Chapter 64 Chapter 64 Tennis Anger
Dimitri and I come around the court, and I freeze. The stands are packed—Sergey, his wife, Alek… Vince, Matt, Colt, Kyle, and a blur of others I can’t quite make out. On the opposite side sits Mason, his arm in a cast, flanked by Matthews, Olivery, Brown, and Nate. My stomach twists. I turn on my heel and start walking away.
“There she is. About time, Duchess!” Gemma yells.
Dimitri chuckles beside me as I stop, sigh, and turn back around. Every single pair of eyes is on me, and suddenly I regret not wearing tights. Under my very short skirt, I have on black lacy bikini bottoms—originally meant to tease Dimitri. Now it looks like I’m putting on a show for everyone.
We walk onto the court. I avoid looking at the stands. I drop my bag, shrug off my jacket. All black—simple, sharp. I kneel, pulling out my racket and a pack of black tennis balls. I special ordered them. They’re ridiculous and unnecessary, but I love them.
When I stand, I see Tish sit down—and Emma steps onto the court across from me.
I shoot Gemma a look. She just shrugs like she had nothing to do with it.
Dimitri steps in close.
“Do you want to leave, diamond?” he asks quietly.
“Back away, dog. Elle is fine,” Emma spits.
“Don’t fucking call him a dog,” I snap, heat flooding my chest.
Emma smirks. “Were you too busy fucking him… is that why you’re late?”
I make the mistake of glancing toward Sergey. Dimitri notices.
“Was that Sergey who came over?” he murmurs.
I lean in closer to him. “Do you and Ivan fuck the same girls often?”
Dimitri smiles, amused.
I step back, gripping my racket. “Are we going to play, or did you come to run your fucking mouth?”
Emma serves. The ball flies way out—nowhere near me. She’s aiming at Dimitri.
He doesn’t move, just stands in the corner behind me in his black suit, calm and unbothered.
Second serve—this time it hits his shoulder.
That’s it.
I spin the racket in my hand and start toward her fast, anger surging. Halfway there, I stop, turn, and walk back to my bag instead. I grab an instant ice pack, crack it, shake it until it turns cold.
Then I walk to Dimitri.
His eyes are wild, watching me. I unbutton his jacket, loosen his tie, undo the top buttons of his shirt, then press the cold pack to his shoulder. His hand settles on my hip, heat seeping through my clothes, igniting something low and dangerous in me.
I glance at his hand. He pulls it away immediately.
“Go sit with everyone else,” I tell him.
He nods and walks off, taking a seat dead center between both groups. Tish scoots closer to him, but he ignores her completely.
Gemma serves, and finally—we play.
The rhythm settles in. Back and forth. Clean hits. Focus. Erika glances at me with a grin.
“Finish them,” she giggles.
I smirk, dropping the ball just over the net. Emma’s too slow—it bounces twice. Point.
Erika and I smack each other’s asses and switch positions.
I pull a black ball from my skirt pocket, bounce it three times, toss it up—and slam it straight at Emma.
It hits her square in the mouth.
She stumbles back, clutching her face. I don’t even react. I just serve again, this time ignoring her completely, playing like she doesn’t exist.
Gemma is struggling now, sweat pouring down her face as she scrambles to keep up. Emma stands there, bored, useless.
Another round—and Emma storms off the court.
Tish takes her place.
Now it’s actually fun.
We fall into a real game, fast-paced, competitive. The sky darkens, clouds rolling in. A light drizzle starts, barely noticeable against the heat of movement.
From the sidelines, I hear Emma talking shit again.
I ignore her.
We’re almost done.
I spin to avoid a return, my skirt lifting slightly—and Matthews whistles.
“Are those standard issue slut bottoms???” Emma calls out, laughing.
“There is nothing under here for you,” I shoot back, not missing a beat. “Don’t worry about it.”
She keeps muttering under her breath. Nick tells her to shut up.
I switch my racket to my left hand, spinning it slowly as I watch her. Something in me snaps.
I take three steps forward.
Before I can reach her, Alek vaults over two rows of seats and grabs me around the waist, lifting me clean off the ground.
“Maybe I should have let you hit her,” he says, grinning down at me.
I huff, annoyed, but don’t fight him.
I grab my bag once he sets me down, shoving my racket and balls inside, slipping my jacket back on.
“You have a thing for assholes?” he asks.
“I guess so,” I mutter, tugging lightly at his sweatshirt.
Alek calls out, “Dimitri, what the fuck???”
Across the court, Dimitri just laughs. “I’m here to protect her, not to protect others from her. If she wants to beat some annoying bitch with her racket, I’m just going to watch.”
Alek throws an arm around me as we watch Tish and Erika finish the match.
“So… you and Sergey,” he says casually.
“No.”
“I wasn’t asking. I already know.”
My jaw tightens.
He glances toward Sergey, who’s sitting there holding his wife’s hand while she stares off into space.
“Go out with me,” Alek says suddenly.
My head snaps toward him. “What???”
“You heard me.”
“You have a girlfriend.”
“She broke up with me when I moved out here,” he says with a smirk.
“What???”
“If you ‘what’ me one more time, I’m going to spank you right here.”
“Is that a promise?” I grin, remembering exactly how hard he hits. The thought alone sends heat straight through me.
Across the court, Olivery is whispering something to Matthews while they both watch us. Mason sits there, staring at me with those pathetic, sad-boy eyes.
“Matthews isn’t even in line,” Alek adds dryly. “There is no fucking line. It ends with me.”
I roll my eyes. He’s cocky. Too cocky. But he backs it up, and that’s the problem. He’s wild, unpredictable—too much like me.
“I’m in the building next to yours,” he continues. “Starting a new job in two weeks.”
“What job?”
“I’m a pharmacist.”
I blink, then laugh. “Seriously?”
He nudges me. “I got citizenship last year.”
I shake my head, still smiling. “Are you sure you want to date me? I’m unstable and angry.”
He looks down at me, completely unfazed.
“Perfect,” he says.