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I sank the final shot, and Winter let it sail past her. She’d clearly had enough, too.
Charles clapped and came to shake my hand. His was clammy. “Good game, son. You’re a natural. If you ever decide to try a different sport, you’re welcome to come here to the club with me and play, or maybe we could try out golf sometime.”
Pass. “Thank you for the invitation, I’ll be sure to take you up on it one day.”
“Do it soon. I’m not getting any younger.”
“Now, come on, Charles, you can’t expect a hockey player to appreciate the art of a game like golf.” The asshole had meandered over to us.
Winter was watching nervously from her position beside her mother, zipping the rackets into a bag.
“It’s Trent. Trent Fitzgerald, as I’m sure you remember,” Trent said, his lip lifting contemptuously as he extended his hand to me.
“Sorry, I don’t,” I said dismissively, and shook his hand with a hard grip.
His bones moved easily beneath his slack hold, and he grunted, pulling his hand from mine. I leaned in just close enough to be heard by Trent, and him only.
“I guess I’m having trouble placing you with your clothes on.”
Trent reared back, a scowl marring his phony expression.
I grinned at him. “I’m Asher.” Charles had arrived beside us, and Trent had to bite his tongue.
“Asher Martino, winger for the Hellions, I know. I’m sure you can agree that hockey is a game that prides brawn over brains,” he said in a superior tone.
“Watch a lot of hockey, do you?” I asked him baldly.
He shrugged. “Enough. I’m more of a football fan.” He turned to stare at Winter.
Charles chuckled and wandered away to grab some water, and we were alone.
“The view is certainly better,” Trent said.
It was clear he was referencing watching football just to creep on Winter. I fought the sudden urge to put this guy’s smug face through my racket.
“Shall we play one more game? Or are you too beat?” Trent said, stepping back and glancing around for approval. “I could go easy on you.”
Charles called over. “Don’t do it. Asher’s a stone-cold killer. What stamina…I wish you reminded me of myself when I was young. Sadly, I never had that much athletic prowess.”
“You were a hair away from winning,” I protested, purely for show. I’d made sure the score stayed close to even, not wanting to show up Winter’s dad.
Charles chuckled good-naturedly. “Untrue, but nice of you to say. Next time we play doubles, it’s you and me against the ladies.”
“Dad, how’s that fair?” Winter complained.
“Don’t be sexist, Your Majesty.” I grinned at Winter, and she rolled her eyes.
“So, Martino, what do you say to you and me, right now?” Trent pressed.
I’d have loved to show this guy up. Drive him into the ground, make him run and miss shot after shot until he gave up, but I had the feeling guys like Trent were like parasites. You really didn’t want to give them a chance to latch onto you, or you might never shake them off.
“As fun and easy as that sounds, I have to pass. I’ve got to take my girlfriend home.”
Trent flushed even pinker. I took the tennis bag from Winter and slung it over my shoulder.
Charles and Angela had drifted off, talking amongst themselves.
I put an arm around Winter’s waist and pulled her close to me as we walked away. She came along silently until we went inside the tennis clubhouse. It was bougie as hell. It even had an indoor pool.
