Rating: no sex, no profanity, no violence, no drugs.
Disclaimer: I like tennis. A lot. However, I don't own any tennis players, tennis courts, tennis tournaments, or tennis equipment except for two rather grungy tennis balls for my dog. This is a fictional representation.
Lindsay slammed her racket down on the bench and swore. She was getting too old for this.
She heard someone at the far end of the locker room bump into something with a soft exclamation. Lindsay made her way over to where the sound had come from, and when she turned the corner, she spotted Justine, sitting on a bench.
Justine smiled at her but couldn't quite meet Lindsay's eyes. "You are upset, yes?"
Lindsay frowned. "Yeah, you could say that."
"You did not play poorly," Justine said, tilting her head.
"Yeah, I did," Lindsay corrected. "I was crap out there."
Justine shrugged. "Also, Mary is playing well."
"Are you trying to make me feel better?"
Justine blushed, but smiled. "Is it working?"
"Maybe," Lindsay said, and edged closer to Justine.
"You should smile often," said Justine. "You have a nice smile."
"So do you."
"I rarely see yours," Justine said, and leaned against the wall behind the bench. Lindsay leaned against the lockers on the opposite side of the row.
"Not on court," Lindsay said. "I smile more off court."
"In the locker room?"
Lindsay laughed softly. "In restaurants, on the beach, anywhere but on court."
"I think perhaps I would spend time with you, at the beach," Justine said.
"Maybe we could."
"Now?"
"Don't you have a match?" Lindsay asked.
"I can use a moment," Justine answered, grinning.
Lindsay straightened and immediately winced.
Justine frowned. She reached toward Lindsay's leg, but stopped herself from actually touching Lindsay.
"Your thigh, still?" she asked.
"Yeah. It's just not going away," Lindsay said, resting her hand just below the strain.
"My trainer showed me this," Justine said, and patted the bench next to her. Once Lindsay had sat down, Justine reached for Lindsay's leg.
Lindsay watched her with interest as Justine gently ran her fingertips over Lindsay's thigh. Lindsay shivered, and Justine smiled at her. Lindsay blushed again, and Justine began to prod Lindsay's leg. She gently rubbed the muscle, barely touching Lindsay. Lindsay couldn't tear her eyes away from Justine's hand on her thigh.
The locker room door banged open, and one of the Roland Garros media people called, "Miss Davenport?"
Justine jerked away, and Lindsay whimpered at the loss of contact. They both turned red, and Justine stood so fast she tripped. By the time Lindsay realized what had happened, Justine was gone, and the media person was standing at the end of the row, talking to her. Lindsay ignored him and tried to control her breathing.
After a few moments, she smiled absently at the man, and said, "I'll need a few more minutes, please." Then she went to take a cold shower.
[Justine Henin-Hardenne won the 2005 French Open Tournament at Roland Garros in Paris, France by beating Mary Pierce in the final, 6-1, 6-1. It was her second French Open victory, and her fourth Grand Slam title.]