Chapter Text
August 2006
“So, can you not, like, demolish me tomorrow?”
Patrick looks over at his best friend, Art, eating hotdogs as they wind their way through the bustling venue.
He rolls his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.”
“No, really,” Art persists. “I’m at peace with the fact that you’re going to win.”
“It’s not a fact.”
“Statistically, it’s very likely.”
Patrick laughs. The sound is easy, familiar. Technically, he's right. Since he was twelve, Patrick has been the one dominating the tennis court. But with him and Art, it’s never really been a competition. They’ve always been on each other's teams. What he won, Art won as well.
“I’m just saying, like… throw me a couple games? Maybe even a set?”
“If it really matters to you so much, I can just give it to you,” Patrick casually replies, licking the ketchup from his fingers.
“You… Really?”
Patrick shrugs like it's nothing.
“Wow,” Art mutters in disbelief. “Okay. Thank you.”
“I mean, every once in a while, a kid who wins the juniors turns out to be an actually great player, but most of them fall off the map or end up in, like, the top 300. It’s a curse.”
“But you seemed really excited about the doubles trophy…”
Their recent win is still fresh on his mind. “That’s different,” Patrick explains, remembering the euphoric moment they proudly received the trophy together. “That’s just you and me. That was just really fun.”
As they enter the court, Patrick and Art quickly notice how packed the stands are. The sound of chatter fills the air as they travel through the crowd, nodding to a few familiar faces along the way. It smells like hotdogs and sunscreen. Patrick eyes the bright green tennis court, feeling a surge of excitement for the match ahead.
“Did Mark tell you about the party on Long Island?” Patrick asks as they walk up the bleachers’ steps. They find two empty spots with decent views and sit down.
“The Adidas thing?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not going.”
“What?” he spits incredulously. “Why not?”
“We have a final tomorrow?” Art replies as if the answer is obvious.
“I just told you I’d let you win.”
Before he can respond, someone shoves their way next to Patrick, pushing him closer to Art. Around them, spectators are still filling in, trying to snag the last seats before the match starts. The crowd is buzzing with excitement.
“Don’t you wanna meet Tashi Duncan?” Patrick asks.
Art smirks wordlessly.
Word about Tashi Duncan had been spreading rapidly over the past few years. To Patrick, it was like witnessing the birth of a star, akin to Michael Jordan leading up to the 1984 NBA draft or Serena Williams capturing her first Grand Slam in 1999. In June, Tashi graduated from high school, boasting three Junior Open titles and an impressive sponsorship with Adidas.
“You don’t get it man you’ve never seen her in person,” Patrick urges. “She’s in another league.”
“You mean her game?”
“No, I mean, she’s the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.”
As if right on cue, the crowd perks up. They both look just in time to see Tashi Duncan stroll onto the court.
She’s just as mesmerizing as Patrick remembers. Today, she’s clad from head to toe in the sleekest Adidas gear: pure white, no scuffs, tailored precisely for her figure and contrasting perfectly against her dark bronze skin. She’s tall, maybe an inch or two short of six feet with a tiny waist and legs for days - like a Victoria’s Secret model combined with the strength of a brutal force of nature.
Unable to take his eyes off her, Patrick watches as she unsheathes her racket and tests its suspension. She waves to the crowd, flashing a pearly-white smile before bending over into a pre-game stretch. The seam of her tiny tennis skirt just barely covers the swell of her ass. The sight of it makes Patrick’s dick twitch in his pants.
“Fuck me.”
Patrick glances over at his best friend.
Art, who was clueless moments before, now seems to finally understand what Patrick meant - and looks wrecked by the revelation.
(-)
The match is one of the most intense Patrick has ever witnessed.
Tashi Duncan is lightning in a bottle, her focus unwavering, as if nothing in the world could stop her from winning.
Each serve she sends across the net to her opponent, Anna Meuller, is packed with a punch, seemingly personal, almost vindictive. Their back-and-forth mirrors the sharp, cutting exchanges of a couple on the brink of a breakup.
It’s incredibly hot. Patrick finds himself leaning forward the longer he watches, not wanting to miss a thing.
He wonders if she fucks the same way she plays - if she’d meet his fire with more fire. If she’d cry out like she does while making that insane backhand.
Suddenly, Meuller pulls out a trick shot, making the crowd collectively gasp. Heart pounding, Patrick grasps Art’s leg. A second later, Tashi leaps forward to make an impossible volley. It takes her opponent by surprise and lands right near the court line. Meuller curses when she fails to get to it on time.
“COME ON!”
In the heat of adrenaline, Tashi’s scream tears through the air like some sort of war cry.
The crowd explodes in applause.
Patrick blinks, finally letting go of his friend’s leg.
Beside him, Art lets out an airy laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. When they meet each other’s gaze, a mirthful grin stretches upon Patrick’s face, nodding as if to say I told you so.
(-)
On the way back to the hotel, Art raves about the match, giving Patrick a detailed play-by-play as if he hadn’t sat beside him the entire game. But Patrick indulges his enthusiasm, finding it somewhat amusing.
“So that means you're going to the party, right?” Patrick asks as he swipes his hotel key to unlock the door.
They enter their room and switch on the light. Inside, it’s uncomfortably hot and stuffy. Patrick walks over and smacks the AC, which is still broken.
Art dramatically jumps backward onto the mattress.
“You think we could actually talk to her?” he asks skeptically.
“What do you mean? Of course, we can talk to her.”
“There’s probably a line of people wanting the same thing.”
“So? Did any of them win the Junior Open?” Patrick retorts with a smug grin, tapping his finger on the glass trophy that rests on their dresser.
Art rolls his eyes and drops his head back down to the mattress.
A second later, Patrick leaps onto the bed, poking Art in his side. Knowing exactly where to get, he manages to get a laugh out of him before Art shoves him away. Then he pauses, laying back. Patrick considers his friend, knowing that beyond that yellow mop of hair, his mind is a swirl of thoughts and doubts.
Patrick flops one of his arms onto Art’s chest and waits for his blue-green eyes to meet his.
“She’s one of us, Art,” Patrick declares with enough confidence for the both of them. “The least we can do is shoot our shot.”
(-)
The Adidas party is held at a luxurious beach-side mansion in Long Island. Patrick and Art take the shuttle with two dozen kids who also competed in the Junior Open, all reigning in their losses and victories with whatever alcohol they managed to smuggle in their bras and cargo shorts. Their buddy Matt congratulates the two of them on their win and offers them a swig from his silver flask. Art politely declines while Patrick takes an eager swig with a pained grimace.
After grabbing some sodas from the bar, they wander around the party, occasionally taking sips from their drinks. When the DJ starts spinning good music, people gather on the dancefloor.
Patrick scans the crowd, hoping to spot Tashi among the dancers. He can’t help but appreciate the view of some girls as they move to the beat. He mutters something slyly to Art, but his friend doesn't respond; in fact, he’s no longer by his side. Turning around, Patrick spots Art several yards away and heads back to see what caught his attention.
Tashi’s Junior Open Cup is on display, flanked by two impressive posters from her Adidas photoshoot and a banner proclaiming, "Adidas celebrates the tennis champions of tomorrow."
Inwardly, Patrick wonders how much she made off the sponsorship. He bets it’s more than six figures. And she hasn’t even gone pro yet.
“She’s gonna turn her whole family into millionaires,” he declares, sidling up next to Art. “She’ll have a fashion line, a nutritional supplement… a foundation. The Tashi Duncan Center for Girls - taking at-risk youth off the streets and onto the courts-”
“Don’t make fun of her, man,” Art responds thoughtfully. “She’s a remarkable young woman.”
“I know,” Patrick replies innocently. “I know, dude. She’s a pillar of the community.”
They both stare at her poster. A mischievous grin plays across Patrick’s lips as he leans in and whispers, “I’d let her fuck me with a racket.”
Art rolls his eyes, trying and failing to not crack a smile.
Together, they turn around and face the rest of the party. As they observe the dancefloor, Patrick’s eyes catch on a girl in a royal blue dress. He elbows Art, and instantly, they walk toward a table with a closer view.
Off the tennis court, Tashi looks completely different. Her dark hair cascades in loose waves down her back. She still exudes confidence but seems even more carefree on the dance floor. She’s with her friends, but Patrick hardly notices them. He can't take his eyes off her, and the way her dress sways with each swirl of her hips.
Patrick glances at Art, whose attention is solely focused on Tashi. His gaze is full of intense, open longing—the desire radiating from him is almost palpable. There’s a fire in Art's eyes that he's never witnessed before.
It sort of kicks Patrick into gear. Rarely does Art ever want anything as much as Patrick wants something, and never mind the same girl.
For a brief moment, Patrick imagines what it would be like to have this version of Art on the other side of the court, fighting for something he wants more than anything. The thought both thrills and unnerves him.
When the song ends, Tashi peels herself away from her friends and walks off the dancefloor.
Patrick sees his chance and takes it. He takes off toward Tashi and feels Art on his tail.
“Hey!” he says as she grabs her drink. “I’m Patrick Zwaig-”
“And I’m Art Donaldson.”
“I know who you are.” She takes a sip and looks at both of them. “You’re Fire and Ice, right?”
“In the flesh,” Patrick says, smiling at the name he and Art had been anointed with as they made their way up in the ranks in the tennis world. As cheesy as it was, he’s come to love it over time.
Tashi sits down and tilts her head curiously. “Which one’s which?”
“What do you think?” he asks, quizzing her to see if she’s seen them play before. Once you have, it's obvious.
“You were fucking incredible today,” Art blurts out.
She smiles. “Thank you."
“No, really. I mean, it wasn’t even tennis - it was an entirely different game. Honestly, I felt bad for Anna.”
“Oh, don’t. She’s a sore loser and a racist bitch.”
Patrick snorts.
“She’ll be okay,” Tashi adds nonchalantly. Turning back to Art, she asks, “You’re going to Stanford, right?”
“Yeah,” Art replies, surprised. “How’d you know that?”
“I just accepted my offer and they mentioned you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yep.”
“You’re not going pro?” Patrick asks, unable to mask his disappointment.
Tashi examines him carefully, registering his displeasure, then shakes her head. “No, not yet.”
“Why would you waste your time playing college tennis?”
Patrick ignores Art’s questioning gaze.
Before she can answer, her father calls out her name. He motions to the cameras set up by the trophy.
“I need to go take pictures,” Tashi announces, standing up. “But it was nice meeting you both.”
“Yeah,” they both say, nodding eagerly in unison.
Her gaze bounces between them, and she smirks, amused.
Patrick and Art watch her leave in a daze, waving goodbye. Once she’s gone, Patrick slumps down into the chair.
Art restlessly shuffles back and forth on his feet.
“So. What now?” he asks a few moments later.
“What do you mean?” Patrick retorts. “That was it.”
“You don’t wanna stick around, try talking to her again-”
“No, no, that’ll seem too desperate,” he says, shaking his head dejectedly. “We should just wait for the shuttle back to the hotel.”
“Yeah, sure,” Art sighs reluctantly. “Okay.”
Across the venue, Tashi looks like someone who was born to win. While toting her new trophy, she poses for pictures with execs from the Junior Open and Adidas. Patrick can easily envision her hands clasping a similar trophy made of Wimbledon gold.
He wants her more than he’s wanted any girl in his life. He feels that same desire emanating from Art, standing next to him. It only makes Patrick want her more.
“Okay. Let’s go,” Art says.
“Yeah,” Patrick nods, but he doesn’t get up. “Let’s go.”
(-)
Art eventually persuades Patrick to stay for just a little while longer.
They find a quiet spot in the garden, away from the loud music. Patrick, with his shitty fake I.D., manages to charm his way into getting them a beer. They pass the bottle back and forth, watching the party slowly dwindle.
The conversation they had with Tashi keeps rolling over in Patrick’s mind. He’s stuck on Stanford and how stupid it is. Why waste four years of your life at some shitty, elitist institution when you can shoot your shot now? He just doesn’t get it.
He can't help but picture the three of them a year from now: Art and Tashi at Stanford, becoming star college athletes, and Patrick, a budding professional, winning Challengers halfway across the country.
The thought bothers him in ways he can't fully understand. He feels it, though, a twist in his stomach, a sharp rush of… something. Jealousy. Or perhaps it was dread. He wasn’t sure.
It was hard enough to find out that Art was going off to college. He’s already anxious about being on the road without him, about Art making new friends, and about living life separately after years of being in each other’s pocket. He isn’t sure if he knows how to live without him. Knowing Tashi Duncan is going to the same school makes it even worse.
Just as Patrick finds himself ready to call it a night, Art suddenly smacks him on the arm, nodding to someone in the distance.
It's Tashi, prancing along the grass in her royal blue dress. In an instant, Patrick’s mood completely shifts. He sits up straight and waves at her.
“Hi!”
Tashi pauses, squinting in their direction.
“Oh, hey,” she says, walking over hesitantly. “You guys are still here?”
“It’s a great party,” Art says.
“Thanks,” she replies, standing with her hands on her hips, observing them with her cool gaze. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for tomorrow?"
“Oh, it’s just the juniors-.”
“I think we both know how it’s gonna go.”
“Okay,” Tashi laughs. “Well… it's cool that you stayed.”
Patrick takes out his pack of Malboros from his pocket.
"Yeah, actually, I wanted to talk to you about that point earlier-" Art begins before being interrupted.
"Do you smoke?" Patrick asks.
Art shuts his mouth and looks expectantly at Tashi.
"Cigarettes?" she clarifies.
Patrick nods with a sly grin.
"No," she chuckles. "Do you?"
"Yep.”
Art nods along sheepishly.
"Want to go down to the beach?" he asks confidently, absentmindedly tapping his pack of cigarettes on the armrest of his chair.
Tashi watches them both like a spectator at a tennis match, analyzing their every move, like she’s trying to figure out their strategy.
A playful yet dangerous spark appears in her eyes.
Patrick smiles innocently back at her.
Finally, Tashi nods decisively. "Alright."
(-)
The three of them traverse across the large estate towards the beach. Large hedges line the path, all sculpted in extravagant designs.
“Hey, look,” Patrick points to a marble fountain. “That’s probably the same price as your tuition, Art.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tashi scoffs.
“This place is ridiculous.”
“What do you mean? It’s nice!” she retorts.
“It’s like a castle. Like they want to be feudal lords or something.”
“Oh, and what does your parents' place look like?”
Art snorts.
Tashi motions to Art as if he proved her point. “Exactly.”
Patrick shakes his head. “Not like this.”
“No, it’s bigger actually,” Art teases.
“No…” Patrick retorts unconvincingly. “I mean, yeah, technically it is I guess.”
They find a place along the shore. Patrick sits on one of the wooden chairs and Art sinks into the one next to him. Meanwhile, Tashi coolly strolls across the sand, their eyes tracking her every move, just like they did during her match.
Sitting atop the rocks opposite them, she bends down to take off her sandals. Patrick’s gaze traces the line of Tashi’s long, muscular legs to her bare feet as she wiggles her perfectly manicured toes into the sand.
Leaning back as if to bathe in the light of the moon, Tashi suddenly looked surreal - like a siren who had washed up on shore, planning to ensnare the soul of any young man who crossed her path.
Patrick curiously peers over at Art but his eyes are locked on Tashi. He looks reverent, sitting on the edge of his seat - physically drawn in, like a moth to a flame.
Shifting to reach into his pocket, Patrick retrieves his pack of smokes. He balances one between his lips as he lights it, taking a deep drag and filling his lungs with smoke. He tugs one cigarette out for Art and tries handing it to him, but he doesn’t notice. With Tashi around, it was like no one else existed.
“Hey,” he mutters. Art blinks, finally noticing the cigarette and takes it without looking at him.
Patrick’s face twitches in annoyance.
Shifting his focus, he looks back at Tashi who’s watching the waves roll in and out, her face calm and almost meditative.
“So,” Patrick says, breaking the silence. “I have to ask you about the Stanford thing.”
“Okay,” Tashi replies, still staring at the waves.
“What’s the angle?” he asks suspiciously. “Why do you want to beat up on a bunch of girls who were the best players at their high school?”
She shares a knowing glance with Art, who smiles crookedly, preening under her attention.
“You know they offer classes in college, right? I don’t want my only skill in life to be hitting a ball with a racket.”
Patrick nods thoughtfully, lips slowly curling into a smirk. “I get it… You’re making us wait for you.”
Tashi quirks a brow, waiting for him to continue.
“The 18-year-old tennis phenomenon who cares about her education,” he nods, impressed. “It’s brilliant. Really. I can already see the Adidas campaign.”
Tashi leans forward defiantly. “And when are you going pro?”
“Soon as I can,” he declares, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Hitting a ball with a racket is a great way to avoid having a job.”
“Well, that’s also your problem. ‘Cause you think tennis is about expressing yourself, doing your thing… that’s why you still have that serve.”
So she has seen us play, he thinks to himself
“It works,” Patrick replies cockily.
“Yeah. But you’re not a tennis player.” Tashi says, inclining her head teasingly. “‘Cause you don’t know what tennis is.”
Patrick indulges her. “What is it?”
Tashi leans back. “It’s a relationship.”
Behind her the waves continue to roll in, and for a moment it’s the only sound.
Patrick envisions the match, the staccato rhythm of their back and forth, how well they both played, how powerfully Tashi hit back each serve.
“Is that what you and Anna Meuller had today?” Patrick inquires.
She smiles for real this time.
“It is actually. For about fifteen seconds there we were actually playing tennis. We understood each other completely. So did everyone watching. It was like we were in love,” Tashi muses, her voice taking on a dreamy tone he’s sure is reserved only for tennis. “It was like we didn’t exist. We went somewhere really beautiful together.”
“You screamed.”
It's the first time Art has spoken in a while.
“Never heard anything like it before,” he remarks.
Tashi stares at him for a long moment - not how she looks at Patrick. There’s no heat, no coldness. Her face seems to soften, the hard edges smoothing into something almost sweet. For a second, she looks like a regular girl smiling bashfully at a regular boy. Art, meanwhile, meets her gaze levelly, his eyes drunk with fondness.
Patrick takes another long drag from his cigarette.
“I should go,” Tashi eventually announces. “Before my dad comes looking for me.”
Bending down, she picks up her sandals and then stands to leave. “I’ll see you at school, Art.”
“Wait,” Patrick calls out. He refuses to give up now.
Tashi waits expectantly.
“Are you on Facebook?”
“What’s Facebook?”
“He’s asking for your number,” Art clarifies. “And so am I.”
She crosses her arms, grinning sardonically. “You both want my number.”
“Very much so, yeah,” Art answers.
“Okay, well I’m not a homewrecker,” she says.
“We don’t live together-”
“It’s an open relationship,” Patrick says with a cheeky grin.
“Also, Patrick has a girlfriend.”
“I do not - hey. Come hang out with us later. They put you up at the hotel in Flushing, right? We’re in Room 206.”
“Want me to come tuck you in?”
“No,” Patrick shrugs. “We can just keep talking. About tennis.”
Tashi smirks, clearly not believing him. “Goodnight.”
As she turns to leave, Patrick adds tauntingly, “We have beer!”
“Okay,” she laughs, shaking her head.
After Tashi departs up the path back towards the party, Patrick turns to Art. They share a quiet glance and finish the rest of their cigarettes in silence as the waves crash onto the shore.
(-)
A few hours later, Patrick and Art are lounging in the hotel room, stripped down to their boxers in an attempt to cope with the suffocating heat.
Their summer tans are coated in a tacky layer of dried sweat, glistening under the yellow glow of the hotel lights. They are bored, waiting around while sharing a tall boy and passing a cigarette back and forth until they’re finished, only to light another and start again.
Art is lying across the two beds they had pushed together - a tradition they had started at twelve, sharing countless hotel rooms for school trips and tennis tournaments. At times, Art worried that they might be getting too old for such antics, but Patrick thought that was BS. Anything he got to do alongside Art was just automatically better, even sleeping. Even on the nights that Art got anxious before a match, tossing and turning until Patrick scolds him to relax, it’s worth waking up with his arm draped across his chest, a foot latched around his ankle, his face stupid and peaceful in his sleep.
Tired of the radio station, Art gets up to fiddle with the dial and mostly finds static. While aimlessly shuffling a deck of cards, Patrick’s gaze lingers on Art as he bends over. He eyes the backs of his muscular thighs and the curve of his ass through his thin boxers.
“Oh, oh,” Art exclaims when he finds a decent station. A melody materializes through the static and he turns to Patrick with a dorky smile, waiting for his approval.
Pretending he hadn’t just been staring, Patrick nods, grinning tepidly before throwing a single card across the room into their doubles cup.
Art flops back down onto the bed, foot tapping to the beat of the music.
Patrick grabs the smokes from the bedside table. Once it's lit, he takes a puff without enjoying it then throws another card. It misses.
He shifts restlessly, stretching his legs out on the bed and nudging Art on the cheek with his big toe just because.
Art swats his foot away like it’s a fly.
“What time is it?” Patrick asks.
Art turns to look at the digital clock resting on the bedside table.
“11:59.”
His skin feels tight against his bones, a prickling discomfort that reminds him he hasn't jerked off today. His entire body feels coiled, ready to spring into action at any moment.
Patrick smacks the AC with his fist. The insides rattle uselessly.
“It’s broken,” Art mutters, exasperated. “And she’s not coming.”
“She might,” Patrick replies stubbornly.
Art sighs, shaking his head. “You made it sound like we wanted to fuck her in here.”
“We do want to fuck her in here,” Patrick retorts.
“Okay, yeah, maybe but… what was your plan?” he inquires, more serious now. “Let’s say she did come over. Then what? We just keep shooting our shot until she ends up making out with one of us, hopefully, and the other one-” Art tugs on Patrick’s toe to get his attention “-sits in the bathroom?”
Patrick pulls his foot back, shooting him an irritated glance. Was that really what he was worried about? “Sure, if it came to that.”
Art scoffs.
“What? You think that’s beneath you?”
“I think it's beneath her.”
Patrick leans forward on his chair toward Art. “What if she chooses you? You won’t feel comfortable sending me away?”
“She’s not coming, Patrick!”
Suddenly a knock startles them from their conversation.
They both freeze, exchanging incredulous looks. At first, Patrick thinks the sound might be a figment of their imagination. But a few seconds later, another knock is heard, and they frantically spring into action.
Patrick quickly stubs out his cigarette and uselessly attempts to disperse the lingering smoke. He then grabs the closest shirt within reach and throws it on. Meanwhile, Art hastily gathers their scattered clothing and stuffs it into the closet. He hisses at Patrick to help him make the bed look presentable. And just as Patrick pulls down the last corner of the comforter, Art rushes to the entrance.
With a curse, Patrick leaps off the bed and sprints across the room as Art opens the door.
There stands Tashi Duncan, wearing a hot pink track jacket and purple booty shorts.
“Hey,” they both say in unison.
“Hey,” she says, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets.
The three of them stand there awkwardly, not saying anything. She quirks her brow.
“You gonna let me in?" she asks dryly.
“Shit, yeah. Come in,” Art rushes out, shoving Patrick so she has enough space to walk inside.
All three find themselves standing in the middle of the hotel room. Noticing something out of place, Art swiftly collects the cards Patrick had tossed into the trophy and shoves them into his hands.
“Uh, sorry,” Art chuckles nervously. “We honestly thought you weren’t gonna come.”
“But I’m glad you did,” Patrick adds.
Ignoring him, she purses her lips, casually surveying the room. Her eyes land on the beds they had pushed together in the centre, covered haphazardly with a cheap duvet.
“What have you guys been up to since the party?” Tashi inquires.
“Nothing really-”
“Yeah, the AC is broken, so we’ve just laying low.”
Tashi walks farther into the room, taking everything in with her calculative gaze.
Turning around, she surveys them carefully and asks, “You guys said you had beer?”
Patrick retrieves the last Coors Light from the mini fridge near the washroom. It cracks open with a hiss as he joins Art and Tashi on the carpet.
He hands the beer over to Tashi with a wink.
“Mm,” she hums after taking a sip, eyes narrowing when she notices they’re empty-handed. “You guys aren’t drinking?”
“It’s our last one.”
“We had more,” Art explains apologetically. “But we sorta got bored.”
“Okay” she laughs. “Well, we can share this one, right?”
“You sure?”
With a grateful smile, Patrick accepts the beer and takes a conservative sip. Then he passes the can to Art, laughing while he fails to mask his disgust as it goes down.
“Art hates beer,” he explains to Tashi.
“I don’t hate it-”
“I can tell when you don’t like something, man. You make that face.”
Art frowns, and Patrick points at him. “See? That one right there.”
Art rolls his eyes. Tashi laughs.
“Did you guys go to Mommy and Me classes together or something?”
They both chuckle, shaking their heads.
“What?” she says softly. “You just both seem like brothers.”
“Well,” Art replies in jest. “That’s what the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy will do for you,”
“Oh, right, right. You guys went to boarding school,” Tashi remarks.
“Mhm,” Patrick nods. “We’ve been bunkmates since we were twelve, so…”
“That’s really cute.”
“You ever thought about doing something like that?” Art asks.
“Boarding school?”
He nods.
“No, no,” she answers honestly. “We couldn’t afford it. And even if I could get a scholarship or something, there’s no way my parents would want me to come of age in an environment like that.”
“Huh…” Patrick mutters, confused. “Why? What were they afraid of?”
Tashi smirks, forcing them to read between the lines. When they finally catch on, they both look at each other and let out an uncomfortable laugh.
“So, is that where you met your girlfriend?” Tashi asks Patrick.
“Oh, she’s not my-” he pauses, knowing he’s not fooling anyone. “Um… Yeah. That’s where.”
“And you,” she says to Art. “Why aren’t you pretending to not have a girlfriend?”
“Art’s in between ladies,” Patrick explains.
“No, no - that makes it sound like I’m some sort of…”
“Player?” adds Tashi.
“Yeah. Art does fine for himself, I mean look at him.”
Patrick reaches over to ruffle Art’s hair, who quickly smacks his hand away, smiling despite himself.
Tashes watches with an amused twinkle in her eye. Adjusting to sit up on her knees, she leans forward inquisitively. “So…How often does this happen?”
“Does what happen?” Art asks.
She motions between the two of them. “Going after the same girl.”
“Mm, not as often as you’d think actually,” Patrick answers.
“Really?”
“We usually have different types,” Art adds.
“Oh. So you’re saying I should be flattered,” Tashi says teasingly.
“No,” Patrick chuckles.
“Well,” Art replies, biting his lip. “Aren’t you everybody’s type?”
That was good, Patrick must admit. Even Tashi, who was undoubtedly showered with attention and compliments, seems begrudgingly charmed by him.
Tilting her head, Tashi’s eyes narrow curiously. “What about the two of you?”
Patrick feels his smile falter.
“Uh, what do you mean?” Art asks.
It’s not hard to understand what she’s implying. Tashi motions between them and, once again, waits for Art to catch on.
“Oh!” Art eventually exclaims, unable to hide his surprise. “No.”
Art looks over at Patrick who’s ignoring the feeling in his chest and staring at a random spot on the carpet.
“Why? Is that surprising?” Art wonders out loud.
Tashi doesn’t answer. Instead, she peers at Patrick, as he bites the inside of his cheek with a far-off stare. He blinks and meets her gaze as he back to himself.
She squints at him, her cool eyes, cunning, perceptive.
For a split second, Patrick worries she can see right through him.
He wonders what she’d see.
“What?” she whispers.
He lets go of a breath. “Uh, well-”
“No.”
Art is staring at Patrick with a stern expression.
At first, he’s confused, but then Patrick remembers.
It’s not like he forgot. Patrick could never forget. It was just that this specific story hadn’t even crossed his mind at that moment.
Now he had to tell it.
Patrick laughs. “I mean…”
“No,” Art presses.
Tashi’s gaze bounces back and forth excitedly. Patrick gives her an apologetic glance.
“Sorry-”
“Patrick-”
Tashi’s loving this. “Okay, you have to tell me now.”
“I think it’s a sweet story!” Patrick exclaims. (Because he does.)
“Uh-huh.” Art mutters dejectedly, accepting his fate. He hides his face behind his hair. “Alright.”
With a playful shove, she pushes him to go on. “Come on, let’s hear it.”
“I… taught Art how to jerk off. So…” he says with a shrug.
Tashi’s brows shoot up in surprise.
Art looks up, his face is as red as a tomato. “Okay, let me explain.”
As though she's holding back a laugh, Tashi bites her lip.
“Patrick was an early bloomer, okay? And I think that I was on time. And… one time, when we were twelve, he thought I was asleep and he was… you know…”
“Jerking off,” Patrick interjects.
“Yeah, and I asked him, ‘What are you doing?’ And he said he was…”
“Jerking off.”
“Basically, he asked me if I had ever done it before and I told him no. And so… He showed me how.”
Tashi looks at Patrick for confirmation.
He nods proudly.
“What do you mean he showed you how?” Tashi asks Art.
“He did it on his bed and I did it on my bed,” Art quickly clarifies. “We did it together but on opposite sides of the room.”
Patrick nods, remembering every detail with perfect clarity.
Of Art in his small, single bed across the room.
The sounds, the breaths, the rustling of sheets. The way Art did everything Patrick instructed him to do. The seconds leading up to the moment they finished -
Patrick takes a swig of beer, casually adjusting himself in his shorts.
“So,” Tashi continues, trying to get a clearer picture. “You were just like… silent?”
“No, no! We were talking about… Kat - weren’t we, Patrick?” he shoots his friend a desperate look, and Patrick nods along.
“He said it's always good to imagine somebody when you’re doing it. And so I asked him about this girl-”
Patrick snaps his fingers the moment her name comes back to him. “Kat Zimmerman.”
“Kat Zimmerman, right. And so I thought about her, too.”
“Okay,” Tashi says, starting to understand. “So, who finished first?”
“Oh, I don’t remember-”
“I think you,” Patrick answers, pointing in his direction.
Art blushes madly. Tashi smiles.
“Okay… how was it afterwards?”
“Actually, I think Art was a little surprised by the whole thing,” Patrick chuckles, entertained by the memory. “He was just sitting there covered in all of it. He looked like a kid who spilled milk all over his lap.”
Tashi throws her head back in a laugh.
“Jesus, Patrick!” Art exclaims, stuffing his face into his shirt.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, Tashi swipes the tall boy from Patrick's hand and takes a sip.
“And what about Kat Zimmerman?” she asks. “Whatever happened to her? Either of you…”
“Neither of us,” Patrick replies. “She got injured a week later and had to quit… but she wasn’t really that good in the first place.”
“Yeah, she sucked,” Art adds.
“I see,” she mutters thoughtfully.
A moment later, she downs the rest of the beer Then, shaking the empty can, she announces, “We’re out of beer.”
Patrick and Art stare at one another cluelessly. Unsure of what to do next, they wordlessly look back at Tashi.
Face inscrutable, she sets the can on the carpet and stands up. Tashi looks around the room, calculating her next move. Eventually, she makes her way over to the bed and sits down.
Still on the floor, Patrick and Art look up at her, frozen in anticipation.
“Come here,” she whispers with the wave of her hand.
“Which one?” Art asks just as Patrick launches himself across the room.
They both rush to sit by her side.
For a long moment, the only audible noise is the music emanating faintly from the nearby radio. Patrick tries to sit still as Tashi sizes them up, as if she’s carefully trying to figure out who she wants to pick.
First, her gaze lingers on Art. He meets her eyes for a brief second before looking bashfully away.
Then Tashi turns to look at Patrick. He meets her gaze squarely with an assured smile. His heart races with anticipation as she slowly leans in, her brown eyes shifting to his lips.
But then, Tashi stops. Changing her mind, she turns back to Art.
Patrick sees the change in his friend’s expression as Tashi draws closer, eyes darkening like he’s under some sort of spell. When their lips finally touch, Patrick feels his heart drop, momentarily shattered. But the longer he watches them kiss, and the way their mouths move together, the more entranced he becomes.
Patrick shifts to get a better view and peers over Tashi’s shoulder. He catches a glimpse of a pink, wet tongue as it slips into Art’s mouth and hears the subsequent sound of Art’s shuttering breath.
Despite having seen Art make out with girls at parties before, it was always from a distance. Now, it’s right in front of him - and he can’t look away. Art is so responsive, listening to each unspoken command and eagerly opening his mouth for more.
And then there's Tashi, who leads the dance with confidence. She sets the pace, running her fingers through Art's hair to tilt his head and claim his bottom lip.
Patrick can't help but notice signs of Art’s arousal, from the flush creeping up his neck, his quickening breath, to the unmistakable bulge in his shorts...
It's the hottest thing Patrick has ever witnessed.
Their kiss slows down until Tashi pulls away. Patrick stares at Art, who looks absolutely wrecked.
Smiling, Tashi licks her lips and turns to Patrick. He quickly sits up and leans in.
Kissing Tashi Duncan is a subtle battle for dominance. The intensity builds quickly between them. Patrick cups her face while she grasps his jaw. She traces her tongue along the seam of his lips, and in response, Patrick tilts his head, licking into her mouth.
She tastes like beer and spearmint gum. She tastes like Art.
Too soon, Tashi pulls away. Only a second later, she adjusts her hair to expose the slender line of her neck—Patrick and Art glimpse at each other before leaning in and kissing the soft skin below her ear. He breathes in her scent - notes of vanilla and coconut wafting from her hair. He sucks on their skin, licking up to bite the lobe of her ear and hearing her sharp intake of breath.
Tashi gently guides their faces upward, directing their mouths to her's. Patrick eagerly claims the corner of her mouth, and for an instant, he feels Art right there, so close, kissing her, too. And then he’s gone.
They pull away, and Art chuckles awkwardly. Patrick follows suit. Tashi just smiles reassuringly, luring them back toward her again.
Things escalate quickly after that. Unable to quench his hunger, Patrick kisses, licks and sucks anything his mouth can reach, hungry for any of it - all of it. In the midst of it all, he feels the wet slide of Art’s tongue against his own as they both kiss Tashi, but it's gone just as quickly as it came. In response, Patrick swears he can feel Tashi beckoning them closer - not to herself, but to each other.
It's like she has flipped a switch. His deepest desires, the ones held back by an unspoken but ever-present barrier, are suddenly allowed to surface. His heart pounds in his chest when Tashi rests a hand on his neck, gently guiding him towards his best friend - making them come together. Eyes closed, Patrick moves forward as if swept away by a powerful current. And then Art’s lips are on his, and he can taste him, and their mouths are moving together, and Art isn’t pulling away. With nothing holding him back, Patrick claims him completely.
It's surprising how easy it is to kiss Art. Years of being his doubles partner allow them to move synchronously; like they can read each other’s minds. It’s as if it were second nature—like they should’ve been doing this all along.
Sliding his hand up the side of Art’s neck, he feels the soft ends of his hair beneath his fingertips. When Patrick pulls him closer he's met with eager compliance. The sound Art makes goes straight to his core.
Time seems to narrow and expand all at once as their mouths come together and pull apart again and again and again.
And then time stops.
“Okay.”
Tashi’s voice snaps them back to reality.
Patrick opens his eyes and sees Art staring blankly back at him. They look down to find Tashi leaning back on her arms against the mattress with an unreadable expression.
In a daze, Patrick watches Tashi get up and slip on her sandals. Everything feels surreal, like he just woke up from a dream.
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” she announces.
“What about your number?” Art asks stupidly.
“I told you I’m not a homewrecker.”
Crossing her arms, she gives Patrick a look that suggests everything that just happened had proved something to her. That this is what she’d been trying to do all along.
Oh.
“Please?” Art adds desperately.
“Look,” she replies after a long sigh. “I’ll give my number to whoever wins the match tomorrow.”
A triumphant grin spreads across Patrick’s face while Art sinks in defeat.
“You can beat him, you know,” Tashi says to Art. “And you should.”
“Does that mean you want me to beat him?” he asks.
“It means I want to watch some good fucking tennis,” she declares with a tone of finality.
Still sitting on the bed, Patrick and Art watch Tashi as strolls towards the exit. With one final, lingering look, she opens the door and waves goodbye.