Part 8 (1/2)
Svetlana might have trained during the harsh Russian winters with Mom-Coach, but Dylan had studied under Ma.s.sie Block. And that had prepared her for anything anything.
Even tennis.
KAPALUA SPA AND TENNIS CLUB.
FITNESS CENTER AND SPA.
Sat.u.r.day, July 4 11 A.M.
Dylan pored over the Svetlana Way pamphlet like it was a How to Get J.T. for Dummies How to Get J.T. for Dummies handbook. handbook.
Visualize.
Actualize.
Vocalize.
The mental exercises made her feel a little, well, mental, mental, but she was desperate. As the July 8 tournament date grew closer, the resort was bouncing with toned and tanned she-athletes. And Dylan knew if she didn't score J.T. soon, someone else would. but she was desperate. As the July 8 tournament date grew closer, the resort was bouncing with toned and tanned she-athletes. And Dylan knew if she didn't score J.T. soon, someone else would.
Reaching for a lemon yellow microfiber towel, she accidentally knocked the pamphlet to the ground. All she could do was grunt in frustration and swab her slick face. Still, sweat spilled over her arched auburn brows like the water that trickled down the spa's pink travertine walls.
She was hot. She'd never been this hot, and she had to concentrate on every breath or she'd faint. In, out. In, out. In, out . . . In, out. In, out. In, out . . .
Once she got a rhythm going, Dylan allowed her mind to wander.
How hard would J.T. lip-kiss her after she creamed Svetlana? How open would he be to a four-thousand-mile long-distance relations.h.i.+p? Was he a texter?
Throwing the towel aside, Dylan exhaled, utterly exhausted. It was taking every ounce of her will and concentration to keep from pa.s.sing out. After a long sip of cuc.u.mber water, she decided to go for it. She reached and reached and reached . . . until her fingers managed to pinch the corner of the Svetlana Way pamphlet she'd accidentally dropped on the sauna room floor.
Got it!
She pulled it back up onto her steamy lap, careful not to let the fuchsia ink rub off on her sweat-drenched thighs. Not that it really mattered. It would rinse right off in the pool.
Once the hairy-chested man with the gold rings and red bathing cap was halfway down the lane, Dylan pushed off the slippery cobalt bluetiled edge. The indoor lap pool was heated to bathtub temperatures and teeming with serious swimmers who slapped the chlorinated water with their tired strokes like mindless aqua-zombies. Splashes and random coughs echoed up to the gla.s.s roof and ricocheted off the limestone walls, making Dylan feel like an exotic fish in a very luxurious tank.
Gliding as hard as she could, Dylan finally reached the other side and burst to the surface. She wall-clung momentarily to admire the beading water on her silver Robin Piccone one-piece, which glistened like a sardine in the suns.h.i.+ne. If only J.T. were into fas.h.i.+on instead of tennis . . .
But the Svetlana Way emphasized not living in a fantasyland. Success was not about what ifs. It was about what nexts. So Dylan took a deep breath and submerged for lap number two.
The hollow sound of her underwater heartbeat provided a rhythmic backdrop for her J.T. musings.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Jyl-an. Jyl-an Jyl-an. Jyl-an Jyl-an.
It didn't have the ring of Brangelina or Tomkat, but it wasn't awful.
Dylan straddled the black nylon workout bench. Her forehead crinkled under the strain of her task. Yet somehow, she managed to lift a bottle of Smart.w.a.ter to her dry lips.
”Uggghhh!” she moaned. The angle ravaged her sore shoulder and sent shock waves of pain up her arm.
This warm-up session was o-ver.
”Did you warm up?” Svetlana asked when she met up with Dylan outside the fitness center. Dylan's cheeks were flushed with post-practice sweat, and her chest rose and fell like a panting dog's.
”I did.” Dylan squinted against the afternoon sun. She felt like she had just crawled out of a cave. The tropical grounds seemed saturated in color compared with the steel-gray and black weight room. Once again, she had to ask herself if J.T. was worth sacrificing sun, sand, and seafood. And once again, her answer was yes.
”Here is itinerary for the next two days. We have match on day three.” Svetlana handed Dylan a piece of hotel stationery filled with her slanted, all-caps handwriting. The back of the paper felt like b.u.mpy Braille because the rage-filled athlete had pushed too hard with the pen.
THE SVETLANA WAY TWO-DAY SCHEDULE
6 A.M.8 A.M.: 5-MILE RUN WITH PEBBLE IN SHOE.
8:05 A.M.8:15 A.M.: 20 PUSH-UPS WITH SVETLANA ON YOUR BACK.
8:19 A.M.8:58 A.M.: 1,000 CRUNCHES OR 100 WITH MEDICINE BALL-YOU CHOOSE 9 A.M.10:30 A.M.: WEIGHT ROOM CIRCUIT, NO WATER.
10:35 A.M.4 P.M.: TENNIS DRILLS, BALL MACHINE, HIGH-HEEL SPRINTS. THIS INCLUDES A SHORT HALF-HOUR LUNCH OF HARD-BOILED EGG AND GATORADE (I CHOOSE FLAVOR).
4:02 P.M.4:30 P.M.: YOGA.
4:34 P.M.5:30 P.M.: MEDITATION IN MOSQUITO-FILLED ROOM.
5:36 P.M.7 P.M.: 2-MILE COOL-DOWN JOG (NO PEBBLE).
7:06 P.M.8:00 P.M.: DINNER OF MIXED GREENS, 1/2 BOILED CHICKEN BREAST, GATORADE (YOU CHOOSE FLAVOR).
8:01 P.M.8:25 P.M.: REVIEW TENNIS MATCHES ON TV TO AID VISUALIZATION.
8:30 P.M.:.
SLEEP IN HEAT-FILLED ROOM.
Dylan was about to protest but stopped herself. For once in her life she would try. Really try. Relentlessly-refuse-to-fail try. The way Ma.s.sie did. And her mother did. And Svetlana did. The way winners did.
KAPALUA SPA AND TENNIS CLUB.
COURT ONE.
Tuesday, July 7 9 A.M.
”I can't believe you two actually play play together.” J.T. looked shyly at the crushed seash.e.l.l path that led to Private Court One. The collar on his white Lacoste was popped, surrounding his deliciously tanned face like a flour tortilla. together.” J.T. looked shyly at the crushed seash.e.l.l path that led to Private Court One. The collar on his white Lacoste was popped, surrounding his deliciously tanned face like a flour tortilla.
”Most people don't challenge me the way she does, you know?” Dylan playfully kicked a peach-colored sh.e.l.l so J.T. could admire her taut leg muscles in action. After two days of enduring the Svetlana Way, Dylan felt toned, slim, and 100 percent ready for her faux match. Her indigo puff-sleeved pleated minidress and flaming red extensions made her impossible to overlook. She was the color-soaked Teen Vogue Teen Vogue version of a tennis player-a stylish poser in a beautiful location. All she needed to complete the picture was the hot boyfriend. And that was coming together beautifully. version of a tennis player-a stylish poser in a beautiful location. All she needed to complete the picture was the hot boyfriend. And that was coming together beautifully.
”Wow. You're cute and and determined.” J.T. paused on the path and smiled. ”Fierce combination.” He said determined.” J.T. paused on the path and smiled. ”Fierce combination.” He said fierce fierce like he meant like he meant s.e.xy s.e.xy.