K. Linde - Off the Record

Pulling into the parking lot, Liz cut the engine and slid out of her silver Honda Accord. Her muscles tensed as she swung the racket methodically, anticipating the impending exercise. It was hard to think about much else when a small tennis ball was whizzing toward you.

She walked into the clubhouse with a smile. A teenage boy ogled her from behind the counter as she checked in.

“Is Tana in today?” Liz asked hopefully.

“Uhh,” the guy hesitated, trying to look cool and failing. “Let me check.” He stared down at a piece of paper for a second and then nodded. “Yeah, I think she’s with a student right now, though.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you. Is there anyone else teaching today who isn’t paired with someone?” she asked.

He checked the paper again. “Hank doesn’t have anyone for the next half hour. Want me to get him?”

Liz groaned. She didn’t like Hank. He was all power, all bulk. He didn’t understand the finesse that her instructors had always drilled into her. He thought that he could overpower his opponents and typically worked with students with a bit more muscle mass than her. But really maybe she needed to muscle Brady out of her thoughts.

“Hank will do,” she said softly.

The boy radioed for Hank as Liz walked out of the clubhouse and toward the tennis courts. The sun was already overhead beating down on her, and it was proving to be a blisteringly hot day. Running around on the court with no protection from the sun, pouring her heart and soul into the movements—yeah, that sounded like the perfect afternoon.

Hank appeared on the court a couple minutes later. He was in his late twenties and had played tennis in college, though not for Chapel Hill. He was one of those guys who had decided to coach to make extra money after he graduated, and never stopped. He was over six feet tall with broad muscular shoulders and a buzzed blond haircut. She secretly wondered whether he was balding and trying to hide the receding hairline.

“Morning, Hank,” she said politely.

“Been a while since I’ve seen you, Liz,” he said with a toothy smile that she had grown accustomed to.

“I didn’t have an appointment with Tana.”

“Well, I only have thirty minutes. So let’s get started,” he said. Hank walked across to the other side of the tennis court. He stood imposingly across the net from her and she took a moment to ready herself.

She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. She could hear the players on either side of her court. Thwack. Pause. Thwack. Pause. Thwack. That was the right rhythm. That was the beat of her drum. The air buzzed all around her, and everything felt singled down to this one second.

Her vision narrowed as she focused in on Hank tapping the ball against the hard green surface and catching it repeatedly. He spun the racket in his hand, letting it rotate three times before grasping it tightly. He bounced the ball against his racket twice and she saw him smile. She knew then that he was ready.

He threw the ball overhead and, when it crested the peak, smacked it with the racket. She took one steadying breath as it sailed toward her as fast as he could muster—and that was pretty fast. Liz jostled her feet back and forth as the ball hit the opposite corner, and then she returned it with a powerful swing.

They volleyed back and forth for position, each coming out ahead at one point or another. It wasn’t an even match. Liz knew that going into it. Even if she had more skill in the subtleties, he was overall a more skilled player than she was. When he won, he gloated, but it was better than if she had beaten him. He was a sore loser too.

Liz tossed her racket onto the ground and rested her hands on her knees. Her breathing was coming out in gasps and sweat poured down her back, chest, and forehead. Some of it spilled into her eyes and she had to blink away the salt. She wiped her face with the back of her forearm. It didn’t help much, but it didn’t make it any worse.

“I’m beat,” she said, feeling like flopping over onto the court right then and there.

“You put up a good match,” Hank said, paying her a compliment. That was unusual.

“Thanks, but you kicked my ass.”

“You held your own. Whatever Tana’s doing over there, she’s doing it right. You should come work out with me more often,” he said with that same toothy smile.

“I don’t think my body can take it,” she groaned, straightening with difficulty.

“Next time, I won’t go easy on you.” Hank smacked her back good-naturedly and she nearly fell over. He chuckled and helped right her. They walked back down toward the clubhouse together. Liz’s breathing still wasn’t even by the time they got there.

“I have another student, but you really should come back and play sometime, Liz. Hard to find good opponents who aren’t instructors,” he told her.

Liz nodded. Exhaustion was already taking over. “Yeah, I’ll be around. I’m working on the paper, running the election column and following the races. I think I’ll be swamped, but let me know when you’re open and I’ll work around it.”

“Oh yeah! I read your article about Brady,” Hank said, snapping his finger like it had just come to him.

“Yeah, did you like it?” Liz asked.

“I thought it was good. I like Brady, though, man. He’s a good guy.”

“Do you uh…know him?” Even here, when she had let herself get to the point of exhaustion, she couldn’t escape him.

“Yeah, he played basketball here my junior and senior years of college. I came home to every game that I could,” Hank told her.

“Cool,” she said with a shrug.

“Next article should be about his career here playing basketball. Do you know how many points he scored or how many games he started in?” Hank asked.

Liz just smiled. “No, I don’t.”

“I can write up a profile for you for your next piece. Just quote me,” he said with that grin.

“I’m sure it’s available on the Internet.”

Hank laughed. “You’re probably right. Let me know when you’re free for another game.”

“Will do. See you around,” she said, waving as she walked out of the club.

It only took a couple minutes to get back to her house, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Brady. Even when she was playing tennis, smacking a tennis ball as hard as she possibly could, he still returned.

She turned the water on cold in the shower when she got home and washed her workout off of her skin. She didn’t normally like cold showers, but it had been so hot outside that it was the only thing she could stomach at the moment. Plus, it woke her up some.

Maybe she was being ridiculous about the whole thing. Maybe she and Brady could start whatever they were about to start and everything would be fine. If only she could stop obsessing in his absence. It had to be the reporter side of her coming out, trying to fit the facts into the puzzle. The truth was that there weren’t many details to consider, just a whole hell of a lot of hypotheticals. To move forward, she needed to push past the hypothetical and settle in on what she did know. Accept those facts and move forward.

So what did she know?

Brady wanted her. He wanted her badly enough to risk continuing to see her when it had the potential to hurt both of their careers if they got caught.

She really wanted Brady. If the fact that she couldn’t get him out of her head and she had felt like she was walking through a black-and-white movie in his absence wasn’t enough to prove that, then she didn’t know what would.

Yes, well…that was it. That was all she knew.

That was all she needed to know.

Liz stepped out of her shower, wrapped a towel around her wet body, and grabbed her phone off of the counter.

“Hello, Senator Maxwell’s office,” a woman answered.

“Yes, hello,” Liz said, trying to keep her voice strong. “I’m trying to reach the Senator.”

“Who may I say is calling?”

Liz took a deep breath. “Sandy Carmichael.”

Liz couldn’t have been on hold for more than a couple minutes, but it felt like an eternity. She thought about hanging up. Maybe he wouldn’t actually answer anyway. But inevitably she had decided against it. She had mustered up the courage to go through with it, and she wasn’t going to back out now.

She heard rustling on the other end and straightened in her seat. He couldn’t see her, but it didn’t matter.

“Ms. Carmichael, what a pleasant surprise,” Brady answered.

Liz swooned in her seat. She had already forgotten how his deep voice affected her. Even when he was talking to her as if she was a reporter and not…well, whatever she was, it was still very attractive.

“Brady,” she murmured into the phone.

“Yes, it’s great to hear from you too,” he said cheerfully. He was using his campaign voice. He cleared his throat and all but whispered into the phone, “Give me a minute.”

She heard more rustling coming from the other end and she wondered if he was switching rooms or trying to find privacy. Was this what it would always be like?

“Hey,” he said, losing the campaign-coated speech for his more personal tone. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

“You didn’t want to?”

“I wasn’t expecting to. There’s a difference. I always want to hear from you,” he said smoothly.

Liz smiled despite herself. She didn’t mind being flattered. “With that attitude, how did you expect me to wait?”

“I didn’t,” he said. She wondered if he was smirking. She closed her eyes and thought about the way his eyes looked down upon her deviously. It made her swallow and cross her legs.