Game, Set, Match by JENNIFER IACOPELLI is a new sports romance set at an elite tennis academy. Read on for an extract.

 

 

ABOUT THE BOOK

Penny Harrison is a tennis icon in-the-making, and, with the upcoming Grand Slam in Paris, there’s no room for mistakes.

But when she returns to train at the prestigious Outer Banks Tennis Club, she comes face to face with the biggest mistake she ever made: Alex Russell.

To keep her head in the game, Penny leans on two other rising stars, Jasmine and Indiana, who are balancing tennis with their own off-the-court romances.

As the days tick down to Paris, Penny knows she needs to focus to win… so why can’t she stay away from the one guy who could ruin everything?

 

**********

 

EXTRACT

 

PROLOGUE

Estadio de Tenis
Madrid, Spain

‘ONCE YOU HAVE HER DOWN, YOU CAN’T LET HER UP AGAIN,’ Penny Harrison whispered to herself as the noise from the sold‑out stadium crowd washed over her. ‘Never give an opponent hope. Finish her, Penny. Finish her now.’

Blinking down at the red clay and the formerly white tips of her sneakers, she swiped her wrist across her forehead and brushed away rivulets of sweat. She tucked the wayward strands of dark brown hair escaping her braid behind her ears.

She needed to be steady to win this. But steadiness was difficult with everyone still roaring after her last point.

‘One at a time,’ Penny told herself. ‘One at a time.’

With a deep breath and then another, she filled her lung and exhaled, slowing her heart rate, bringing herself back under control or at least trying to – it was a lot harder than usual. Then again, she’d never been in a situation this big before. Three points from a win against Zina Lutrova, the best tennis player in the world, this would easily be the biggest moment of Penny’s career and she would prove all the naysayers wrong. All the so‑called experts had blasted her after her loss in Australia. They said she wasn’t ready for the big time. Three more points and they would be eating their words

She couldn’t help the rush of excitement that flowed through her body, and the shiver that followed, goose bumps rising across her skin. The last time she’d felt like that she wasn’t on the court, she was with him. A flash of blue eyes and tanned skin and a well- earned cocky grin invaded her mind, undoing all that breath work in an instant.

Penny had been striving for this moment her entire life, and now she was here, on the precipice of something great. She was not about to let anything get in the way of that, certainly not some guy.

Focus, she needed to focus.

Across the net, Lutrova waited, bent at the waist and crouched low like a cobra ready to strike. Most people facing Zina completely lost it the second they caught the icy-blue gaze of the Russian superstar, but Penny wasn’t scared, at least not anymore. She was about to prove she was as good as the world number one.

The crowd murmured, an anxious wave of sound, equal parts hope and dread.

The umpire, high atop his chair, shushed them. ‘Silencio, por favor.’

Penny approached the baseline; the crowd’s collective voice faded to a distant hum, but they were behind her, pulling for her, willing her to win. Everyone loved an under‑dog. Her body was loose now, almost relaxed, and the world slowed down around her, nice and easy.

‘Time to finish this,’ she whispered.

One bounce, then two, three, and four in perfect rhythm. Her body weight shifted forward and then back, arms up, racket ready, the ball suspended above her head. She pushed into the ground, then sprung up and out, racket face hammering a clean stroke, skimming it off the white chalk T in the centre of the court.

Penny’s feet hit the ground together, balanced and ready for a return that never came. The ball whistled by Lutrova’s desperate lunge and pounded into the wall behind her.

An ace.

30–love.

**********

 

Santa Monica Community College
Santa Monica, California

‘So, I told them I’m an entrepreneur and as soon as the app goes live I’m going to be rich,’ the flushed- face, lanky guy said, leaning forward with one elbow on the library table and his other hand jabbing at the air. ‘I’ll sell it to the highest bidder and my parents will finally stop being on my ass about this school shit. I mean look at all these people, it’s pathetic.’

Pathetic wasn’t the word Indiana Gaffney would have used to describe the students around her. The library was crowded for a Sunday morning, and when the guy from her bio class spotted an empty seat at the table she’d claimed for herself, he sat down without invitation, started talking… and hadn’t stopped for nearly an hour. She couldn’t remember his name and he hadn’t paused long enough for her to ask or, really, for her to say anything at all.

Occasionally, she would flick her eyes up from her laptop, hoping he would get the hint that she didn’t have time for his shit. She was mostly working on her final bio lab report of the spring semester, but also keeping an eye on her phone, propped up against the screen, where a young tennis player, barely older than her, hair pulled back in a neat brown braid, walked across the screen bouncing a ball against her racket into the red clay surface of a court in Madrid.

Indy felt a small pang inside her chest.

Rolling her neck, Indy flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder, revealing the earbud firmly in place and raising the volume on her phone, completely drowning out her tablemate since he wouldn’t take the hint. If Penny Harrison was going to beat Zina Lutrova, Indy wasn’t missing it for some deluded tech bro who talked shit about community college students working hard on a weekend while also enrolled there.

The commentator was shouting over the raucous crowd. ‘Penelope Harrison, just 21 years old, is up a set, a break, and 30–love. Another serve like that and she’ll have three match points.’

‘It’s amazing,’ the other announcer chimed in. ‘If you didn’t know who Penny Harrison was before today, you sure do now. She’s going to take down the number one player in the world and defending champion in the final of the Madrid Open – a huge win in her young career.’

Indy felt a small pang inside her chest. Two years ago she and her mum had watched this tournament on TV together. Her mum had been sure Indy would be playing there one day on that court in Madrid or Paris or New York, winning a major tournament. After she died, winning tennis matches really didn’t matter much to Indy anymore. Nothing mattered except she was gone and wasn’t coming back.

Though she’d probably be pissed as hell at Indy for giving up.

The thought came unbidden from a place in her mind she’d locked away for far too long. Was it time to start again? It was what her mum would have wanted, wasn’t it?

The camera zoomed in on the stands where Dom Kingston, Penny’s coach, sat, his hands clasped together like he was praying. He was one of the best coaches in the world and he’d wanted Indy to come play at the Outer Banks Tennis Club, his training facility in North Carolina. If she had, that could’ve been her standing across from the number one player in the world right now. Or maybe she would’ve been number one already. Indy bit her lip, wondering if Coach Kingston’s offer would stand more than two years later.

A hand pushed at her laptop, forcing the phone to slip onto the keyboard and send a scrawl of unintelligible text across her document. Her eyes snapping up, she glared at the guy, who immediately sat back in his seat, hands up in surrender, with a smirk that he probably thought was attractive but only gave smarmy creep.

‘Could you not?’ she whispered to be sure she didn’t disturb the other students around them.

‘Your loss,’ he said when he finally got up to leave as she readjusted her setup. By the time the phone was in place, the camera was focused on the court again as Penny tossed the ball into the air. Her serve was up into Lutrova’s body, an attempt to handcuff the Russian, who managed a sharp return, grunting with the effort, sending Penny scrambling.

It was a furious battle, a blistering exchange from the baseline, as they pounded away at each other like heavy‑weight boxers, neither giving an inch. Then Penny seized upon a short backhand and sent a rocket into the corner, perfectly placed. All Lutrova could do was watch the ball cut through the air as it passed her by.

‘Yes!’ the tiny version of Penny bellowed from the screen, pumping her fist, a rare show of emotion from her on the court, now just a point away from the championship.

‘Yes,’ Indy echoed under her breath. If she wanted it, if she wanted to be on that court in Madrid, then Bio 101 and scaring off college guys wouldn’t get her there.

Maybe she’d put in a call to Dom.

After all, what did she have to lose?

40–love.

**********

 

Harrison Residence
Ocean Hill, North Carolina

‘And Penny Harrison has three championship points!’ The announcer’s voice roared through the television set.

Jasmine Randazzo grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels by its neck and tried to yank off the cap. As much as she was rooting for Penny, it still stung a little that the other girl was off winning a huge pro tournament and she was sitting at home after losing in the first round. A warm hand surrounded hers and pulled the bottle away from her.

‘Easy there, Jas,’ Teddy Harrison said, twisting the cap off and handing it back.

‘How are you not drunk?’ she asked, narrowing her eyes at her friend. ‘I’m drunk.’

Teddy snorted softly. ‘I’m not drunk because I do this more than you. Some of us have actual lives off the court, you know.’

‘I have a life, sort of,’ she muttered, pouring herself another shot. The whiskey missed the glass, spilling over the table, and Teddy took the bottle away again. He poured out two glasses and handed one to her.

‘Yep, sort of.’

‘To Penny.’ Jasmine saluted the TV set, then sent the burning liquid down the back of her throat.

‘You gotta stop worrying about my sister,’ Teddy said, settling back against the couch beside her, his arm coming around her shoulders, squeezing tightly.

‘I’m not worrying about her,’ Jasmine argued. ‘I’m happy for her and she better watch her back once I get on tour.’

‘How many have you had?’ Teddy asked, snickering through another shot.

The television camera zoomed in on the player’s box. Their coach, Dom Kingston, was there, applauding with the rest of the crowd, and one row behind him were Jasmine’s parents, sitting beside the Harrisons and cheering on Penny.

‘God forbid we make it through a match without my parents being on camera,’ Jasmine grumbled, leaning her forehead against Teddy’s shoulder. He was so solid and warm. She snuggled closer.

‘It’s good for publicity,’ Teddy said, probably for the hundredth time that week. ‘When people see Mr. and Mrs. Tennis out there, they want to come to OBX and train at the place they founded.’

‘They aren’t nearly as cool as everyone thinks.’

‘They’re pretty damn cool, Jas.’

‘They’re my parents. Totally dorky like everyone else’s.

‘Nah,’ Teddy said, taking another shot. Jasmine frowned. When had he poured that? ‘Your Grand Slam–winning, Olympic gold medalist parents are awesome and so are you.’

‘Damn right I am.’

‘You want another shot?’

She shook her head and the world spun a little more than it should have. ‘No, I think I’ve had enough.’

Teddy smiled widely, the dimple that routinely tortured her appearing in his cheek. ‘No such thing.’

Jasmine leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Her nose trailed over his neck, inhaling deeply. He smelled good, really good, like spices and ocean water and soap and Teddy, her best friend. It was nice to be that close to him. She should do it more often.

Vaguely, from the TV across the room, echoed the thwack of the ball against racket faces, a final desperate scream from Lutrova, and then an answering joyful shriek from Penny. Jasmine knew that sound – she’d been on the wrong side of it more than once. The crowd moved from a heavy anticipatory silence to a raucous cheer as the announcer shouted over them, ‘Game, set, and match, Harrison.’

‘Teddy,’ she whispered against his skin.

A grunt rumbled through Teddy’s throat. ‘Yeah, Jas?’ he asked, his mouth suddenly really close to hers, close enough to feel his breath against her lips. She answered by leaning forward ever so slightly until there was no space between them at all. The kiss was heavy and deep. She could feel it in her fingertips, in her toes, and in a lot of other less innocent places, and then he was gone, flinging himself to the opposite end of the couch, staring at her, mouth agape.

For a moment the only sounds in the room were their breathing and the announcer screaming over the crowd.

‘Penny Harrison has won the Madrid Open and American tennis has found its newest star!’

‘Jas,’ Teddy started, but she shook her head. ‘Shit, Jas, I’m…’

‘Forget it,’ she mumbled, leaping to her feet, her shin brushing against the table, sending the now- empty bottle of Jack over on its side. She stumbled to the doorway and broke into a run. She heard Teddy call her back over the buzzing in her ears, but she didn’t turn around. She just kept going.

Game, set, match.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jennifer Iacopelli writes about ambitious girls with big dreams and the boys who love them for it. Her young adult novels include Break the Fall and Finding Her Edge. Throughout her career her books have been published in over a dozen languages, named a Junior Library Guild Gold Standard book, a Kids’ Indie Next pick, a finalist for the South Carolina Book Awards and featured by the New York Public Library, Bank Street College, YALSA, the Texas Library Association and the Missouri State Teachers Association as a best book of the year.

She lives in New York with no plans to ever leave where she also publishes adult romance under the pen name Jennifer Hennessy.

Visit Jennifer Iacopelli’s website