Long Live the Queen Read Online Free Page B

the Department of the Interior, Mr. Kirkland. His reputation had preceded him—he had won a couple of government employee tournaments, and he was only thirty-four—and apparently, her reputation had, too, because when he won service, he smashed the first ball in for a very intimidating ace. And the second one.
    By the third serve, she had adjusted to the speed, and managed to chip it back, but he won the game in four straight points.
    â€œDo you want to switch sides on odd games?” he asked, at the net. She looked at him, seeing a not-very-well masked patronizing smile. If there was anything in life that she hated, it was being patronized.
    â€œSure,” she said, and switched sides.
    The work on her serve for the past several weeks had made a difference, and she won her game, too, although he passed her once at the net. They stayed on serve right up until the ninth game, which she lost, and he took the set, 6-40.
    â€œYou’re quite a fine player,” he said. Smiling.
    What she wasn’t—although she was careful never to advertise it in public—was a good loser. “Thank you,” she said, and got ready to serve the first game of the second set, noticing that there were quite a few people—including Preston—watching from the sidelines, mostly over by the two round tables and the little changing house in the corner, or through the fences.
    An audience to her probable defeat. Swell.
    She bounced the ball three times, pulled in a deep breath, and
then pounded it into the service court. Ace. Only her second one of the match. She spun the next one in to his backhand, and he was caught off-guard, Meg easily putting away the return.
    She pulled out the game in five points, and they switched sides again.
    â€œThat’s a tricky little serve you have there,” he said.
    Little. “Thank you,” she said.
    She won the set—mainly by slashing cross-courts and making him run, then waited on the baseline for him to start the first game of the third and final set. He was taking his time—toweling off, drinking some water, straightening the strings on his racquet—so, she decided that her main strategy would be to lob over his head if he came to the net, and to drop-shot short if he stayed back. Remind him that he was in his mid-thirties, and maybe not as fast as he used to be.
    His strategy, it seemed, was to hit the ball as hard as he could—which meant that if it went in, she lost the point, more often than not; if it went out, she won. They were tied four-all, her serve, when she started double-faulting. Three times, to be exact, and suddenly, he was serving for the match.
    She gritted her teeth. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Talk about the worst possible time to choke. She bent down to tie her shoe, finding it a real battle to keep from swearing aloud, so pumped up that she wanted to kick this guy from here to Bethesda. She took a deep breath. Okay, okay, she had to work harder, that’s all. Work a lot harder.
    His first serve came slamming in, and she hit the return right past him as he ran up to the net. Almost right through him. Love-fifteen. She went down the line with the next two, and won the final point with a little drop-shot he couldn’t quite get.
    Okay, okay, five-all. Time to make her move. She put everything she had left into her serve, and two aces—tricky little serve, indeed—and several hard rallies later won her service game. Six-five, her favor.

    They switched sides again, Mr. Kirkland not saying anything this time, and she was aware that it had gotten very quiet around the court. She kept her eyes down, concentrating on not paying attention to anything except the next game.
    The first serve came in hard, but she blocked it back. They hit forehand to forehand once, twice, three times, and then his shot ticked the net-cord, falling over onto—her side. Fifteen-love. Hell.
    She smashed his next serve right back to him and