It’S a Love Game

By A.G. Starling

Lizzie Bennington is on the brink of winning her first title in a mixed doubles match at the Boca Raton tournament when Jack Archer, Lizzies competitor across the net, stops play complaining of leg cramps. As she watches the trainers hands move up Jacks muscular loin, Lizzie tries to keep her composure, but she cannot hide her admiration. When Jack catches an unwitting look of prurient pleasure in Lizzies eye, the real game between the plucky, spirited beauty and the reckless, thrill-seeking playboy begins.

But Jacks overtures only anger Lizzie. She cant forget the unsportsmanlike stunt that lost her the Boca match. She knows he is a notorious playboy. Whats more, Christina Richter is his partner off the court as well as on it. Still, Lizzie cannot deny her attraction. When she finally gives in, the relationship is threatened not only by Christina but by the number one mens player, Rodolfo Salazar, a volatile sexy Spaniard, who would like nothing better than to cross the net to get to Lizzie before Jack does.

Even so, no one stands in the way of Lizzie and Jacks union more than Lizzie and Jack themselves. Only ti me will tell if two players on opposite sides of the net can find love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475939613

A.G. Starling

A.G. Starling lives with her dog, Suttree, in Monterey, California, where she is a college professor. She is an avid tennis fan and an ardent reader of the author who designed the flawless blueprint for the romance novel—Jane Austen.

Book preview

Chapter One

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D o you believe this? Lizzie hit her racket against her heels and looked over at her doubles partner, Dave, her eyes flashing. Jack Archer was complaining of leg cramps and had called for the trainer. Getting a leg massage right here on court when he’s down 6–3 in the deciding set tiebreaker! The next thing you know he’s going to take off his shirt and demand a full-body massage! Just then, as though Jack had heard Lizzie, he pulled his shirt up to reveal his six-pack abs.

Jack, I want to have your baby, a female voice yelled from the crowd.

"Jack, I want to be your baby," shouted another.

Lizzie shook her head. Unbelievable! Before she could get the word out, Jack’s shirt was off and lying alongside him as he leaned back slowly in the chair. The trainer smiled up at Jack, working his fingers farther up Jack’s thigh.

Jack’s thighs were famous in the tennis world. He had appeared in ESPN magazine’s Body Issue three times. He had even appeared in Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit issue with one of his former girlfriends, who was a model. The editors of the magazine thought the photo so sexy they had chosen it for the cover. Even the trainer seemed to appreciate Jack’s thighs as he kneaded his fingers up toward the edge of Jack’s shorts. Jack leaned back and let his legs fall open. But the edge of Jack’s shorts remained stiff, as though at attention, and did not follow the direction of Jack’s flesh—revealing wide-open spaces between the stiff cotton material and his flesh. It was as though the air in that pocket of space between cotton and thigh were of a different quality. The trainer seemed to suffer from it, as his hands moved closer toward the great divide. It was as though he had ventured to a high elevation and was being deprived of oxygen.

I suppose, Sam, we should be using this time to comment on the status of the match, Mattie Frank said from the broadcasting booth. But I can’t help wondering if this crowd wouldn’t prefer that we comment on the status of Jack’s thighs.

I must admit this is somewhat unorthodox Sam Peppers replied.

What is going on here? What can they be talking about? Lizzie was fuming. She grabbed the bottle of Gatorade that Dave handed to her as she watched Jack chatting in a friendly manner with the trainer. The trainer looked up at Jack adoringly. Jack threw back his head and laughed.

Jack, let me show you what you can do with those pearly whites! came another female voice from the crowd.

He does appear to be enjoying himself just a little too much, Dave said.

Christina came up behind Jack. She was Jack’s doubles partner and latest girlfriend. She put one carefully manicured hand on his shoulder and leaned down and whispered something in his ear. His eyes sparkled. She turned quickly, her silken blonde ponytail falling over her small shoulders. She strutted back to her bag along the sideline, the diamond tennis bracelet dancing on her wrist with the sway of her slim hips. When she bent over to pull out a new racket from her bag, Jack couldn’t help but admire the shape of her long legs.

Everybody loved Christina. Those emerald-green eyes, the long golden mane, the heart-shaped face, and those pale freckles that deepened in color when her cheeks spent too much time in the sun would have charmed a rock.

Sam Peppers swore he could see whiskers sprout from those freckles and twitch just before Christina finished off her opponent. She was five feet eleven but moved well and covered the court with ease. The Goddess of Tennis, as she was often referred to in the press, had been born in Minsk but had lived and trained in Florida since the age of seven. Her story was the stuff of a Hollywood film. Her father had come to the States with only Christina and $900 in his pocket. Her mother had to be left behind because they couldn’t afford a third plane ticket. Christina and her father showed up uninvited and unannounced at Zacharov’s tennis academy in Florida. It took weeks of prodding, but they finally convinced a member of the staff to watch her play. And that was it. She won her first slam at the age of eighteen. Since then, she had won five more. Now here she was, four years later—number one, a darling of the press—making more money in endorsements than any other tennis player in history—male or female.

You know what Christina said when asked by a reporter about Jack’s thighs, Sam? Mattie asked, smiling. She said they should be made illegal.

Sam chuckled. "I suppose she would know. There she is with him in the most recent ESPN Body Issue."

They flashed the image of Jack and Christina locked in an embrace on the television screen for the at-home viewing audience. That photo confirmed for Sam what he’d been saying about Jack for the past couple of years—that he had his mind on things other than tennis.

Jack had won his first ATP title at the age of nineteen. The tennis world expected great things from him. But he never made good on that promise because he spent too much time on pursuits other than tennis. As Jack was fond of saying, like Pete Maverick Mitchell from the movie Top Gun, he had a need for speed. And he might have added—danger. Jack had a pilot’s license. He’d flown in a B-1 bomber jet twice. He went rock climbing, skydiving, bungee jumping, and he liked fast cars. Occasionally he even raced on the amateur circuit. As a result, he sprained his ankles, knees, and wrists, fractured both his ankle and shinbone, and suffered countless cuts, scrapes, and bruises. But as for any injuries to the heart, Jack seemed to walk away from romantic entanglements virtually unscathed, with only the reputation of a playboy to mark him, leaving the press to speculate about the women who had become casualties to his charm.

His square jaw and powerful physique made his good looks manly and rugged, but his insouciant smile and playful blue eyes gave him the kind of boyish charm that worked with both women and men. He was working that charm right now on the trainer who kneeled before him and touched his thigh as though it were the thigh of David, Michelangelo’s glorious statue come to life right here on court.

Lizzie watched the trainer’s fingers as they worked their way skillfully up Jack’s muscular loin. Who does that man think he is? That he should stop the match over a cramp? Look at him! The arrogance! She could feel the adrenaline surging through her body. She would use that adrenaline on the very next point. She was convinced that her heart was racing because of her desire to win this match. Yet she couldn’t help herself from staring at that gap between Jack’s shorts and his thigh. The trainer’s fingers were right at the brink of the divide. Just as the fingers slipped beyond the edge, Lizzie blinked and then gasped. She saw Jack staring back at her. She quickly turned away.

Jack was used to being admired by the female sex. Hell, he was used to being admired by the male sex too. But he wasn’t used to seeing a woman blush like that. He watched her pacing back and forth, hitting her heel with her racket. Her tennis outfit was plain and traditional. It wasn’t fashionable, like Christina’s. There was something about its simplicity that Jack liked. The stiffness of the cotton and the straight lines of the cut couldn’t hide the woman underneath. Not to a trained eye like Jack’s. She was athletic, but she didn’t have the boyish adolescent figure that so many of the top women players in tennis had. At five feet seven she was short when compared to the Amazons who made up the top ten in women’s tennis. Her body was more voluptuous. Danger, Jack thought, curves up ahead. The only angles Jack could see were in her face, which Jack found himself admiring. When she blushed, the contrast of her light complexion and her dark hair was that much more vivid. He caught her eyes flashing at him just before she turned away. But he couldn’t tell whether they were gray or blue. Why didn’t she look back at him? he wondered. No matter, he thought. Suddenly he felt the need for speed. It was time to finish this match and finish it quick.

D ave and Lizzie, the clear underdogs, have come from behind. They’ve got momentum on their side, Mattie Frank said as the players walked back out on court.

Maybe not after this time out.

I wonder, Sam. Do you think that grueling loss Jack suffered in his singles match before this one took a toll?

It might have. But in my day, cramps were something you suffered through. It’s not an injury. It’s fitness. And fitness is part of the game. What’s going to happen when Jack gets to the Grand Slams? The Australian Open is going to begin in a few weeks. Cramps mean a lack of fitness. A player at this level ought to be able to play through them.

I wonder if he thought this match was going to be a little too easy. I don’t think he expected this level of tennis from Dave and Lizzie.

They’ve definitely made it a match. Now we’ll see if they can close it out.

Jack approached the baseline, bouncing the ball with his racket. He looked over at Christina. She nodded. Dave and Lizzie stood on the other side of the court, waiting. The sun began to dip in the sky, casting a shadow across the court. Jack walked up to the service line and bounced the ball a few more times before he threw it up into the air. When the ball came back down, he slammed it with his racket. The ball went flying toward the corner pocket of the service box and looked unhittable, but Dave managed to get it back. It barely skimmed over the net. It dropped with Jack positioned well behind it on the baseline. Sam Peppers was just about to say, What a return, when Jack ran forward. He extended his racket along with his body as though they were of the same piece and sent the ball spinning to hit the back of the line, just out of Lizzie’s reach.

What a return of a return! said Sam.

I think it’s fair to say Jack’s no longer suffering from leg cramps.

The score was 6–4. It was Jack’s serve again. He took the second ball out of his pocket and bounced it. He brought it up to his racket before he threw it up and swung his racket around. Smack! The ball sped like a bolt of yellow lightning right into Dave’s body.

The score was 6–5. The applause was deafening. Lizzie felt her head begin to pound with each shout from the crowd. Jack! Jack! Jack! It was Lizzie’s serve. Concentrate, she told herself. One more point and this would be the biggest win of her career—her first title. She kept her eyes on the ball as she bounced it in front of her. She felt her breathing move in tandem with the ball and tried to put the noise out of her mind. One. Two. Three. Three bounces of the ball—no more. Like many athletes, Lizzie was superstitious. She threw the ball up, swung her racket around, and hit the ball just outside the line.

She’s going for too much, Sam said.

This kind of thing happens all the time with players who are new to being in this kind of situation. The nerves get to them.

Lizzie tried to put the fault behind her. She would not double fault. Three bounces of the ball, she said to herself, no more. One. Two. Three. She hit the ball into the net.

Double fault, the announcer said. They were tied at six games apiece. Players change sides, please.

Lizzie looked straight ahead. Let that point go, she told herself. They were still in it. She still had one more serve. She kept telling herself to focus; at the same time she was reminding her eyes to remain unfocused. Her vision revealed only a patchwork of color. Forget that a slightly fleshy tone in that patchwork might be Jack or Christina going the other direction. She wouldn’t look at either of them. Not even at Dave, who must have been somewhere behind her. Just get to the other side of the net. Three bounces. Get your serve in and then stay in the point.

When she got to the baseline, she turned to receive the two balls the ball boy threw in her direction. With both in hand, she kept telling herself that she would need only one. If only she could believe it. She picked what looked like the firmer of the two and put the other in her pocket. Three bounces. She took a deep breath, staring down at her feet for a moment.

This could be the deciding point of the match, Sam said.

The ball felt too light. Her racket was like a wing as she swung it behind her. It felt as though she had thrown the racket from her hand and it was only her arm that was coming around as the spinning yellow ball flashing in the sun came back down, growing larger as it drew nearer. Slam! The ball sped toward Christina. She hesitated a moment, thinking it was going out. It hit the outside line, but Christina had the biggest wingspan in the business. She lunged with her long legs and threw her racket out, striking the ball back over the net to Dave’s forehand. He pounded it back to the baseline, but Jack was there. He hit an elegant one-handed backhand that bounced up, almost hitting Lizzie in the face. Using her racket as a shield, she caught the ball squarely in the center of her racket. When the ball sprang from her racket, it looked as though it would dive into the net. But then the ball seemed to catch a vector, and it took a deceptive turn. It dipped just over the net and angled toward the outside of the line. Yes, Lizzie thought! That’s it! Christina was at the net on the other side and Jack was too far back to get to it. She had gotten a point off of her serve. One more point, she thought. One more. And then the unexpected happened. Before Lizzie could realize what had happened, something yellow, like a flash of bottled sunlight, spun past her. She turned and watched it hit the green asphalt and bounce away.

How did he get to that ball? Sam cried.

He was well behind the baseline. We’ll have to watch the replay. I could almost swear the ball bounced a second time before he got to it.

What do you suppose was in that oil the trainer was rubbing on Jack’s leg, Maggie?

Are you suggesting it was a bit of snake oil, Sam?

Lizzie was stunned. She could hear the loud cheering of the crowd, but it sounded far away. She felt something on her shoulder. It was Dave’s hand.

Come on, it’s not over yet, he said.

Lizzie realized then that for the first time in the tiebreak they were behind. One more point, and they would lose. It wasn’t over. Not yet.

It was Christina’s serve. Lizzie stood back at the baseline, waiting. Dave and Jack were at net. Christina’s hair glimmered in the sun. She threw her ponytail back over her shoulder, revealing her long, gold mesh Elsa Peretti earrings. Lizzie readied herself. Christina tossed the ball in the air but let it drop right in front of her. Sorry, mate, she said. The crowd laughed. She bounced the ball again. She pulled up as though she were getting ready to toss the ball. Lizzie bent forward, swaying left and right but Christina suddenly straightened herself to bounce the ball some more. When she finally brought the ball to the strings of the racket, she fixed her emerald eyes on Lizzie. Sam Peppers couldn’t help but think he saw those whiskers twitching from her freckles, which seemed to dance coyly as the sunlight hit them. She lifted her pert chin into the air, swung her racket around, and threw the ball into the air.

Christina’s serve was in, but it wasn’t so fast or so powerful that Lizzie couldn’t return it. Lizzie hit a forehand she had meant to go deep but Jack was able to catch it at net with a backhand slice. Dave returned it over the net, and Christina pounded it back with her famous two-handed backhand. It looked as though it would go deep, and Lizzie stood ready for it. But Christina’s backhand could be deceptive. It dipped past Dave. Lizzie ran for it, sliding into the splits on the hard court as she extended her racket and reached for the ball, only to watch it bounce in front of her just outside the edge of her racket. It was over. Before Lizzie knew what had happened, Dave was by her side, helping her back up. Lizzie felt a snapping sensation in her thigh but ignored it.

Are you okay? That looked like it hurt.

I’m fine. I’m just sorry I couldn’t get to it.

Lizzie looked over the net. Christina jumped into Jack’s open arms. He swung her round, and she arched her back as though they were a pair of figure skaters performing a spin. The cameras captured the moment and sent it out to the four corners of the world. The press couldn’t say enough about the stunning couple and about Christina’s beauty, which seemed almost blinding as Jack swung her round and round. Even Sam Peppers couldn’t contain himself. Borrowing a line from the song I Feel Pretty from the musical West Side Story, he said, "She is oh so pretty. Who wouldn’t pity any girl who isn’t her tonight?"

Chapter Two

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Lizzie and Dave waited as the woman tapped the microphone on the table. Testing-one-two-three-testing. She gave a thumbs-up to a man who stood at the back of the room and invited Lizzie and Dave to sit down. The room was packed with photographers who were ready with their cameras and reporters who were ready with their pens. Looking at them now, Lizzie wondered whether she really wanted what she thought she did. She had dreamed of playing professional tennis ever since she was six years old. But that would mean more of this. Tennis was only part of the game. So long as she was going to play professional tennis, she couldn’t remain anonymous. The more she moved up in the rankings, the more intense the exposure would be. And what if she was to win a Slam? No, she thought as she looked out at the sea of reporters waiting to grill her, this in itself is a game. And she would have to learn how to play it.

Miss Bennington, what would you say was the deciding point of the match? a reporter asked.

The massage Mr. Archer received when he was down 6–3 in the third set tiebreak.

The room full of reporters broke out in laughter.

Do you think he was faking? another reporter asked.

Faking what? The cramps or the pleasure he received from the massage? Someone toward the back of the room made a sizzling sound as though something or someone had just been burned. There’s too much testosterone in this room, thought Lizzie.

Mzzzz Bennington, did you take pleasure in it?

Lizzie turned and saw a platinum blonde with bright red lips like the Joker’s smile from the Batman cartoons looking at her. Excuse me?

Stepan and Jack sat on a sofa in the living room of Jack’s home in Boca Raton, watching a replay of the press conference on ESPN. Stepan thumped Jack’s thigh with the flat of his hand and raised his eyebrows significantly. I think she’s hot for your thighs, Jack.

Jack and Stepan were like brothers. They played together and trained together. Coach Zacharov had brought Stepan to America after discovering him in Russia. Stepan’s parents had died when he was only six. When he came to Zacharov’s tennis academy, Jack’s family took Stepan in as one of their own.

Jack pushed Stepan’s hand off and laughed. He remembered the look in Lizzie’s eyes when he had caught her staring at him. She’s no different from the rest of the female population. She appreciates the legs of a thoroughbred when she sees one.

A thoroughbred, you say? She must be looking for that special ride—fast and smoooooooooooth. What do you think, does she ride English or Western?

Definitely English, Jack said, nodding his head as he looked over at Stepan.

She’s proper, then?

Extremely, Jack said, smiling widely.

You know, she’s good-looking. A real hottie.

Jack looked over at Stepan. He recognized that gleam in his eye. The only one with a more notorious reputation than his when it came to women was Stepan—and Rodolfo Salazar, of course. Jack thought of Stepan’s current girlfriend, Ingrid the supermodel. She would qualify as a hottie. Jack and Christina would be having dinner with them tonight. But Jack didn’t think the expression suited Lizzie. I don’t know if I’d call her a hottie.

Stepan ran his hand through the dark, reckless waves that crowned his head. He narrowed his eyes, and his top lip curled, revealing one subtle dimple alongside it. "Well, she’s certainly sizzling right now."

Ever the diplomat and the epitome of grace under pressure, Dave jumped in to rescue Lizzie. It was a very tough match, he said, avoiding the question that seemed to have momentarily silenced her. The truth is, we couldn’t finish, and they did. You have to congratulate them, coming from behind like that.

The reporter began nodding her head in response to Dave’s comment before he had even finished. She’s not even listening to him, Lizzie thought angrily.

Yes yes yes—but I’m rather curious. Miss Bennington, you mentioned that massage in the final set tiebreak and seemed to focus your attention on it. So I’ll ask you again, did you take pleasure in it? Perhaps you’ll give us your impression of Mr. Archer’s celebrated thighs.

Lizzie felt a sudden rush of heat as though someone had struck a match and was holding it next to her, beginning with her chest, moving up her neck and finally reaching her cheeks. Who was this woman? Was she a sportswriter or a writer for the National Enquirer? "If you’d been listening to what Dave was saying with regard to the match, Lizzie said, you wouldn’t ask such a foolish question. When you come back from a set down and bring the match to a final set tiebreak and are a point away from winning the match, only to have what looks like an extremely fit player call a time out because of a cramp and then watch that player sit back and casually converse and laugh while you do your best to keep your mental focus and your body moving so you don’t grow cold and cramp yourself, I hardly think you’d concern yourself with his burgeoning manhood, let alone his thighs!"

The reporter looked stunned. The room went quiet.

Stepan looked over at Jack with a sly expression. So she noticed your manhood.

It would seem so.

The massage was that good, was it?

"Well you know how it is. I always rise to the occasion when faced with a match."

So your manhood rose.

Well, with that filly in my line of vision blushing like a virgin, something in me was bound to stand at attention. And my walking legs were occupied.

Stepan’s upper lip curled slowly until he was grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Reviews for It’S a Love Game

[mindaf79 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I really enjoyed It's a Love Game by A.G. Starling. I don't really know a whole lot about tennis. I enjoyed learning different things about the game while watching Lizzie & Jack's story unfold. Lizzie is a very talented tennis player looking to win big. She is also very independent and not looking for love. Jack is also a very talented player but is enjoying his life as the tennis playboy. He has a girlfriend that is also his doubles partner but they are not as serious as Christina thinks they are. Jack & Lizzie both suffer an injury at the same time and have to sit out a big event. They end up spending time together along with Jack's mother. Sparks start to fly even though neither one is expecting it. As they try to build their relationship they experience some interference from Christina.I have not read anything by A.G Starling before but I would sure be opening to reading other titles by her.