Opposites Attract

body moved as one as he sprang for the return. Defense, offense, strategy all had to be formulated in a fraction of a second. Strength had to be balanced with form. Both men sprinted over the court for the rally, faces glowing with concentration and sweat. The roar of the crowd rose to meet the distant thunder.
    Thus far, the ratio had been nearly ten to one in favor of ground strokes. Ty decided to alter the pace and go with power. Using a vicious left-to-right slice, he shook Michael’s balance. Ty blasted away at the attempted passing shot, barely shortening his backswing. Michael couldn’t reach the backhand volley, let alone return it. Love-fifteen.
    Shaking the damp hair back from his face, Ty returned to the base line. A woman in the crowd called out what could have been a congratulations or a proposition. Ty’s French wasn’t strong enough to decipher the phrase. Michael’s serve sent up a puff of smoke. Before his return was over the net, Ty was at midcourt and waiting. A testing ground stroke, a sharp return. A tricky topspin, a slice. Michael’s decision to try to lob over Ty was a mistake. The smoking smash careened off the court and into the grandstands. Love-thirty.
    Michael walked a complete circle, cursing himself before he took his position again. Casting off impatience, Ty waited. Crouched, swaying side to side, unblinking, he was ready. Both players exploited angles and depths with ground strokes. There was a long, patient rally as each watched for the chance to smash a winner. It might have been pure showmanship if it hadn’t been for the sounds of exertion coming from the two players.
    A UPI photographer had his motor drive humming as he recorded the game. He framed Ty, arms extended for balance, legs spread for the stretch, face fierce. It crossed his mind as he continued to snap that he wouldn’t want to face that American on any playing field.
    Gracefully, with an elegance belied by his expression, Ty executed a backhand with a touch of underspin. Michael’s return thudded against the net. Love-forty.
    Angry and shaken, Michael punched his first serve into the net. Having no choice at game point, he placed his next serve carefully. Ty went straight for the volley and took the net. The exchange was fast and furious, the players moving on instinct, the crowd screaming in a mixture of languages. Ty’s wrist was locked. The ball whipped from racket to racket at terrifying speed. There were bare seconds between contact, making both men anticipate flight rather than see it. Changing tactics in the wink of an instant, Ty brought the racket face under at the moment of impact. With a flick of a wrist he dropped a dump shot over the net. Risky, experts would say. Gutsy, fans would claim. Ty would ignore both. Game and set.
    “Oh, Mac!” Jess leaned back and expelled a long breath. “I’d nearly forgotten what it was like to watch Ty play.”
    “You watched him just a few weeks ago,” he pointed out, using a damp handkerchief to wipe his neck. The wish for his air-conditioned office flitted only briefly into his mind.
    “On television,” Jess returned. “That’s different. Being here . . . can’t you feel it?”
    “I thought it was the humidity.”
    Laughing, Jess shook her head. “Always down to earth, Mac. That’s why I love you.”
    Her smile seemed to open just for him. It could still make his blood sing. “Then I intend to stay there,” he murmured, kissing her knuckles. Feeling her hand tense, he looked up, puzzled. Her eyes were aimed over his shoulder. Curious, he turned, spotting a few tennis faces he recognized. Among them was Asher Wolfe. It was on her that his wife’s gaze was locked.
    “That’s the former Lady Wickerton, isn’t it?” he asked casually. “She’s stunning.”
    “Yes.” Jess tore her eyes away, but the tension in her fingers remained. “Yes, she is.”
    “She won her match this morning. We’ll have an American going into the women’s finals.” Jess said nothing as Mac stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket. “She was away from the game for a while, wasn’t she?”
    “Yes.”
    Intrigued by his wife’s flat answer, Mac probed. “Didn’t she and Ty have something going a few years back?”
    “It was nothing.” With a nervous swallow Jess prayed she spoke the truth. “Just a passing thing. She’s not Ty’s type. Asher’s very cool, much more suited to Wickerton than to Ty. He was attracted to that for a while, that’s