𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄, 𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘. - 𝐀.𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐒𝐎𝐍

STANCE, SERVE, RALLY - Eight.

Alaska hadn't interacted with Art since the canteen incident three days ago.

She didn't have his number, either. She'd never thought about asking him for it until she realised that other than tennis camp sessions every Tuesday, she had no other way of contacting him.

Alaska didn't know if she even wanted to contact him. Conflicted were her feelings, to say the least.

She didn't know if entertaining Art would sabotage her career or not - and she wasn't sure on whether she'd like to take the risk.

- She also knew that her parents would eat Art alive. They'd be brutal - only wanting a quality man for their sole heir of their family's empire.

And something tells Alaska that her parents wouldn't approve of a gentle, kind-hearted boy like Art - a boy who adored to get pushed around, and didn't appear to like confrontation.

He was quiet, and reserved. He only ever opened up to people he entirely trusted.

Such a change from most of the cocksure, pompous majority of male athletes - men like Patrick Zweig - material tennis husbands whose hearts will never be devout to their wives, but rather a sweaty sport.

Her parents had  repetedly told Alaska to make sure to embrace a man that 'greatly respected the art of tennis' on a baseline though - and Art seemed to have deemed that quality.

Although, he didn't seem too outwardly passionate about it?

Sure, he was excellent - one of the top in his age range in the region, yet, he never openly spoke about a particular love for the sport.

He just enters the court, drops his duffel bag, equips his racket, spits out his gum once Patrick notices him chewing and scolds him - then he plays.

No soppy comments about how the sport ignites his soul, or how he sleeps with his lucky tennis ball under his pillow or anything.

She was worried that the minute she opened up her personal life beyond her tennis profession to someone, especially someone she was attracted to - she'd never be able to solely focus on her sport again.

For it is only human to occasionally experience the plaguing desire to be loved, and to love.

And for Alaska, at the moment, only being able to give her affection towards a literal sport didn't exactly fill the pit in her stomach that caved even deeper whenever she saw a giddy, normal teenage couple pass her by on the way to practice.

But Alaska had also realised that she was failing her vow to stay committed solely to functioning around her sport already - for she had barely given Art a chance, let alone her number before she'd started to think about him.

She hated it. These unfamiliar feelings overwhelmed her, along with trying to attain a higher ranking, and to meet the expectations of her Stanford offer.

So, she decided that she would fulfill these hungry thoughts by merely flirting with him if he were to initiate something of that nature, but as of now, they were to just be friends.

If they were to become more, Alaska wouldn't only disappoint her parents if they were to find out, but also trap Art in her disciplined loop.

This was just a petty little schoolgirl crush - after all, this was pretty much Alaska's first time keeping in contact with a boy she'd gone near outside of the court.

She didn't know why she was thinking so far ahead, as if her and Art stood a chance - they didn't.

What they had at the hotel was just a result of normal, teenage hormones.