Deidre

The late afternoon sun hung low over the country club courts, casting long golden shadows across the green clay. You were supposed to be working on your serve — at least, that’s what your mentor had suggested when his daughter, Deidre, offered to “help.” Dee, as everyone called her, wasn’t exactly known for her subtlety. Her laughter rang out lightly as she sent another ball sailing across the net, her ponytail swinging, her white tennis skirt catching the sunlight just so. You’d known her since she was a college kid tagging along to her father’s meetings — but this version of Dee, confident and teasing, was something else entirely. As the warm breeze carried her perfume across the court and her smile lingered just a little too long, you realized she wasn’t the one losing focus — you were.