Page 21 of Most Eligible
Roland shakes his head. “Let’s do one more shot.” He rubs his knee again, his face screwed up in pain.
I knew his injury was bad, but not the full extent of it. I don’tknow how he expects to compete at Wimbledon in a few months if he can’t even beat—I glance across the court, expecting to see a trainer or maybe one of his tennis friends. But no, it’s Rhett, which only reinforces my confusion. How can Roland expect to sweep Wimbledon when he’s in pain from playing against a fake cowboy?
At the sight of Rhett, I back up quickly, but I step on a twig and the sound echoes on the court.
Roland turns toward me and his face lights up. “Georgia!”
Caught, I plaster on a smile. Glancing nervously at Lainey, I let myself through the gate as Roland jogs over and folds me into a sweaty hug. Over his elbow, I sneak a look at Rhett, who’s bouncing his tennis ball grumpily, as though it’s deeply disappointed him.
“Been teaching this guy a thing or two,” Roland says. “He’s not half bad.”
I smile sweetly and meet Rhett’s eyes, though my words are directed to Roland. “Sounds like you’re winning though. I’m not surprised.”
Roland grins his goofiest grin in the beat of silence that follows. Sweat trickles down my neck. I meet Rhett’s eyes, but he just sets his jaw and glowers at me.
Then Lainey stands and the moment is broken. Arms crossed, she walks onto the court, her white jumpsuit glowing neon against the dark ground. “Let’s run that entrance again, and then you can get back up to the house.” Her raised eyebrows leave no room for negotiation.
“My… entrance?”
She nods. “Go back to the fence and come up to Roland again—make it a little more energetic this time. And remember”—she taps the sides of her face—“smile!”
I wipe my palms on my shorts and nod. “Uh, okay.” I retrace my steps and at Lainey’s signal, jog toward Roland, a huge grinon my face. He lifts me enthusiastically, and I wrap my legs around his waist.
Before I can overthink it, I lower my face and drop a kiss on his lips. As I pull back, I glance at Rhett, who’s still scowling, the line between his eyes more pronounced than ever.
“Gorgeous,” Lainey says. I tear my gaze from Rhett and dismount from Roland. “I want a few more shots of Roland—nothing too strenuous, don’t worry. Rhett, can you walk Georgia back up to the house?”
I stiffen, annoyed that yet again I’ve ended up kissing Roland instead of getting intel. I glance at Rhett, who nods, despite the caged-tiger vibes he’s giving off. He leans his racket against the fence and slings a small towel over his shoulder before setting off through the gate.
For a few awkward minutes, we trudge up the path and then onto the sun-drenched lawn. He cuts off to the side and leads me around the back of the house.
“Why aren’t you with the others?” He doesn’t slow down as he speaks, and I have to jog to keep up with him.
“Wanted to get some extra time with Roland,” I huff.
“Cutthroat,” he says. He slows incrementally, hooking a half-smile. “I thought you were friends with the other women.”
We round the back corner of the mansion and make our way toward the pool deck. It’s shaded back here and I stop for a moment, catching my breath, as sweat drips down my face.
“We are friends,” I mutter. But in a few short weeks, they’ll find out why I’m really here, and any bridges I’ve built will be burned. Any friendships I make will disappear. It’s better not to get too attached.
Rhett stops a few feet ahead and looks back at me as I lean down, still gasping for breath. I should’ve taken Serena’s cardio tips more seriously.
“You’re going to have to increase your stamina if going uphill leaves you out of breath,” he mutters as he keeps walking.
Scowling, I follow him up the steps to the deck.
“If Roland wants stamina, he should just propose to Monica now.”
“Not sure he could keep up with her,” Rhett says. He cuts a path around the stagnant infinity pool and turns to face me when we get to the mansion’s back door.
I cross my arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He flips his sunglasses up on his head and leans against the doorframe, blocking my path. “Seems a little unfair that they already know each other, doesn’t it?” he says absently. He drums his fingers on the wall next to my face, wiggles his jaw from side to side.
I shrug. “I guess.”
Truthfully, I don’t mind that Monica and Roland have known each other for years, having toured together on the professional tennis circuit. It makes it less likely that he’ll fall for me, more likely that he’ll go for the safe option, the woman he already knows, who shares his interests. It’ll be one less heart I’m breaking.
