Long Shot: A Second-Chance Sapphic Romance (Sapphics in the City Book 3), page 1
LONG SHOT
SAPPHICS IN THE CITY BOOK THREE
CARA PORTER
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Links
1
Mac
A thundering crack filled the empty court as Mackenzie slammed the tennis ball over the net. She’d exerted every ounce of force she could muster into the play, tensing her abs and driving from her hips. It would be impossible for her opponent to return. But when it landed just outside the singles’s line, Mac’s head dropped. Using her free hand, she flicked sweat from her forehead.
“I’m guessing you already know what you did wrong?” A familiar voice and footsteps approached from behind her.
Nodding, Mac groaned. “Yeah. Not enough follow-through.”
Barbara winked. “You gotta keep that arm up.”
Mac swung the racket by her side listlessly, letting the graphite drag against the acrylic court of the John McEnroe Tennis Academy.
“Distracted?” Babs grabbed a sweat towel from the front pocket of her joggers, holding it out for Mac.
Meeting her gaze and taking the towel, Mackenzie shrugged. Barbara hadn’t always been able to read her like a book, but a few years of coaching had made it nearly impossible for Mac to avoid her knowing eyes.
Babs patted her on the back. “Look, the first Open is coming up. Qualifying is still our first hurdle. Worrying about anything beyond that is useless until you’re actually in the tournament.”
“No pressure.” Mac rolled her eyes as she twirled the tennis racket in her hands. Her entire body tensed at the thought, but she tried to steady her breathing. With any luck, the French Open would be the first time Mac actually made it past the qualifying round.
“You know what BJK would say.” Babs eyed Mackenzie.
In unison, the player and the coach recited, “Pressure is a privilege.”
After giving Mac a pat on the back, Babs walked off the court and took her seat in the creaky bleachers. From across the court, Mac’s training partner got into position to serve a few practice shots. With a nod, Mac signaled her readiness. Milliseconds later, the ball was speeding toward her.
Turning her muscular, lean body, Mac sucked in as much air as her lungs would hold. Her strong, calloused fingers gripped the neck of her racket. With a tremendous grunt, Mac met the ball with the strings of her racket. A loud crack resounded through the indoor courts, drawing the eyes of other practicing players. When the ball landed inside the lines on the far back corner, Mac pumped her fists.
That’s more like it.
A few hours later, Babs finally dismissed Mackenzie to the locker room. Covered in sweat, Mac pushed open the women’s locker room door. Somehow it was more bustling inside than it was on the courts.
“Hey, Mackenzie,” One player nodded in Mac’s direction as she changed shirts.
Smiling back, Mac waved. “Lina, you looked good out there.” A Belgian player training in New York, Lina was preparing to make her debut in the U.S. Open in August. Luckily, that meant Mac didn’t have to worry about competition with her until the Summer.
Biting her lip, the TV playing Sports Central caught Mac’s eyes.
An anchor in a dark blue blazer laughed. “I mean, look at Taylor Young’s form here. No one, and I mean no one, is going to be able to take this prodigy out of the game this season.”
Mac watched the clip of Taylor’s training session. Her form was good. No… not just good: near perfect. There was hardly a hair out of place on her head. And it filled Mac with rage.
Ripping open her duffel bag, Mac gathered her shower caddy.
The anchor continued, “And we see no sign of a boyfriend in Taylor Young’s corner. So, gentlemen, keep your eyes out for this little lady.”
The entire locker room exploded with a collective retch.
“Grow up.” Lina rolled her eyes.
Mac laughed. “Seriously, these guys need to get a life.” Trying to hide her knowing smirk, Mac headed toward the showers. All the hosts on those shows tried to set up these professional women players with some random dude in a bar. It was always gross. But Mac knew something the rest of these players had only heard whispers of. That only matters if she ever feels like she can be herself without destroying her parents legacy, though.
Walking down the corridor toward the showers, Mac’s eyes caught on a black and white shot of Kimberly Young smashing a ball across the grass courts at Wimbledon. Mac sighed as she shook her head.
From behind her, a familiar voice grumbled in her ears. “We can only dream of being half as good as Kim Parker.”
Mac nodded as she turned to meet the gaze of her friend, Jazz. “You know, I think we might have it in us.”
Still fresh-faced, Jazz laughed at Mac. “Even after that clip of Taylor, you still think any of us stand a chance?”
“No one likes a nepo baby.” Mac gritted her teeth as she looked back to the screen. After just five minutes on women’s sports, the anchors had gone back to their nonstop coverage of men’s games.
Jazz rested her hand on Mac’s shoulder. “Still holding that grudge?”
Mac rolled her eyes. “Not a grudge. She’s just had everything handed to her, and I don’t think that builds a strong player.”
“Strong enough to win all the Opens last season.” Jazz shrugged. She looked down at her watch, realizing it was time to hit the courts. “I’ll catch you later. Try not to get too angsty while I’m gone.”
Before Mac could find a witty reply, Jazz was pushing open the locker room doors. Mac didn’t have long before she needed to be back in Manhattan. And given how inconsistent the buses out of Randall’s Island were, she needed to hustle.
I can’t be late.
2
Taylor
“Don’t you dare drop that racket.” Kimberly Young’s voice echoed off the stone surrounding the clay court.
Taylor’s head dropped at the sound of her mom’s voice. Clenching her jaw and catching her breath, Taylor grumbled. “I won’t.”
Kimberly shook her head and walked closer. “Louder!”
“I won’t drop my racket.” Taylor gasped for air. Sweat dripped down her forehead, the baseball cap on her head too soaked to absorb any more. Careful to keep her racket from touching the ground, Taylor moved back to her starting position.
Her practice partner, a retired player from Belarus, stared at Taylor as she waited for Kimberly’s signal. It had been clear to Taylor from a very young age that her practice partners were never there to help her. No, they were there for her mom and no one else. Even if Taylor begged for medical attention, another ball would be flying toward her at her mother’s command.
But as another round of shots came zipping across the court, Taylor reminded herself not to be too hard on her mom. Everything Kimberly did was to ensure Taylor’s success. Even the private courts that Taylor practiced on now were built long after Kim had retired.
Taylor stretched to hit the incoming ball with her forehand, just barely making contact in time. Her feet slid slightly on the orange clay, leaving a long trench where her foot dragged.
Resetting her position, Taylor walked to her baseline at the back of the court. As soon as her back was turned, a ball boy ran out onto the court with a wide broom and swept away the divet. Taylor nodded her appreciation to the young man.
Kim waved him off as soon as Taylor turned to face her opponent. “Again!”
The late spring sun beat down on Taylor’s body as she played for another two hours. Eventually, Kim was satisfied with the session and dismissed Taylor’s practice partner. Only then did Taylor collapse into the dust of the court.
I definitely just stained this skirt. Taylor shook her head as she tried to steady her heart rate.
A shadow eclipsed the harsh sun, protecting Taylor from its burning light. “This is what Roland Garros feels like. The sun is unrelenting that close to the equator. The humidity is even worse. You need to be ready.”
“I am ready.” Taylor shaded her eyes as she looked up at her mother’s towering figure. She had won the last two French Opens she had competed in. “It’s not my first time on the circuit.”
Kimberly laughed as she turned toward the exit, the sun beating down on Taylor again. A wince escaped her lips as she tried to cover her eyes from what could only be described as a death ray.
From over her shoulder, Kim
A moment later, Taylor was alone on the court… except for the court attendant who stood off to the side with a towel.
It took Taylor a few minutes to stand up from the clay. She clapped her hands together, a cloud of dust rising as she cleaned off her hands. As soon as she stood, the attendant – Kayla – jogged over and passed Taylor the towel.
“Thanks, Kayla.” Taylor smiled, her hands barely strong enough to grip the fabric. Leaving the court, Taylor made her way toward the pool. There was no point in showering since Kim would just make her come back to the court in a few hours for more practice.
But Taylor shivered as she felt the caked on sweat and dust covering her skin. Trying to recenter, she looked up at the massive evergreens that covered the property. If she listened hard enough, she could hear the sound of the waves lapping against the Long Island shore.
As she walked up the hill toward the house, Taylor felt her body starting to relax. Her shoulders dropped as she took in another breath of fresh air.
But all of her peace dissipated when she reached the crest and the towering mansion came into view. The marble exterior with black trim sent a jolt of anxiety through Taylor’s being.
Shaking her head, she looked away and turned her attention to the glimmering water instead. The glass front of the infinity pool overlooked a private beach. The view was completely unobstructed: just sand and ocean as far as the eye could see.
Tossing the towel onto the lounge chair, Taylor checked her phone. There were a few texts, almost all of them from her publicist.
Need to get you a man. Sports Central is starting to ask questions.
“Ughhh.” Taylor groaned as she lobbed her phone into a nearby pile of towels and fled toward the water. There were three people in the world who knew Taylor’s big secret: her dad, Kim, and her publicist.
As she perched at the edge of the diving board, her toes curling against the sturdy aluminum, Taylor sighed. And maybe one other… But Taylor couldn’t even bring herself to think her name, let alone say it.
Sucking in air, Taylor bent her knees and launched herself into the cold water of the in-ground pool. As her body sunk to the bottom, Taylor opened her eyes. It was the only place she was truly alone.
So, she opened her mouth and let out a blood curdling scream.
3
Mac
The last thing Mac wanted to do after practice and a hot shower was descend into the humid hellscape that was the New York City subway. But what other choice was there? As she walked down the steps toward the 6 train, Mac swiped her card and maneuvered her black duffel bag around the turnstile.
She’d make it to the office just in time. Hopefully, Tommy wouldn't mind that she was still in her gym clothes.
As the train doors slid open, Mac snagged a seat right by the exit. Luckily, it was the middle of a work day; most commuters had already made it into their offices, so the train was relatively empty. Mac’s shoulders dropped as she settled into the seat.
A quick scan of social media showed far too many clips of Taylor Young. Mac’s jaw clenched at the sight of her. Calling her an ex wouldn’t be accurate… but she wasn’t not Mac’s ex. Mac chuckled thinking of the conniption Taylor's PR team would have if she ever made that claim.
The rocking of the train hit a comforting rhythm just as the exhaustion of a grueling early morning practice started to hit Mac. With each sway of the train, Mac’s eyes grew heavier. As her eyelids closed, the image of swaying trees flooded her mind.
Soon, the sound of rustling leaves filled her mind.
Mackenzie ran through the woods, sprinting toward the lake. Behind her, the patter of smaller footsteps closed in. A giggle rose from her chest.
“Tay, stop!” Mac laughed as she reached the edge of the lake. Wearing a pair of denim shorts, a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and a pair of beat up sneakers, Mac whipped around toward the incoming noise.
Tennis racket in hand, Taylor Young broke through the treeline and jumped toward Mackenzie. “Got you!” Taylor lifted the racket and swooped Mac up in a hug.
Mac giggled as they rocked back and forth, the smell of Taylor’s sweet hair wafting into her nose. It somehow overpowered the smell of the lake.
“Wanna play water tennis?” Taylor asked, a giddy smile taking over her face as she squeezed Mac tighter.
Groaning, Mackenzie shook her head. “My mom will be pissed if I ruin this racket. It’s my only one.”
Taylor rubbed her chin, wearing a mischievous grin that would be etched into Mac’s brain for the next decade. “What if you use one of my old ones in the lake? I have too many anyway.”
Mac crossed her arms, breaking the hug the pair was locked in. “No, it’s okay. You should just ask one of the other girls.”
“No,” Taylor shook her head, placing her hands on Mac’s shoulders. A jolt of nervousness passed through Mac’s body, Taylor’s hands radiating warmth into her tired shoulders. “I want to go in the lake with you.”
“Please stand clear of the closing doors.” The jarring voice of the automated announcer ripped Mac from her memory.
Looking up at the map, Mac realized it was her stop. “Crap!” She jumped up from her seat and slipped through the sliding doors. The end of her duffel bag jostled on the closing door but just narrowly escaped the train car.
She made it just in time. She caught her breath while the train squealed along to its next stop. Once the platform quieted, Mac took one more deep breath and climbed up the steps, pushing open the exit door before finally reaching the surface. Each step shook the memory of Taylor from Mac’s mind a little more.
The loud bustle of Manhattan smacked her in the face. Taxis zipped by, sirens blared, and business people shoved past. She tried to fit into the crowd, to hide how flustered she felt, but the city was a far cry from the small town she grew up in. Mackenzie wondered if she’d ever feel like she fit in here.
After a few blocks, Mac arrived at the front SDO Management. With a deep breath, she pushed open the heavy, glass door and smiled at the security guard as she approached the front desk. “Hey, I’m here to see Tommy.”
“Mac, I know.” Jerry laughed from the desk. “I saw some clips of your training; you’re looking good. Are you ready for Garros?”
Mac’s body tensed at the question. “I fucking hope so. Barbara has been pushing me pretty hard.”
Jerry patted Mac on the shoulder. “Well, that’s what she’s there for. Got an extra ticket?” He asked with a wink.
Blowing a raspberry, Mac scoffed. “I could barely convince Babs that my mom should come, let alone my best friend.”
Jerry clutched his heart. “Aw, I’m your best friend?”
With a roll of her eyes, Mac rushed toward the elevators. “Of course you are, Jer!”
Just as she was about to push the “up” button, the door swung open. A woman in killer pumps waltzed out of the elevator, her phone up to her ear. As Mac stumbled back, the woman scanned her figure, raising an eyebrow and nodding her praise at Mac’s muscular physique.
Mac blushed slightly, enjoying the admiration as she slipped into the elevator and selected her floor. When the doors opened again, Mac was greeted by SDO’s receptionist.
“Morning, Ms. Bennett.” Agatha smiled.
“Hey, Agatha. Just here to see Tommy.” Mac scanned the floor for her agent.
Her eyes landed on a towering businesswoman. Tommy beamed when she spotted Mac, waving her into her private office. Mac thanked the receptionist and skillfully weaved through the field of cubicles, careful to keep her duffel pinned to her body. Her sneakers slid smoothly over the polished hardwood floors, their traction completely worn from training. I really need to buy a new pair…
Mac shook the thought as she stepped into Tommy’s immaculate office. Glass walls surrounded a gorgeous walnut desk. Behind Tommy’s chair was a view of Manhattan’s uptown.
Tommy gestured for Mac to shut the door behind her with a wide grin. “So, how’s the training? Are you going to win us the French Open?”
Mac swung the door shut a bit too quickly, underestimating its weight. The unexpected thud made her jump. “Why is everyone asking me that? I haven’t even qualified for a Grand Slam yet.”
