Hump Day Hook: Match Point

SweatThis week’s Hump Day Hook is from my short story Match Point, which appears in Sweat. Sweat’s subtitle is Five Sporty Tales of Lesbian Lust, and basically, it’s my dream come true. If you’ve read any of my books, you know that nothing turns me on more than a sweaty woman in a tank top. It’s my thing. I can’t help it, but women with toned arms dressed in nothing but a tight tank top keep on popping up whenever I’m writing. So, I thought I’d ask four of my favourite authors to indulge me with a sporty tale and Sweat is the result. The official release date is on Friday, but I have ARCs available in return for an honest Amazon review. (Just e-mail me.)

Match Point is about quickly coming to grasp with the fact that you’re a lesbian on the tennis court. 😉

Before I even hit the ball, I know it will land in the net again. I’ve lost my mojo and, glancing at the other side of the court, it’s not hard to see why. I used to be the star player of our club, almost effortlessly winning every championship—until Ruby came along. On paper, we’re a match. But when we face off on the court, she always wins.

Thank god this is not the final, I think as I prepare for my next serve. In my mind’s eye, I can already see the ball whizz limply over the net—no spin, no glory. Ruby will cross it with that mean forehand of hers and I won’t even feel disappointment. Only awe. And the incessant thumping between my legs.

Ruby joined our club six months ago, amidst a scurry of whispered gossip in the dressing room before games and—alcohol-fuelled and more daring—at the bar afterwards.

“She’s renovating the old Slater house all by herself,” my friend Sarah, who’s always the first to know, told me after we watched Ruby park her black BMW Z4 at the club’s parking lot one day. “She moved here from the city after a bad break-up… with another woman.”

I’ll never forget how my heart seemed to jump all the way to the back of my throat. When Ruby first arrived I was still very much in denial. Now, six months later, it has never been more clear. It crystallised in my mind, in my heart and in my blood after our first match against each other. I lost that one too, and no one could explain why I missed all those easy balls except me—and maybe Ruby. She held my gaze a bit too long before each serve—the way the pros do it to intimidate their opponent, her light blue eyes sparkling with something so confusing, yet enthralling. My gaze was still fixed on hers when the first ball zipped past my head. I didn’t even lift my racket.

I gather my thoughts and tear my eyes away from Ruby’s tan skin. I need to win at least a few points to avoid too many questions. Ruby usually gives me a few. She’s kind like that. And good with her hands. And she’s a lesbian.

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