Sips & Strokes by Sarah Skye

Author:Sarah Skye
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Anti-Belle Books

“Love serving thirty, you bastard,” Nate calls across the net on Wednesday morning.

I smirk and shrug one shoulder as I anticipate his serve. Is it my fault I basically get paid to work out? The volley begins, and we find an easy rhythm.

“Good to have someone to play with at least.” Nate likes to chat as we play. I’ve learned this after only two sets. “Eileen is allergic to exercise, and dad’s got the bum knee.”

“After Sonce launches, you’ll be hiring a trainer to play against you whenever you please.” I zing a backhand just over the net, too low for him to get to.

He laughs and curses as he slaps it back anyway. “They bloody well better let me win if I’m paying them. Your serve. What about Lily?” he continues as I walk to the line. “Does she play? Maybe Eileen would try a doubles match if she—”

Jesus, mate, when did you become such a chatty Cathy?

“Nah. She’s all about yoga.” I bounce the ball and roll my eyes. I have no idea if this is true, but you’d never know from my tone.

“Ah, right. All these Americans love that shit.”

“They do indeed. Now, shut up and let me ace you.”

As we play through a match, I promise Nate three times that Lily and I are counting the days to the next Sonce party, which is two weekends from now. Bless him, he’s so keyed up about everything that he can barely focus on tennis, but I didn’t come to play competitively. I came to see my friend—and keep up my responsible image. If I can’t go to parties, post to Instagram, or take on the high-visibility jobs I used to, I might as well pour a little more of my soul into this goal.

The good news is that my agent, Stella, has finally gotten on board with my insistence to back off the playboy image. She resisted a long time, saying that it was hard to change tracks in this business—as if I’m not acutely aware of this fact. After the women’s reaction at the Sonce dinner party, I decided it was fine to keep the novel cover gigs as part of my new image. Everything else has to shift, though. After pulling some major strings and working her magic, Stella has come through with some new opportunities—maybe. Hopefully.

The first one is the next day. Thursday morning I’m up before dawn and headed to a casting call at Oak & Thistle’s headquarters, sporting the same shirt I’d worn to apple pick. Hopefully the fact that they gifted me this shirt after I modeled their new line of boxer-briefs last year will sell them on the notion that, yes, I would make a fantastic editorial model as well.

There’s no flexing abs or bringing my lucky green robe this time. I’m not a pool boy or an athlete or anything but Calder Ross. I go into the meeting buttoned-up, sporting dress jeans and designer hiking boots that aren’t meant to see a trail.

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