Clique Summer Collection 2 - Dylan by Lisi Harrison

Author:Lisi Harrison
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2008-05-06T07:00:00+00:00

KAPALUA SPA AND TENNIS CLUB

SVETLANA’S BUNGALOW

Thursday, July 2

4 P.M.

“This will only take a sec.” Dylan pushed past Svetlana and charged into the tennis phenom’s humid bungalow that afternoon. An image of the athlete midserve, looking constipated, was frozen on the plasma.

“Ehmagawd!” Dylan giggled “No wonder you didn’t want me to come in. You were checking out your grunt face.”

“I admit nothing.” Svetlana held the remote over her white-robed shoulder and clicked the TV off.

“Whatevs.” Dylan helped herself to one of the Svetlana for Luna bars on the mahogany coffee table. “Anyway, we’ll be playing a match in five days, and I need you to let me kick your highly downloaded butt.” She admired her blue and silver striped tank dress in the star-shaped wall mirror. The slight A-line was perfect for size sixes posing as fours.

Svetlana took a hearty gulp of green Gatorade. “Ahhhhh!” She lobbed the empty jug into a wicker plant holder by the living area.

Gawd! Didn’t Svetlana need to burp after a chug like that? What was it about sexy blondes and their lack of gas? Maybe beauty wasn’t skin-deep. Perhaps it ran deeper.

“So, are you in?” Dylan asked.

“Hmmmm.” Svetlana lifted the napping Boris out of the white-brick fireplace and began scratching his tiny head with her ultra-square acrylic tips. “What is point of this deception?”

“J.T. will be watching. And if he sees me beat you, he will believe I am a tennis goddess.” She rubbed the dull ache in her shoulder.

“Svetlana has doubts.” She tucked a silky blond wave behind her ear.

Dylan tried to do the same with her stiff red braid. It was like trying to twirl raw spaghetti.

“I cannot throw a game.” She scratched Boris harder. “Even for silly pretend match.”

“Cannot? Or will not?” Dylan dared.

“Both. Is bad for career.” She stood firm, her unpedicured feet planted on the beige sisal rug.

“So is votive throwing in a meditation chamber.” Dylan waved her phone.

Svetlana closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Dylan wiped her sweat-drenched palms on the side of her striped dress.

“Fine.” Svetlana hate-squinted, her taut lips flattened into a fine line.

Done! Dylan stuffed the phone back in her silver sequin–covered tennis bag. Just as she was about to zip it shut, Svetlana tossed Boris on the bed and lunged at her with cougarlike ferocity.

Reee-owwwww!

“Back off!” Dylan quickly shielded her bag like a precious newborn. She shook her head in disgust while she waited for her racing heart to settle. “Try that again and your new sponsor will be Done-lop.”

Svetlana took a step back. “Fine. But I have three conditions.”

Dylan opened her mouth to protest, but Svetlana quickly covered it with her callused hand. “I have three conditions.” She held up her long index finger. “One. You erase the veedyo the second the match is over.”

“Agreed.” Dylan pushed down her finger.

“Two. No one will believe you can beat me if they don’t see you train.”

Dylan suddenly became painfully aware that her inner thighs were touching. “Point?”

“We train. Then, on the court, you do what I say when I say it.

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