Game, Set, Match (A Humorous Contemporary Romance) (Love Match) Read Free Page A

him. When had he grown up? How much time would she have with him? She pulled the casserole back out of the oven. “Fair enough, invite her to dinner here so I can get to know her, okay?”
    He nodded and indicated the boiled potatoes. “I can do that.” His gaze shifted, and he changed the subject. “Simon joining us tonight?”
    His pretended nonchalance didn’t fool her. Izzy looked up to find him grinning. No matter what she tried, the two of them had never bonded. “You’re cheeky, you know that? What’s wrong with Simon?”
    “You mean besides being boring, thinking he always knows best, and his not noticing that we hate wheatgrass?”
    Izzy tried to swat him with the towel, but he scuttled out of the way, laughing all the while. She sighed. Wished he didn’t have a point. Now sober, she handed him the premade salad bowl from the fridge. “I have something to talk to you about, Nick.”
    There must have been something in her voice. He stopped smiling. Serious brown eyes stared at her. “What’s wrong?”
    Shit . She didn’t mean to worry him. “No, Nick. Nothing’s wrong.” She moved to stand in front of him. Even at fourteen, he dwarfed her. “Your mom called. She’s coming back.”
    He put down the salad bowl and crossed his arms in stubborn refusal. “When?” His voice was steady, yet—hardened.  When had that happened?
    She shrugged. “She said about a month. Not really sure with her.”
    She watched him work his jaw back and forth. The motion was familiar to her, especially as he got older.
    “I don’t want to see her.”
    She put her arms around him and waited till he relaxed and hugged her back. “Unfortunately, Nick, we don’t have much of a choice.”

Chapter Two
     
    “Mr. Cartwright, do you care to comment on your relationship….”
    Jason slammed the phone down mid-question. He took several deep breaths to release the tension in his body. When he couldn’t control the muscles by will, he gave up the fight and let out a stream of curses. “Shit. Damn it. Shit. Shit.”
    Why is there such interest in my personal life?  If the barracudas weren’t camped out in the bushes to get a picture, they cyber stalked him and blogged about his latest party boy faux pas , or worse, somehow ferreted out his phone number no matter how many times he changed it. He tried not to imagine what they’d do if anyone found out why he and Arthur Michaels no longer trained together.
    Jason bit back a wince as he maneuvered both crutches and lumbered onto the balcony. His knee sent simultaneous bursts of pain and itch up and down his leg. Once settled, he glowered malevolently at his crutches, not sure if they helped or hindered.
    Damn, how the hell did I end up here?  He was supposed to be Jason Cartwright, number one seed and a true force to reckon with, on and off the courts. In reality, he was Jason Cartwright, gimpy, almost-has-been hoping for a comeback. All thanks to Michaels. If his own trainer didn’t believe in his comeback, who would?
    Feeling the burn from gripping the handles of the crutches too tightly, he forced his fingers to release, finger by finger. He would take responsibility, needed to. No one else would. He was in this mess because he put his trust in Michaels. He was in this mess because he hadn’t prepared himself for Michaels' betrayal. He should have protected himself. Now he had a torn ACL and a shattered career.
    The hell with it . He was in this mess because Michaels was a disloyal prick. “Shit.”
    The doorbell chimed a series of cheery tones reminiscent of the Brady Bunch, and it did little to improve his mood. He ignored the now dull throb accompanied by the ferocious itch in his leg as he hobbled to the door, only pausing to ditch the crutches against the wood sideboard in the sun-drenched hallway.   I could always use them to beat off the paparazzi.
    With a shake of his head, he thought better of it and continued on to the door. He didn’t need the paps to