Pretty Little Secrets

“I’m going to head inside and check out the spa menu,” Melissa said, fanning herself. “You want in on a mani-pedi?”

“Sure,” Spencer said absentmindedly, keeping her eyes on the match. “I’ll meet you at the spa in a few.”

When the game was finished—a complete rout—Colin and his buddy shook hands, walked to the sidelines, gulped down two bottles of something called AminoSpa vitamin water, and stripped off their shirts. Spencer coolly picked at her cuticles, not wanting to stare too pointedly at Colin’s absolutely perfect abs. He was definitely hot—maybe even hotter than Wren, the boy Spencer had stolen from Melissa earlier this fall. If he weren’t so mobbed with fans, he might just make the perfect winter-vacation fling. It had been ages since Spencer had gotten excited over a guy.

“Hey, Colin,” Lacoste Dress cooed, winding a piece of blond hair around her finger. “That was some amazing tennis.”

“You’re sooo good,” another girl drawled. “Do you practice every minute of the day?”

“Pretty much.” Colin wiped sweat off his face and opened another bottle of AminoSpa. “My trainer’s down here for the winter—sometimes we play with the pros. The other day I saw Andy Roddick on the courts.”

The girls nudged each other. “That is amazing,” one of them said. “Nike should so sponsor you.”

Colin just grinned. He finished loading his gear into a big lime-green Adidas bag and started in the direction of the clubhouse. Suddenly, he stopped and stared straight at Spencer. She could feel his eyes boring into the top of her head as she pretended to smooth a wrinkle on her cover-up. “Hello.”

All of the girls’ heads swiveled toward Spencer, too. “Hey,” she answered, looking up and trying to remain poised and confident.

Colin took a few steps toward her. “Are you a new member of my cheering section?”

Spencer cocked her head. “I don’t really do cheering sections—unless I’m the athlete being cheered on. But maybe I could make an exception.”

The groupies began nudging each other. “Who is that?” one of them whispered.

“I bet she isn’t even a club member.” Wedge Heels didn’t even bother to lower her voice.

Spencer glared at them, and every groupie looked away en masse. Suddenly, they reminded her of her parents. Excluding her. Acting like she didn’t belong. Acting like she wasn’t good enough to be here.

She turned to Colin again. “Like I said, I’m more into doing than cheering. What I’d rather do is volley with you sometime. If you ever need a partner, that is.”

Colin raised an eyebrow. “Do you play?”

Spencer flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Of course I play.” Her parents had made her take lessons since she was four.

Colin leaned back and eyed her carefully. After five long beats, he looked down and pulled out a BlackBerry from his bag. “You’re on, then. What’s your name?”

Spencer told him, and the girls started whispering again. “Let’s play tonight,” Colin decided, tapping something into his phone. He didn’t bother to give Spencer his name. He probably assumed she already knew it. He was right—and she liked his confidence.

Spencer pretended to mentally check her schedule. “I think I could arrange that.”

“Good.” Colin tossed the empty AminoSpa bottle in a perfect arc into the trash can. “See you tonight at five-thirty. Same court. Winner buys drinks.”

Spencer suppressed a smile and slipped her sunglasses back over her eyes. Had they just made a date? And he had assumed she was old enough to drink. Score.

Colin shot her a wink and sauntered away. Spencer was dying to watch him climb the stairs and glide toward the locker room, but she restrained herself, not wanting to seem too eager. When she turned toward the gate, she came face-to-face with Colin’s groupies, who were still staring at her.

She looked them straight in the eye. “Is there a problem?”

The girls flinched. Their mouths dropped open into matching round Os.

“I didn’t think so,” Spencer said breezily. She pulled her tote higher on her shoulder and strode off the court to meet Melissa in the spa. She could feel their gazes on her back the whole way down the sidewalk. The sun felt brighter, the air more fragrant, and when she glanced up at the blue sky, she saw a floating cloud that formed a near-perfect heart. She had a tennis date with a hot guy, and she already knew what the score would be: love–love.

Chapter 3

Some Girls Get All the Breaks

Smack.

Spencer couldn’t help but watch in awe as her serve arced through the cool evening air, forming a perfect path over the net like a shooting star.

When Colin raised his racket in preparation to meet the ball, though, she turned her attention to more important things—namely, the way a strip of tanned, taut skin peeked out from over the waistband of his shorts as he swung to meet her serve. She let out a deep breath when his swing, which had looked so powerful and targeted from her side of the court, instead met the ball at a wrong angle, weakly, causing his volley back to dribble out of bounds. She hid a smile. Colin was so clearly letting her win.

“Good job, Spencer,” Colin huffed, zipping up his racket into its case and flashing her a grin. She could feel him looking her up and down as she approached the net, ready to shake his hand, and was glad she’d put on her shortest tennis skirt and most fitted tank.

“You too,” she cooed, reaching out her hand. Their palms met, and Colin held on to her hand just a smidge too long. It had to be intentional.

“You weren’t kidding—you are good,” he added, still breathing heavily.

She ducked her head and grinned. “My parents insisted on lessons when I was a kid. My sister and I started playing in tournaments when we were still in grade school!” She pulled out the rubber band from her hair and hoped the light would catch its sheen as it spilled over her shoulders. “What about you? How did you get the bug?”

“Whoa,” he laughed. Up close, she realized just how chiseled his cheekbones were, and he had a tiny dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. “That’s a conversation way too involved to have on a tennis court. Are you hungry?”

“Starved,” she admitted.

“Well, then, it’s lucky I brought us a little picnic.” His eyes twinkled as he led her to a grassy knoll on the south side of the courts and spread out a towel.

Spencer inhaled deeply, taking in the faintest trace of Colin’s spicy cologne. It mingled with the salt air and the smell of grilled fish and steak that lingered from the restaurant just across the patio. Colin reached into his bag and pulled out two ready-made fruit salads, a wrapped cheese plate, and two bottles of AminoSpa. He placed a toothpick directly in the center of each cheese square, then arranged the AminoSpas side by side, labels out.

Spencer laughed. “You’re as OCD as I am,” she said, pointing to the meticulous platter.

“Guilty. I even hang my tennis polos by color,” Colin said with a sheepish grin. “I suppose it’s an athlete thing. Like how Nadal has that whole routine before he serves or how Sharapova can’t step on the lines of the court when the ball’s not in play.”

“A small way to have control in a tense situation, I suppose,” Spencer said, thinking of how organizing always made her feel calm in times of stress. She unscrewed the cap of the AminoSpa drink, took a long sip, and gagged. “What is this stuff?” It tasted like rotting grapefruit.

“It’s full of vitamins.” Colin pointed at the nutritional information on the back. “I swear it’s made me a stronger player. Some guy was trying to get me to sell the stuff myself—he said I could easily turn my tennis buddies and trainer on to it, but I told him I’m too busy to take on any endorsement deals.”

“So it’s true what your groupies said? You’re really training to go pro?”

Colin nodded modestly. “Well, my coach thinks I have a good shot of getting a wild-card draw at the US Open this year. I’ve got that tournament coming up later this week, and I’ve enrolled in a lot more, too—I’ve gotta get my ranking up. I want to get into the top fifty.”

Spencer was impressed. “So do you live here in Longboat Key? Or are you just here for training?”

Colin popped a grape in his mouth and grinned mischievously. “If we keep talking about me, how will I ever learn more about you? Where did the mysterious girl with serious tennis skills come from?”

Spencer pushed a piece of hair behind her ear with her newly manicured nails—she and Melissa had spent a fun but slightly awkward afternoon together at the spa—thrilled that he was as curious about her as she was about him. “Well, I’m certainly not a pro tennis player or anything nearly as exciting as that. I live outside Philadelphia. I’m staying at the big white house at the end of Sand Dune Drive.”

Colin’s eyes widened. “You’re in Edith Hastings’s house?”

“Yep. She’s my grandmother.”

He chuckled. “I’ve heard she’s a feisty one!”

Spencer made a face. “Nana? Feisty?” Whenever she thought of her grandmother, all she pictured was a frowning woman who yelled at her for getting the floor wet when she came in from the pool.

Colin shrugged. “I’ve been to the country club once or twice since I got here, and she’s big into the ballroom dancing lessons they hold every week. Always comes with a new boyfriend, too. Guys can’t get enough of her.”

They can’t get enough of her money, Spencer thought wryly. “So Nana’s a player, huh? I guess she does look pretty good for her age.”

“She looks amazing.” Colin winked. “It’s no wonder her granddaughter is stunning.”

Spencer suppressed a grin, hoping he hadn’t noticed the hot flush his words sent through her body.

“So how many boys have asked you to the luau?” Colin asked.

The yacht club held an annual pre–New Year’s party—this year it was a Hawaiian luau. When they were younger, Spencer and Melissa used to hide under the elegantly decorated tables and marvel at the artfully carved ice sculptures and fireworks display. “Uh, none,” Spencer admitted, looking down.

Colin tilted his head, studying her for a moment. “I find that hard to believe.”

Spencer couldn’t help but blush. “Why?”

“Because you sure are something else, Spencer Hastings.” He playfully swatted at her arm. “And I’m not just talking about your blistering tennis serve!”

“Is ‘something else’ a good thing?” Spencer asked flirtatiously, her elbow tingling where he’d touched her.

“I’d say so.” Then his expression turned serious. “Except for in my family, of course.”

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked.

An owl hooted in a nearby tree, and the faint sound of laughter floated over from the club’s restaurant. “Well, I’m kind of the black sheep of my family,” Colin admitted.