Off-Court Smash

Romi Rain smoothed the white pleats of her tennis skirt and checked her phone again. No reply. Her doubles partner had ghosted, leaving her stranded before the biggest match of her adult league schedule. She glanced up the stairs. "Kimmy!" Her stepdaughter appeared at the railing, shorts hanging low on her hips. "Yeah?" "My partner flaked. I need someone to play doubles in twenty minutes." Kimmy shrugged. "Not really my thing." Romi stepped closer so the kitchen light caught her toned legs. The short skirt flared with each move she made. Kimmy’s gaze lingered. She bit her lip, then smiled. "Fine. On one condition." Romi’s brow lifted. "Name it." "Show me your serve." They stepped onto the small patch of grass behind the house. Romi bounced the ball, rocked her weight, and sent the serve whipping across an invisible net. Kimmy watched the skirt ride higher, the muscles in Romi’s thigh flex, the way sweat already beaded at the small of her back. "Again," Kimmy said. Romi tossed. Her motion was fluid, practiced. When she finished the arc, she caught Kimmy staring at the curve of breast beneath the thin top. "Cut the bullshit," Romi said, breathing harder. "You’re stalling." Kimmy stepped in until their sneakers touched. "You want to make your match? Let’s be quick." She hooked two fingers under Romi’s waistband and tugged. "Then we’ll both be on time." Romi’s breath caught. The court reservation loomed in her mind. The fines. The humiliation. Her boss waiting. "Fuck it." She yanked Kimmy close, the tennis skirt bunching between them as mouths met, hands pushing fabric aside in hot, hurried urgency.