Page 37 of Filthy Little Regrets (Princes of NYC #2)
twenty-four
CASSIA
A flurry of texts hit my phone Sunday morning. Mace is busy in the gym, doing the lord’s work, and I’m... busy lounging in the pool. Leaving one forearm on the edge of the pool, I grab my phone with the other and unlock it.
I check the message thread with Ian first, frowning at all the unanswered texts. I tap out a quick message, shake my head, and delete it. If he hasn’t responded by now, he probably won’t. I’m still pissed off, but I’m starting to get worried.
Another alert dings, and I jump to a group chat that I didn’t start. My forehead wrinkles at the unknown numbers.
UNKNOWN 1
Hi, Cassia! I know Mace is boring, do you need rescuing?
UNKNOWN 2
Excuse Melody, she has no filter.
MELODY
And Adalie needs to lose hers.
ADALIE
You realize she’ll never want to hang out with us if you keep it up, right?
MELODY: Cassia, will you pretty please come to the tennis club with us?
Chewing on my cheek, I glance around the pool room as the distant clang of Mace’s workout equipment filters through the house.
I’m not much of a people person. His sisters seem nice, though, and I should give them a chance.
Between staying here with Mace, who has been handsy all morning, and hanging out with his sisters, they seem like the lesser evil.
If I stay, I’ll definitely take him for another ride, something that would make him way too happy. He’s already acting obnoxiously pleased with himself after the bathroom sex incident.
ADALIE
It’s totally okay if you don’t want to come! We understand it’s last minute and you’re probably busy.
Ugh. She’s so nice. How can I say no now?
I’ll come, but I need to shower.
MELODY
Perfect. Elliot knows where to go. Bring your game face.
CASSIA
Should I be worried?
ADALIE
Absolutely. She’s terrifying.
Smirking, I lock the device and hold it up, wading through the water toward the stairs.
Another bang comes from the gym. I eye the pool room door.
Can I shower and leave before he’s done?
Imagining the irritation on his face when he finds out I’ve slipped out without saying goodbye has me scurrying upstairs. Mace deserves a little torture.
Elliot pulls into the clubhouse parking lot.
Women clad in designer tennis skirts and tank tops congregate around the entrance of the tennis club.
Their hair is all glossy, skin perfectly moisturized, teeth gleaming white.
Is this some type of Stepford Wife processing plant?
We’re not in the middle class anymore, Toto .
Thank fuck I own one pair of running shorts.
They’re not designer, and the loose band tee is definitely out of place, but it is what it is.
I’m not here to impress anyone. Still, nerves flutter in my stomach, the familiar anxiety that accompanies socializing buzzing through me.
Mace’s sisters inch toward the car as it rolls to a stop at the curbside. Adalie is wearing tight purple shorts and matching crop-bra. She’s so lithe and fit. Melody is wearing a black skirt, a neon pink tank, and a bright smile as she opens the door before Elliot even has a chance.
“I’ve always wanted a sister,” she says, resting her arm on the top of the door and stepping to the side so I can get out.
Adalie swats her. “Asshole.”
Melody giggles. “I meant another sister. I’ve always wanted another sister.”
The summer humidity presses down on me. With a clear sky and temperatures in the low nineties, my skin is already begging for another layer of sunscreen. I’ll be lucky if I don’t turn bright pink by the end of the day.
“Uh-huh,” Adalie says, rolling her eyes and then glancing at me. “Ready to get your ass kicked?”
Their easy banter loosens the tension between my shoulders, and I lift my eyebrows. “Is this some type of hazing?”
“Oh god, no,” she says quickly. “Melody has no sense of mercy, that’s all.”
Melody tips her head and grins. “I promise to play nice.”
The clubhouse is outlined in well-maintained shrubs and copious amounts of vibrant petunias in just about every color imaginable.
We head to the entrance, bypassing a cute coffee stand and the rich and bitter scent of roasted beans, and I can’t help noticing the glances cast in our direction.
None of the other women seem particularly happy to see Adalie, but they look at Melody like she’s the bane of their existence.
Oh, good. There’s drama. This is just what my anxiety needs. Luckily, today it’s leaning more toward anger than debilitating panic.
“So, why do those ladies hate you?” I ask.
When Melody glances over at them, her features smooth and a serene smile appears. She twinkles her fingers at them. “There was a falling out last year.”
“Meaning,” Adalie begins, scanning us in and hooking her arm in mine, “that Chelsea’s husband tried to force himself on Melody at a Christmas party, and when Mace found out, Mace broke his jaw.”
“Jesus.”
We pass court after court. A black chain-link fence separates each one.
The blue playing area is outlined in pristine white lines and surrounded by lush green turf and tall lights that allow for after-dark play time.
Behind the courts is the main clubhouse and restaurant, which has a bar and seating area, but each court has its own table and pergola for the less sociable players.
These courts are way nicer than the ones I played at in high school.
“Oh, he definitely deserved it. Chelsea lied and told everyone that Melody threw herself at Sean, called her a few choice words, and the rumors spread like wildfire.”
A guy grunts and dashes across his court to get to the ball, barely hitting it back toward his opponent in time with a solid smack . His shoes squeak as he jogs back to center position.
“Whatever,” Melody mutters, shaking her head. “They may call me a slut, but I can still beat them in tennis any day.”
Adalie glances at me. “She acts like it doesn’t bother her, but it does.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Melody snaps, tossing an annoyed look at her sister. Frowning, she rolls her eyes and sighs. “Fine. Maybe a little bit, but they’re assholes. I don’t need them.”
“Because you have us,” Adalie says as Melody stops in front of a court.
Two attendants rush over; one has glass water bottles at the ready and the other has rackets for us.
“We pay to store ours,” Melody explains, handing one to me, and it’s only then I notice her biceps. She’s not ripped, but those are some big guns for someone so lithe. “This is one of my older ones. How does it feel?”
I test out the weight, adjust a few strings, and take two practice swings. Perfect. Beyond perfect. It’s really nice, but I don’t want to embarrass myself, so I simply say, “It’ll work.”
She nods, thanks the attendants, and grabs a ball from a fancy dispenser next to the entrance of the court. Bouncing it, she flashes a wicked grin in my direction. “Ready?”
Oh, I am so totally fucked.
“Come on, is that all you’ve got!?” Melody screams at me as she scores yet another point.
I thought I was playing pretty well until I realized she was going easy on me, but all bets were off when the courts on either side of us filled up. “I thought you said you’d be nice!”
“I’m encouraging you,” she says, serving the ball. It sails in my direction, and I move up and smack it back.
My legs and boobs are pissed at me. I’m covered in sweat.
My skin is tight. It’s ridiculously hot, and furthermore, compared to Melody, I’m not even close to being good at tennis.
There’s a reason I prefer swimming. When she hits it back, I’m not fast enough to get to it.
She whoops in excitement, and I stop, placing my hands on my thighs and sucking in a heavy breath.
Melody’s white sneakers stop before me. “Maybe we should take a break?”
Tipping my head up, I squint at her. “You think?”
She laughs. “Aw, come on. Wasn’t that fun?”
“I think you’re a sadist.”
Adalie snickers. “You should see her try to flirt. She can be mean.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes men deserve it.” Melody pats me on the back. Maybe a consolation for how much I suck? “Thirsty?”
Straightening, I smooth my sweat-soaked bangs away from my face and nod. “I need an IV.” With Melody being so intense to play against, I didn’t have time to focus on our surroundings, but as we exit the court, I glance to the left and immediately regret it.
Dread drops into the pit of my stomach. Ellen and Bethany are sneering at me, whispering to one another. High school is well behind us, but I guess some things never change.
Melody and Adalie are chatting, and I pull my gaze away from the jerks who used to make my life hell, trying to focus on the present, but my chest tightens anyway, warning me of the danger nearby.
I take a seat at the table by our court, grab the water, and guzzle it.
“I ordered some snacks,” Adalie says. “Oh, and Mace texted me. He told me to tell you that you’re in trouble.”
Scoffing, I set the glass bottle down and roll my eyes. “You can tell him that I said?—”
“Hey, Cassia,” Bethany cuts me off. The annoying high pitch of her voice is like nails scraping across my skin.
Jaw clenching, I turn. “Hi.”
She hasn’t changed much. Her bleach blonde hair is piled in a sleek bun and her French-manicured nails rest on her hips. Ellen, her best friend and sometimes worst enemy, stands beside her, also blonde but more strawberry than white.
“You’re looking...” Bethany trails off with a nose wrinkle. “Well, anyway, we heard you managed to finally find a sugar daddy.”
I tip my head. “And I heard you still can’t keep a boyfriend and that Ellen slept with the last one.”
Bethany sucks in a breath and narrows her eyes, avoiding looking at her friend, who glares at me.
“How’s your husband?” Ellen asks with a vicious smile. “I tried to call him, but?—”
Adalie, the person I least expected to confront someone, bolts out of her seat. “I know you two are not stupid enough to come over here and try to start shit.”