurant and outside onto the terrace with a beautiful view of the mountains, but not before grabbing a glass of champagne. I want to down it like a shot, but instead, I sip on the crisp drink. If Dominic is around, I need to keep my wits about me. No one here seems to know about my past with him, at least not yet. Fortunately for me, the terrace is empty because everyone is inside, no doubt eager to rub shoulders with Dominic.

With his popularity, if anyone sees us together, they are bound to get suspicious. The last thing I want is to remind the press about that old footage of our fight because it’s still out there. I don’t want to become viral or a laughingstock with memes made about me. Cancel culture is real. I remember how hurtful my last scramble with the media was and I don’t want a repeat.

Pull it together, Teagan!

This tournament is not about Dominic. It’s about schmoozing and socializing with the higher echelon to garner business for my brokerage. You’re not here to revisit a past love or go down memory lane. After I give myself a good pep talk, I’m about to go inside, when a large presence blocks my path.

Glancing up, I see Dominic. I allow myself a moment to take another look at him. His features have sharpened over the years, emphasizing the square cut of his chin and the fullness of his lips. A long-ago memory surfaces, of me kissing him, my fingers clutching his head as I arch my naked hips toward his.

I jerk myself backward, away from him. “Not now.”

“When?”

“How about never?” I respond sarcastically. “I mean, do we really have anything to say? We share a past, big deal. Everyone has one.” I sound poised and together. Score!

“Not like ours,” Dominic states. “If we’re going to work together in this tournament, don’t you think we should hash this out?”

“Can’t you pull out and say something has come up?”

“That would be unprofessional. I keep my commitments.”

My brow rises. “Do you really?”

His ebony eyes sharpen on me with cold intensity. It makes me feel as if I’m being examined under a microscope. “Teagan—” my name on his lips is coated with icy disdain “—your question is the precise reason why we need to clear the air.”

My head snaps back. “I think not.”

I walk forward and attempt to push past him, but his body is hard and unmovable. His hand touches my bare arm and sparks ignite in my nerve endings. I let out a sharp breath that to me sounds surprisingly loud. Dominic’s gaze fixes on me, on my mouth, and his eyes glimmer like molten lava. I hate myself for feeling the horrifying thrill of being alive for the first time in years.

I’ve been with other men and enjoyed it, but I was first introduced to unbearable heights of pleasure with Dominic. The fact that my body is having a tingling response means I’ve been too long without sexual contact. I’ll need to remedy that because I refuse to accept that this feeling is the excitement of Dominic’s touch.

I glance down to where his hand still grasps my arm, and he yanks it back. “I’m sorry, but I disagree. If you want, we can do this right now where anyone can hear us or we can go someplace quiet.”

His comment reminds me of how my life blew up over a decade ago due to curious ears. “Fine. Where?”

Dominic reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, producing a business card. “Tonight, my place. I’ll meet you after the party.”

I snatch the business card from him, and this time he steps aside, allowing me to pass. As I do, I catch the intoxicating scent of cedarwood, which always made me horny.

I won’t be there tonight. Nothing will come of our meeting later. I know exactly who he is.

He’s the same callous bastard who left me when everyone turned against me. He can burn in hell for all I care.