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“Do 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.