Except Andrew was moving before the striker finished taking his shot, as if he already knew where the striker was going to aim, and he didn’t even try to swing. He threw himself at the ground as far over as he could and slammed his racquet down between the ball and the goal so hard Neil heard wood crack all the way across the court. He was just fast enough; the ball hit the taut strings of his racquet and bounced off.
Renee took the opening. She caught the back of the striker’s jersey and drove her foot into the back of his knee. He fell to his knees, and Renee put all her weight on his calf to keep him from getting up again.
Belmonte’s starting dealer got the half going with an aggressive move: he fired straight up the court at the goal. Allison could have stopped it, but she casually sidestepped like it wasn’t worth her time. Andrew reacted with the same calm arrogance and just watched as the ball missed his goal by a scant inch.
Neil drained both cups before answering. “I’m fine.”
Nicky fist-pumped in triumph. “Thank you for being so predictable, Neil. You just scored me ten bucks with two words.”
Matt looked up. “Are you serious? Who the hell bet against you?”
Nicky jerked a thumb at Kevin. “There’s a sucker born every minute.”