Hello, so this fluffy one-shot was inspired by the film called 'Wimbledon' (starring Kristen Dunst&Paul Bettany) and the undeniable cuteness of Peter Colt (played by PB). Please enjoy!
Unfortunately, I don't own nor Peter, neither any other part of this story (can't even play tennis :( ).
„Idiot", mumbled to herself Lizzie shaking her head with disbelief. How could have so experienced player just dropped his rocket and ran toward some unknown service girl?
After second glance, however, her head tilted to the side a little as her attention was caught by the simple fact of the way in which 'this looser' (as she named him in her head) removed the strands of hair from the girl's face. He was speaking something to her, soothing her pain away.
And then, suddenly, he reached for her and scooped her up from the ground in one swift move. Usually not the sit-still kind of girl, Lizzie stopped her treadmill and stood watching mesmerized as the player personally took the service girl behind the fence to get her faster to the medical assistance. And when the close-up was made even so used to being surrounded by good-looking men and flirtatious Lizzie Bradbury couldn't have helped herself and checked his muscled arms out. Then the carried maiden was shown. She regained her conscious back and was probably a little worried he might have dropped her, because her right arm was clinching around the man's neck. Lizzie's eyes widened a little as she saw that the British whispered something to the girl's ear. A few chills started creeping down her spine but snap!, and the vision was set back on the court where Tommy Hass was explaining something to the main judge, gesticulating wildly.
Bored, Liz switched her treadmill on again and took a sip of water from the sitting on the nearby table bottle. She turned her head trying to relax the cervical muscles. After two more long shots of the arguing player, cameraman came back to the action taking place in the background.
Viewers could have seen how the medical staff was attentively taking care of the bruise on the temple of the hitten service girl. All of this was observed by the kneeling in the vicinity perpetrator. The embarrassment clearly written on his face made him look younger and so likeable in the same time, that the 'American wonder-child of tennis' started thinking why on Earth hadn't she noticed him on any tournament yet.
'Peter Colt', Lizzie repeated the name in her head after the commentators. But this time there was no spite in the undertone of it. 'Peter Colt..., what an interesting man could be...' , she thought when the broadcast was stopped and the studio of the sport programme appeared on the screen.
Lizzie smiled to herself as she heard in the radio that Peter Colt, 'the first gentleman of the court' as she liked to call him in her thoughts, had gotten the wild card to play on the Wimbledon. The minute she heard the news, decision was made. She was going to meet him.
The door slammed behind him loudly.
Lizzie giggled to herself softly, shaking her head and her ponytail jumped lightly. Such a cutie, corners of her lips stayed turned up, and his face! Oh, the perfect 'O' his mouth made. Herecame the chuckle and Lizzie wrapped the towel tighter around her waist, walking out to her bedroom.
Since the moment she had heard the information about Peter Colt's participation in the tournament, Lizzie's mind ran the miles to find some way to cross her path with him. She wasn't even sure what made her so eager of this acquittance in the first place. Her first assumption was that it could have been caused by the gentleness showed by him toward the service girl hitten by his service ball two years ago. But it was nonsense! - she told herself. It must have been his physique, some kind of a strange TV-broadcast caused sexual attraction. Yes, somehow it sounded more reasonable to the young tennis star.
So to confront her mind's images with the real, flesh and bone man, Peter Colt, resolute and self-confident Lizzie Bradbury decided to ask for a favour the most influential person in the whole hotel.
The receptionist.
Two VIP tickets and few autographs later, the promise was made that in the upcoming chaos of arriving mass of the tennis players, Peter Colt was going to be misdirected to her penthouse for their first rendezvous.
But when she asked for this little help, she had never thought that the timing would be so unfortunate. It wasn't so that she felt embarrassed of her state of undress, but Peter felt clearly uneasy about it. Though she could have sworn that somewhere behind these baby blue eyes she saw the appreciation for the view.
The mere thought made her smile again.