V. REDEMPTION.

2019.

"You're kidding right?" A soft yet stern voice spoke with shock. The sound of heels clicking against the smooth wooden flooring created an even more chaotic tension as the person who made it looked at her younger sister in disbelief.

"You're planning on coaching Patrick Zweig? Patrick fucking Zweig! Please that me that you're just bullshitting." Aaliyah looked at Carmen with a bewildered expression, her eyes narrowing into slits as she could not believe what she was hearing.

Carmen could only look at her sister before sighing. In her hands was a jar of sunscreen-infused moisturizer the cap closing as she applied some on her bare arms. "Does it look like I'm bullshitting to you?"

It was exactly 5 am. The sun had yet to peek through the blinds and for some reason Carmen liked it that way. She'd woken up an hour earlier just to get ready and mentally prepare herself for what she was about to do. Now dressed in her tennis gear, she opted to only have the top on and leave the bottom with tracksuit pants. Instead of being the competitor, she was now the coach.

She wasn't exactly coaching Patrick as if it were some full-time job — to the public she was still competing at Challenger (had no choice and if Aaliyah was petty enough she'd assign her to more competitions), she just wanted to test the waters and give Patrick some pointers first.

"You didn't even consult with me first. The man hasn't been important within any major tennis circles for years now and you're telling me that you're willing to ruin your reputation over him?"

"Aaliyah." Began Carmen stepping up so she could meet her sister's height. "I'm thirty not fucking six. And this is my career so I can do what I see fit of it. And besides think of it as a comeback story — not for me. Him."

"The comeback story of a notorious whore right." There was still some bitter resentment between Aaliyah and Patrick. Specifically on Aaliyah's side. Whatever happened between them that night still affected her to the point where even the mere mention of his name pissed get off. She was embarrassed. "He's the one that wasted his time — and you're now the one who has to be picking up the pieces."

"Well every whore deserves a chance of redemption don't you think?" Winking at her sister, Carmen walked right past her and grabbed her bag. It was filled with the necessary things she found suitable for her to remain sane for the day. "Besides it's tennis."

Saying nothing else, Carmen proceeds to leave until Aaliyah asks a question that leaves speculation.

"You're not doing this because of them are you?" The question alone leaves a sense of vagueness lingering in the air. With her hand still on the doorknob Carmen turns her head.

"Fuck 'em." That was all she stated.

2005.

The bright summer sun crackled against Carmen's taunt flesh. There's a thin layer of sweat that's only visible whenever her arm flexes in a certain position. Dressed in matching Adidas workout shorts and top, her sneakers scuffed against the artificially green flooring. With her hair tied back into a ponytail so it could be away from her face, it whipped around widely as she swung her racket with enough force to where it sounded off in the partially empty court.

"Come on!" Her voice comes out visibly hoarse, eyes narrowing into a glare the labeling of frustration being evident. The grip on her racket only tightened as she tried so hard to not take it and smash it on the court.

"Carmen," Art calls out from the other side, the snapback moving slightly on his head as he stands beside the tennis ball machine. "Your form. Fix it."

The 'game' quickly halted. It wasn't a game it was more so of tennis balls being thrown towards Carmen by a mechanically made object. She could only look at Art with a tired glare. Every fixing of the form was interrupted by Art, whose apparent perfectionist nature leaned into borderline insanity as he played coach for the day. (Well he managed to get Carmen to let him practice with her since she'd normally say no because of that reason).

"I've been doing it this entire time." Art could only watch as Carmen returned to her starting positions, groaning in frustration as she did so. "And I am only getting more tired of it and you."

(She wasn't being entirely serious.)

"Me?"

"Yeah, you!" Carmen yelled. "As if I'm not already pissed off from earlier."

Carmen had a match no less than three hours ago and from then on she's been on the verge of lashing out from frustration and brewing exhaustion. The match earlier wasn't her best, she knew it and knew that everyone else in that audience knew it. Her mother (coach) went down on her earlier for it which only made the girl's mood worsen even more.

Art who was there yet again noticed how down Carmen appeared and attempted to lift her spirits with practice. Well if allowing a machine to throw repeated balls at someone you care about lifting their spirits well then so be it.

"It's okay." Art assures.

Shaking off her nerves, Carmen positioned herself, and again another ball was thrown her way. Yet again, she misses it, and when she does Carmen blacks out. Dropping the racket onto the floor, she storms right over to her bench, pulling her bag from the ground, she rummages through it in search of her water bottle.

Taking angry sips of her water, Carmen could only blink back the tears of frustration that burned against her tear line. Soon enough she feels Art's cool fingers brush against her side, slowly turning her around to face him. She attempts to keep her anger at bay but once he gives her that stupid grin she finds herself wanting to smile.

"If you think that smiling at me with that stupid grin is going to work...it's not." Carmen attempts to stay serious but the proximity of Art being near her only makes it harder. Looking down she notices that Art held the racket out for her to take. Forgetting that the bottle was in her hand she reaches over to get the racket which only makes the bottle in her hand squeeze out with water. In a second the water splatters across Art's chest leaving a dark stain in contrast to the light blue shirt he wore.

"I — am so sorry." It was an honest mistake but seeing how Art reacted to the coldness made her only laugh. Placing a hand over her mouth she attempts to hide her immediate reaction but fails.

Carmen's laughter soon turns into horror when she notices the look Art has in his eye but he doesn't say anything. It only meant one thing.

"Don't you dare!" She warns stepping back and aiming her water bottle in his direction. "It was an accident."

Art could only chuckle, "Hm. I'm not sure that me getting wet and you're not is fair."

In a flash, Carmen runs in the opposite direction and Art is quick enough to grab a water bottle from one of the nearby buckets. Opening too swiftly, he begins the pursuit.

Carmen ran as fast as she could, the feeling of burning intensifying from her calves. Turning for a brief moment a gasp escapes her lips eyes widening as the feeling of cold water splashes against her hot skin.

"You did not!" Opening the water bottle completely, she throws even more water on Art, and in return, he does the same. Visibly drenched, and slightly cold, Carmen avoids even more splashes. What they were doing was inappropriate but that's what made it so thrilling.

Carmen immediately stops running. Her legs burned, she was a little bit drenched, her gear clung to her skin showing everything that wasn't needed to be seen, and her hair was a dripping web of curls. Chest heaving up and down Carmen waves an imaginary white flag in the air as Art nears her presence. "Wait! — I surrender."

"Just when things were getting interesting." He teases.

Catching her breath, Carmen finally looks at Art and it almost knocks the remaining air out of her. His hands were placed on his hips and his lips parted ever so slightly. The wet polo clung to the muscles of his torso, highlighting every curve, ridge and the sunlight wasn't doing a better job at hiding it. The sight alone was both alluring and enticing, making it hard to look away.

"What?" He asks noticing how hard Carmen is looking at him. "You're staring."

"What's wrong with staring?" Carmen plays it off as being unaware but she knew what she was doing exactly. Her feet moved naturally on their own and before she knew it they were standing face to face. "Especially since I get to see it almost every night?"

He has this certain look in her eye that only intensifies by the minute. With her left hand wrapping around the wet fabric of his shirt, she pulls him closer to where they'll have a bad time finding the strength to separate.

With a hand cupping the side of his face, Carmen leaps and kisses him. It comes out natural — not forced at all since it's only one of the many times they've done it. Especially in public.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Art whispered as he leaned into the kiss. Anybody could walk in at the moment and see two popular tennis players making out. "What if someone walks in."

"Then let's give whoever enters a show," A light gasp escapes Carmen's lips as she feels Art's hands trail from her waist and then to her hips. They continued to make out, their bodies pressed close together, lost in the pleasure of each other's touch. It was that addicting.

"I could do this all day," He murmured against her mouth, his hands roaming over her body.

"Me too," She breathed, savoring every moment of their intimate interaction. Pulling away they smiled at each other until —

"Uh, is the machine broken?" Patrick's voice speaks up, dragging Carmen out of her small daydream by the legs and bringing her back to reality. "Because you've been standing there for almost five minutes."

Carmen blinks back, confusion written on her face as she realizes that she is a thirty-year-old tennis player with everything but having Art Donaldson to witness that. It was more than the reality check she needed to regain focus. Fuck him.

Instead, with him not being by her side she opted for something else. And that was training his ex-best friend to beat him. If that's not being petty I don't know what else is.

Pressing the on button, Carmen points a finger. "Your form. Fix it."