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Deal. See you tonight.

I hit send and immediately drop my head into my hands. Hanging out with Max tonight is going to turn me into a total zombie tomorrow.

The problem? I’m looking forward to seeing him more than my next match.

The espresso machine beeps. I grab the tiny ceramic cup, offer a silent toast to the empty kitchen, and knock it back like a shot.

“Bleh,” I mutter as the bitter aftertaste coats my tongue.

I usually love Lina’s house blend, but right now, it tastes like mud. I stare at the bottom of the cup for a second longer, seriously wondering if it might be worth rubbing the leftover grounds directly under my eyes. Would the caffeine soak in like a face mask? It is espresso, after all.

“How many is that for you today?” Zoe asks, depositing a tray of dirty dishes into the sink.

I can picture the physical therapist part of her brain calculating how many milligrams of caffeine that is and figuring out when I’ll crash.

“Three?” she guesses.

“Five,” I mutter.

Zoe pauses and shoots me a dirty look. “Katie, it’s six p.m. At this rate, you’re gonna start vibrating through the walls. We’ll have to tell the customers you’re practicing the jitterbug for a throwback dance contest.”

“I know,” I say, reaching for a salad plate to scrape and rinse. “It wasn’t bad until an hour ago. I promise, no more espresso. I’ll stick to tea for the rest of my shift.”

Zoe sighs. The fight drains out of her as she leans against the stainless-steel counter. “Well, that makes two of us.”

“I bet. You came straight here after you finished with the Armadillos. You put in a longer day than me,” I say.

“Maybe. But at least I wasn’t at the gym and hauling trays all night.” She starts hunting through the cabinets, grabbing a tea bag from Lina’s hidden stash. “I really don’t know how you do this every day, K,” she murmurs. “My feet were killing me last night. They still are.”

“Necessity.” I stare down at my empty cup.

She isn’t wrong. I can’t keep juggling training, work, and everything else on my own and expect something not to fall apart. Zoe has always been the person I turn to when I need help sorting through the mess.

“Can I pick your brain about something?”

She glances over as she fills her mug with hot water and drops in the tea bag. “What’s up?”

“Have you kept in touch with Mitch? Our old college coach?”

“Mitch?” Zoe asks, surprised. “Not since graduation.”

I scrub at a stubborn spot of dried tomato sauce. “You think he’d give you a lead on some coaches if you asked?”

“Sure. He’s always willing to help. But why don’t you reach out to him?”

“We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.” I dip my head a little lower.

When I told him I was turning pro, he said something like, “You’re not ready, Keller. You’re setting yourself up for failure. Finish your degree first. You need a fallback.” When I didn’t change my tune, he opted not to renew my scholarship.

She sets her tea down. “It’s been five years. I’m sure he’s forgotten all about it.”

Zoe might be certain, but I’m not. She was Mitch’s star player—the one who helped lead us to an NCAA title. If anyone was destined to go pro, it was her. She had the talent. She just realized her heart belonged somewhere else.

I was lucky she was my doubles partner. Every day I stepped onto the court with her, she pushed me to raise my own game. Having a partner that good forced me to work my butt off just to keep up, and it made me a much better player.

“Tell you what, I’ll drop him an email,” she says. “Is there anything specific you’re looking for?”

Turning off the water, I face her. “Nope. I’ll take anybody. Just do me a solid and don’t mention to him that the coach is for me.”