Opposites Attract by Nora Roberts Page B

walked over to the sweaty, gangly teenager.
    “You want to play tennis, kid?”
    Ty spun the racket as he eyed the lawyer’s pricey suit. “You ain’t dressed for it.” He gave the smooth leather shoes a mild sneer.
    Martin caught the insolent grin, but focused on the intensity of the boy’s eyes. Some instinct told him they were champion’s eyes. The ideas solidified into a goal. “You want to play for pay?”
    Ty kept spinning the racket, wary of a hustle, but the question had his pulse leaping. “Yeah. So?”
    This time Martin smiled at the deliberate rudeness. He was going to like this kid, God knew why. “So, you need lessons and a decent court.” He glanced at Ty’s worn racket. “And equipment. What kind of power can you get out of plastic strings?”
    Defensive, Ty tossed up a ball and smashed it into the opposing service court.
    “Not bad,” Martin decided mildly. “You’d do better with sheep gut.”
    “Tell me something I don’t know.”
    Martin drew out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Ty. He refused with a shake of his head. Taking his time, Martin lit one, then took a long drag.
    “Those things’ll mess up your lungs,” Ty stated idly.
    “Tell me something I don’t know,” the lawyer countered. “Think you can play on grass?”
    Ty answered with a quick, crude expletive, then sliced another ball over the net.
    “Pretty sure of yourself.”
    “I’m going to play Wimbledon,” Ty told him matter-of-factly. “And I’m going to win.”
    Martin didn’t smile, but reached into his pocket. He held out a discreet, expensively printed business card. “Call me Monday,” he said simply, and walked away.
    Ty had a patron.
    The marriage wasn’t made in heaven. Over the next seven years there were bitter arguments, bursts of temper and dashes of love. Ty worked hard because he understood that work and discipline were the means to the end. He remained in school and studied only because his mother and Martin had a conspiracy against him. Unless he completed high school with decent grades, the patronage would be removed. As to the patronage itself, Ty accepted it only because his needs demanded it. But he was never comfortable with it. The lessons polished his craft. Good equipment tightened his game. He played on manicured grass, well-tended clay and wood, learning the idiosyncrasies of each surface.
    Every morning before school he practiced. Afternoons and weekends were dedicated to tennis. Summers, he worked part time in the pro shop at Martin’s club, then used the courts to hone his skill. By the time he was sixteen the club’s tennis pro could beat him only if Ty had an off day.
    His temper was accepted. It was a game of histrionics. Women found a certain appeal in his lawlessness. Ty learned of female pleasures young, and molded his talent there as carefully as he did his game.
    The only break in his routine came when he injured his hand coming to the defense of his sister. Ty considered the two-week enforced vacation worth it, as the boy Jess had been struggling with had a broken nose.
    He traveled to his first tournament unknown and unseeded. In a lengthy, gritty match heralded in the sports pages, he found his first professional victory. When he lost, Ty was rude, argumentative and brooding. When he won, he was precisely the same. The press tolerated him because he was young, brilliant and colorful. His rise from obscurity was appreciated in a world where champions were bred in the affluent, select atmosphere of country clubs.
    Before his nineteenth birthday Ty put a down payment on a three-bedroom house in a Chicago suburb. He moved his family out. When he was twenty he won his first Wimbledon title. The dream was realized, but his intensity never slackened.
    Now, walking along the dark streets of Rome, he thought of his roots. Asher made him think of them, perhaps because hers were so markedly different. There had been no back alleys or street gangs in her life. Her