caught a flattering glimpse of her toned quads. Amazing how quickly they were responding to her tennis training.
The Hawaiian sun reflected off the clay and into her green eyes. For a moment she couldn’t see across the court, but she could hear the ball whizzing toward her. She stepped back, pivoted right, pulled her glittering racket back, and swung.
Swoosh!
The ball glided effortlessly over the net as she completed her gazelle-like follow-through.
“Brilliant shot!” a male voice called.
Male voice? Where was Svetlana?
A cloud passed in front of the glaring sun. Dylan could see clearly now.
The voice belonged to J.T. His dimples deepened as he grinned in respect.
Dylan smiled her thanks. She popped a ball out of her dress pocket and whipped out her best serve. The ball shot to the exact spot that she’d hoped.
Ace!
J.T. returned it with a grunt, and they rallied back and forth, trading break points. The game was heating up, yet Dylan remained remarkably cool. Just before she could serve for match point, J.T. dropped his racket and bounded over the net.
“You know this is my side of the court, right?” Dylan teased, her heart beating like a hummingbird’s. What was J.T. doing?
“No, I’m pretty sure it’s mine.” He closed the gap between them, the tips of his Nikes touching her Mint Chocolate Chips.
Ehmagawd!
He leaned closer. Then closer . . . then . . . his Gatorade-soaked lips touched hers.
Her first lip-kiss tasted like a melted Creamsicle, just like she’d always imagined.
The next thing she knew, she and J.T. were walking on the beach drinking virgin Blue Hawaiis with little pink umbrellas and plastic monkeys that hung from the lips of the glasses by their curly brown tails. They crisscrossed arms and drank from each other’s straws. Then, with no warning at all, a huge burp blasted forth from Dylan’s glossy mouth.
J.T. spit out his straw.
“Ehmagawd, please pretend you didn’t hear that,” she blush-begged, contemplating diving into the surging ocean to hide her shame.
“I can’t.” He stepped back.
“No! J.T., wait!” Dylan felt her Blue Hawaii inching back up her throat. She couldn’t stand losing another crush to her mouth gas.
“Eccccccchhhhhhh,” J.T. belched.
Dylan burst out laughing, then burped again gleefully. He thought it was funny! “JAAAYYYY TEEEEEE!”
“DYYYYYY-LAAAAAAN.” He doubled over in hysterics.
Dylan dropped to the sand and rolled around clutching her abs, which were becoming tighter and tighter by the second.
“You’re so awesome.” He pushed his brown highlights away from his eyes. “I can’t believe it took me two whole days to realize it. I was so wrapped up in tennis I didn’t realize my perfect match was right here in front of me.”
Dylan searched the empty beach for a witness. Not that she needed one—this moment would be so burned in her brain she’d be able to relive it with vivid accuracy for years to come. It would be like pressing repeat on her favorite track, only better.
“How can I make it up to you?” J.T. dropped to his knees.
“What about a massage?” Dylan flicked off her red dress straps.
“Did I ever tell you how much I like your outfit?” He gripped her tanned shoulders. “It’s so vibrant.”
Dylan lowered her head, giving him complete access to her neck.
He rubbed. “It shows you have style and confidence. Anyone can follow the herd and wear white. But you’re a leader. And that’s hot.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. “Oh, J.T. . . .”
“Who is J.T.?” snapped a woman with a terse Russian accent. “I’m Simca.”
Dylan’s eyes flew open. The hand on her back wasn’t J.T.’s. It belonged to a big blond Amazon whose blocklike torso cast a shadow on the wall that resembled that of SpongeBob SquarePants. She was wide awake now. Gone were the secluded beach, the romantic burping contest, and her crushing-back crush. Instead, she was stretched out on her belly in Svetlana’s humid
The Hawaiian sun reflected off the clay and into her green eyes. For a moment she couldn’t see across the court, but she could hear the ball whizzing toward her. She stepped back, pivoted right, pulled her glittering racket back, and swung.
Swoosh!
The ball glided effortlessly over the net as she completed her gazelle-like follow-through.
“Brilliant shot!” a male voice called.
Male voice? Where was Svetlana?
A cloud passed in front of the glaring sun. Dylan could see clearly now.
The voice belonged to J.T. His dimples deepened as he grinned in respect.
Dylan smiled her thanks. She popped a ball out of her dress pocket and whipped out her best serve. The ball shot to the exact spot that she’d hoped.
Ace!
J.T. returned it with a grunt, and they rallied back and forth, trading break points. The game was heating up, yet Dylan remained remarkably cool. Just before she could serve for match point, J.T. dropped his racket and bounded over the net.
“You know this is my side of the court, right?” Dylan teased, her heart beating like a hummingbird’s. What was J.T. doing?
“No, I’m pretty sure it’s mine.” He closed the gap between them, the tips of his Nikes touching her Mint Chocolate Chips.
Ehmagawd!
He leaned closer. Then closer . . . then . . . his Gatorade-soaked lips touched hers.
Her first lip-kiss tasted like a melted Creamsicle, just like she’d always imagined.
The next thing she knew, she and J.T. were walking on the beach drinking virgin Blue Hawaiis with little pink umbrellas and plastic monkeys that hung from the lips of the glasses by their curly brown tails. They crisscrossed arms and drank from each other’s straws. Then, with no warning at all, a huge burp blasted forth from Dylan’s glossy mouth.
J.T. spit out his straw.
“Ehmagawd, please pretend you didn’t hear that,” she blush-begged, contemplating diving into the surging ocean to hide her shame.
“I can’t.” He stepped back.
“No! J.T., wait!” Dylan felt her Blue Hawaii inching back up her throat. She couldn’t stand losing another crush to her mouth gas.
“Eccccccchhhhhhh,” J.T. belched.
Dylan burst out laughing, then burped again gleefully. He thought it was funny! “JAAAYYYY TEEEEEE!”
“DYYYYYY-LAAAAAAN.” He doubled over in hysterics.
Dylan dropped to the sand and rolled around clutching her abs, which were becoming tighter and tighter by the second.
“You’re so awesome.” He pushed his brown highlights away from his eyes. “I can’t believe it took me two whole days to realize it. I was so wrapped up in tennis I didn’t realize my perfect match was right here in front of me.”
Dylan searched the empty beach for a witness. Not that she needed one—this moment would be so burned in her brain she’d be able to relive it with vivid accuracy for years to come. It would be like pressing repeat on her favorite track, only better.
“How can I make it up to you?” J.T. dropped to his knees.
“What about a massage?” Dylan flicked off her red dress straps.
“Did I ever tell you how much I like your outfit?” He gripped her tanned shoulders. “It’s so vibrant.”
Dylan lowered her head, giving him complete access to her neck.
He rubbed. “It shows you have style and confidence. Anyone can follow the herd and wear white. But you’re a leader. And that’s hot.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. “Oh, J.T. . . .”
“Who is J.T.?” snapped a woman with a terse Russian accent. “I’m Simca.”
Dylan’s eyes flew open. The hand on her back wasn’t J.T.’s. It belonged to a big blond Amazon whose blocklike torso cast a shadow on the wall that resembled that of SpongeBob SquarePants. She was wide awake now. Gone were the secluded beach, the romantic burping contest, and her crushing-back crush. Instead, she was stretched out on her belly in Svetlana’s humid
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