Thanks for reviewing! I really appreciate it. I know there might have been a few or more, ha) typos. Forgive me, I try to read over my work, but apparently I can't seem to catch anything that spell check (unhappy face times infinity) doesn't catch. Anywho, if you read, please review! I mean, if you hate it, don't review, but you catch my drift.

And Tezuka was trying to fix the garbage disposal because he is a MAN, and that's what manly men do.

Chapter 2: Game (selection of random nouns for chapter titles) (Speaking of games, I just lost the game.)

Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis. I do, however, own Dr. Griffin and the man with odd sideburns.

I really hated to admit how lazy I was.

Don't get me wrong, I get things done, and done well. But if you heard the raging battle between laziness and pride that went on in my head every time I was faced with, God, DOING something, you would not want me to watch your dog over the weekend.

It was the summer before college, and I had several lined up to accept me into their beyond professional tennis programs. But I was just so lazy, I did not want to get out of bed to go interview with them. All I wanted to do was lie in bed and get pale and fat like I do every summer. That may be slight exaggeration, but that's the way it felt. I spent most of my summer in my room, eating whatever the heck is in the house and thinking about going outside. Then I would consider the sun, but turned off from the idea of getting my fat ass out of bed, and go back to sleeping. Literally, that's what I did until about two weeks before school started, where I would pick back up a training workout to get in shape for tennis.

I eyed my lonely tennis racket hanging on the wall. Today was my appointment with the hot doctor. I had three hours until I was scheduled to be there.

The phone rang beside me, and I recognized Oishi's phone number.

"Hello?"

"Hi!"

There was silence.

"Is there something you need? I'm in the middle of an intense debate with myself on whether or not to continue being a hermit."

He laughed.

"This isn't funny. This is very serious." I said, wondering if I would still fit into my tennis shorts.

"Then come play tennis with me."

Well that was ironic.

"Now?"

"Yes."

I threw myself out of bed. "I have a doctor's appointment in a couple hours. Where do you want to meet?"

"Just the park. Is your arm hurting you, though? We don't have to play."

"No, I got in a fight with the garbage disposal the other day."

"Are you being serious or sarcastic?"

"I am being 100% serious here. Didn't I already say that?"

He laughed again, even though nothing was funny here. "See you in 10 minutes."

I sighed and hung up the phone, searching for clean clothes. I looked at myself in the mirror for a second. I hadn't let myself go completely. I could still see what was left of my abdominal muscles. I put on t-shirt, grabbed my tennis racket, and made my way to the tennis courts in the park by my house. Oishi was already there, warming up.

This was the first time I had seen him since school got out. He saw me and laughed. "Have you gotten yourself out of bed at all this summer?"

I started stretching. "No."

"It certainly looks it. I haven't seen you this pale since you got sick in freshman year."

Ugh. Freshman year. I was really looking forward to being a freshman again.

We started playing, hitting it lightly back and forth. We barely started playing before I could feel myself wearing out. We played for maybe two hours. No one had kept score, but I'm pretty sure even through my out of shape-ness, I had won.

"So when's your appointment?"

I checked my watch. "20 minutes. But it's right around the corner."

"Can I go? Then we can hang out after wards, get dinner if you want."

I was secretly thrilled by the thought of getting food from somewhere besides my house. "Sure. It shouldn't take too long."

We headed to the office, sitting in the plastic chairs in the waiting room. I checked in, and we waited. And waited. And waited some more.

Finally, maybe a half hour after my appointment was due to start, I saw her. She had jeans on today, a silky looking pink shirt poking out from under her lab coat. She had her sleeves rolled up, hair tied up, with several layers of various professional looking scrubs on. Blood was all over her pale green hospital shirt. She saw me, and I swear to the lord that she sighed and rolled her eyes.

"You're appointment's been changed," she said irritably. "I left you a message last night."

I groaned. Too bad I was too lazy to check the messages. She pulled one of her latex gloves off, holding it in between her teeth. She was hurriedly writing on a sticky note. She tore it off and handed it to me.

"That's my work cell phone number, not the office. I'm a little tied up right now, as I mentioned in the message," she said, bitterness in her voice. "If you're smart you won't call me after midnight." She was so hot, but I couldn't see her softening up.

At all.

Ever.

Oishi and I left. I was dumbfounded, he was reading the number. There was a few minutes of silence.

"She was a bitch," he said finally. "That would bother me if she wasn't so drop dead beautiful."

I just nodded, still confused about what had just happened. I guess I was a little rusty when it came to getting phone numbers, even if it wasn't for hooking up. I found myself wishing I was hooking up with her. I shook the thought from my head, following Oishi to a burger joint on Main Street.

"At least you know it's not a fake phone number," he laughed, midway through dinner. He had been pretty silent for the most part, and so had I.

"You like her, don't you?" he muttered incredulously.

"I don't like her."

"Don't lie to me, man. We've been friends for a long time. I know you better than you think I do. And I know that right now you were totally wishing you had gotten her number to hook up."

Damn it, he was good.

"That doesn't mean I like her. I like how pretty she is. I don't like how much of a heartless bitch she is all the time. I mean, I've seen her twice and the nicest thing she's said to me is 'you might need therapy'," I said, the words burning on my tongue. "If she didn't talk, she would be perfect."

He laughed. "Her attitude leaves a little to be desired, doesn't it? But she is a doctor, and it is her job to get things done right, even if it means being a 'heartless bitch'" he imitated.

I nodded, cramming what was left of my food into my mouth. Why was I suddenly so attracted to her? What made her different from all the other girls I hard turned down? The moment I thought that, though, I knew I already knew the answer. I was finally interested in someone who just couldn't bear to look at me. I was here playing hard to get, never really knowing what I was looking for.

It was time to buckle down and for once, be on the opposing team of "Hard to get".