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probation, so I knew that meant all the staff and probably some of
the players would be keeping a close eye on me. Nadia would be for sure. I
intended to give them absolutely no cause for concern. Not that I had before,
anyway. But now I would be a model pupil and prove to them that it had been a
silly one-off and that I was as committed as ever to becoming a damn good
tennis player.
    Clambering out of my car—I was still getting used to
everything being back-to-front—I hit the asphalt then grabbed my bag from the
rear seat. Closing and locking the vehicle, I straightened before crossing the
car park toward the academy. Just as I was going in, Mitchell Adair—the guy who
had helped me to my hotel room in New York—came out.
    “Hey, Mitchell,” I said, grinning. At the same time I
watched carefully for his reaction. His smile was genuine, reaching his eyes
and crinkling their corners. Actually he was pretty adorable. You know, if you
liked that sort of thing. I betted he had women lining up for him.
    “Hey, Virginia. How’s it going?”
    “Good, thanks. Thanks to you getting me out of that bar before
things went—”
    He cut me off. “Hey, I already told y’all, forget about it.
Shit happens. I’m just glad I was able to help you.”
    “I’m still embarrassed.”
    “Sweetie, please. I’m from one of the bad parts of Chicago.
I’ve seen worse. Much worse.” He shrugged. “You were just having a little too
much of a good time, that’s all. I know you won’t do it again.” He tipped me a
wink. “Look, I gotta go. But I’ll see you around, okay?”
    I nodded. “Yeah, see you around.”
    Shaking my head, I entered the building. God, I was doing a
rubbish job at putting it behind me, wasn’t I? I blamed it on my Britishness.
We apologize to people all the time—even when something isn’t our fault—so I’d
obviously sent my conscience into meltdown.
    Come on, V. Get over it. Everyone else has. If someone
else brings it up, fine. But you don’t need to keep dredging it up.
    Heading toward the changing rooms, I cemented that thought
in my mind. I knew I’d feel better before long anyway. I hadn’t done any
training since the day before we all went to New York, so I was massively out
of practice. Hitting the gym and playing some friendly games would do me a
world of good. Seeing Nadia again wouldn’t do any harm either.
    Pushing open the door, I entered the plush palace that my
colleagues called the locker rooms—it was laughable. They were so much more
than that and reminded me just how lucky I was to be there. Many stars had
aligned to get me from a ratty tennis court in a park in south London to the
world’s top training facility. Mainly, though, it was down to my old coach. I’d
loved tennis even before I played it—watching matches on the television and
eventually seeing the real thing at Wimbledon. When I got a racket in my hand,
though, I quickly got hooked.
    Progressing from being a kid with a private tutor to a
superior player in the UK and European tournaments had actually been pretty
easy for me. It wasn’t ego talking, either, but plain facts. I’d fallen for the
game in a big way and it had become my life. I just wasn’t interested in
anything else. My parents had insisted that I try hard with my
education—threatening to stop paying for my tennis tuition otherwise—but once
I’d finished my compulsory education that had been it—there’d been no stopping
me.
    Bringing myself back to the present, I pulled out my racket
before dumping the rest of my stuff in my locker. Then I checked my laces and
my hair—two things that could totally screw up a game if they weren’t right—and
walked deeper into the area to see if there was anyone around who wanted to
knock a few balls around. It was oddly deserted and the only sound was a
shower. I wasn’t about to barge in there, so I turned to leave. There was bound
to be someone around. Just as I passed the little corridor that housed