Mike blanched. “Shit, I thought you knew. She married that racecar driver over the weekend in Monaco. They kept it a pretty good secret until afterwards.”
Well, well, Alex had finally landed a dream husband. “Oh. Good for her, I guess.” The “relationship” between Alex and Luke had only been one of mutual convenience. Her days as a top supermodel were over, and being with Luke had kept her in the spotlight. They had seen each other only a few times a year but always made sure the paparazzi were on hand to take plenty of pictures.
After Luke’s career had dipped, she’d informed him that she was moving on. Luke played the heartbroken ex-boyfriend very successfully, and no one bothered him about his love life. Which was fine by him.
“Sorry, man. I know it still gets to you.” Mike clapped Luke on the back. “Come on, let’s call it a day and go grab a brew.”
Luke nodded and they headed to the players’ lounge in the club. Oceanside Tennis Club was just down the street from his house in Malibu, and Luke and Mike met regularly to hit with each other, as they did on tour. Without a coach, Luke needed someone to practice with, and Mike was easygoing and a good friend. A journeyman who’d never made it to the top of the game and never would, Mike kept slogging away year after year, making a living. At thirty-five, he was close to hanging up his racquet on the tour.
Naturally, the Australian Open played on the big-screen TV in the lounge. The German who had beaten Jesse McAllister, Stein Koehler, was on court playing for the championship.
“Did you see him play against that kid from UCLA in the third round? What’s his name? McAllister?” Luke tried to keep his voice casual.
Mike nodded as he stretched his arms over his head. He was an inch taller than Luke and well muscled, with close-cropped brown hair and a warm, open face. “Yeah, McAllister had a good third set, took him to a breaker. He just might follow your example and start winning Slams. But so far he never seems to be able to put it together when it counts.”
“He’s got the talent.”
“Yeah. You know, I hear he’s going to be playing out of Brookview again; he fired his coach in Florida and he’s moving back to LA.”
“Huh.” Luke sipped his beer and munched on a pretzel.
Mike looked at his watch and groaned. “I’d better get going, or Shelley will have my hide. I have to help Tara with her math homework or I’m in trouble. See you tomorrow.”
“Have a good one. And hey, tell Shell to stop feeding you so well—you’re getting a bit thick around the middle.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Mike laughed, playfully punching Luke in the shoulder as he left.
Luke ordered another beer and finished watching the match. He tried not to think about the fact that it should be him on court, the hot sun beating down, another title within his grasp.
“Brookview Golf and Country Club. How may I help you?” The young woman’s voice was crisp and pleasant.
“I’m trying to reach Jesse McAllister. I believe he’s going to be practicing at your tennis club again.” Luke’s throat was strangely dry. Why the hell was he doing this? He should just forget Jesse and focus on his training.
The woman hesitated. “I might be able to pass on a message.”
“It’s Luke Rossovich calling.”
“The Luke Rossovich? The tennis player?”
“The one and only.” Luke applied his practiced charm and could practically hear the woman’s composure melt.
“Oh my god, you were totally amazing the first time you won Wimbledon. And the second! Not to mention the third, of course! I’m such a big fan!”
“Thank you very much. What’s your name?”
“Amber.”
“Well, Amber, if you can get me Jesse McAllister’s number, I’ll be sure to send you an autographed picture.”
“Really? That would be so awesome,” she gushed. “Okay, just a second.” She put him on hold and was back in a minute with the number. She also gave him her phone number, along with her home address. Luke promised to send the picture soon and made a note to do it later. A promise was a promise, after all.
As he dialed Jesse’s number, he felt strangely nervous. It rang, and he considered hanging up, but then Jesse was speaking. “Hey, it’s Jesse. Blah, blah, blah, leave a message.”
Suddenly Luke was stammering into the phone. “Uh, it’s Luke Rossovich. I was thinking about what you said in Melbourne. Maybe it’s not a bad idea, playing doubles. I could teach you a thing or two. Call me back if you’re into it.”
He winced. Into it? He sounded like a teenager. He flopped down on the couch and turned on the TV, flipping the channels aimlessly until he settled on a rerun of a cop show he’d probably seen before.