Game, Set, Match

Book 1: A Match Point Novel

by Jennifer Iacopelli

Genres: Friendship; Sports Romance

Synopsis

She’s a tennis superstar on the rise. He’s the bad boy champ who broke her heart. When they meet on the court, their competition is hot—but their chemistry is even hotter.

All of Penny Harrison’s hard work is finally paying off. At 21 years old, she’s a tennis icon in-the-making, with massive sponsorship deals and legendary status on the horizon, if she can just nail the upcoming Grand Slam in Paris. Until then, there’s no room for mistakes.
 
When she returns to the prestigious Outer Banks Tennis Club to train, though, she comes face to face with the biggest mistake she ever made: Alex Russel. With piercing blue eyes and irresistible charm, the bad boy tennis star is the only guy who ever broke Penny’s heart.
 
To keep her head in the game—and her mind off Alex—Penny leans on two of the club’s other rising stars. Jasmine Randazzo and Indiana Gaffney are both balancing exploding careers with their own off-the-court romances, and their drama might be enough to keep Penny distracted.
 
But as days tick down to Paris, Penny seems to always find herself across the court from Alex. She knows that winning it all means laser focus…so why can’t Penny stay away from the one guy who ruins everything?
 
Perfect for fans of Chloe Walsh and Bal Khabra, this juicy and action-filled tennis rom com is a match you won’t want to look away from.

Release date: February 3, 2026

Publisher: Requited

Print pages: 336

Sample

Estadio de Tenis Madrid, Spain

ONCE YOU HAVE HER DOWN, YOU CAN’T LET HER UP AGAIN,” Penny Harrison whispered to herself as the noise from the sold-out stadium crowd washed over her. “Never give an opponent hope. Finish her, Penny. Finish her now.”

Blinking down at the red clay and the formerly white tips of her sneakers, she swiped her wrist across her forehead and brushed away rivulets of sweat. She tucked the wayward strands of dark brown hair escaping her braid behind her ears.

She needed to be steady to win this. But steadiness was difficult with everyone still roaring after her last point.

“One at a time,” Penny told herself. “One at a time.”

With a deep breath and then another, she filled her lungs and exhaled, slowing her heart rate, bringing herself back under control or at least trying to—it was a lot harder than usual. Then again, she’d never been in a situation this big before. Three points from a win against Zina Lutrova, the best tennis player in the world, this would easily be the biggest moment of Penny’s career and she would prove all the naysayers wrong. All the so-called experts had blasted her after her loss in Australia. They said she wasn’t ready for the big time. Three more points and they would be eating their words.

She couldn’t help the rush of excitement that flowed through her body, and the shiver that followed, goose bumps rising across her skin. The last time she’d felt like that she wasn’t on the court, she was with him. A flash of blue eyes and tanned skin and a well-earned cocky grin invaded her mind, undoing all that breath work in an instant.

Penny had been striving for this moment her entire life, and now she was here, on the precipice of something great. She was not about to let anything get in the way of that, certainly not some guy.

Focus, she needed to focus.

Across the net, Lutrova waited, bent at the waist and crouched low like a cobra ready to strike. Most people facing Zina completely lost it the second they caught the icy-blue gaze of the Russian superstar, but Penny wasn’t scared, at least not anymore. She was about to prove she was as good as the world number one.

The crowd murmured, an anxious wave of sound, equal parts hope and dread.

The umpire, high atop his chair, shushed them. “Silencio, por favor.”

Penny approached the baseline; the crowd’s collective voice faded to a distant hum, but they were behind her, pulling for her, willing her to win. Everyone loved an underdog. Her body was loose now, almost relaxed, and the world slowed down around her, nice and easy.

“Time to finish this,” she whispered.

One bounce, then two, three, and four in perfect rhythm. Her body weight shifted forward and then back, arms up, racket ready, the ball suspended above her head. She pushed into the ground, then sprung up and out, racket face hammering a clean stroke, skimming it off the white chalk T in the center of the court.

Penny’s feet hit the ground together, balanced and ready for a return that never came. The ball whistled by Lutrova’s desperate lunge and pounded into the wall behind her.

An ace.

Thirty–love.

Santa Monica Community College Library Santa Monica, California

“So, I told them I’m an entrepreneur and as soon as the app goes live I’m going to be rich,” the flushed-face, lanky guy said, leaning forward with one elbow on the library table and his other hand jabbing at the air. “I’ll sell it to the highest bidder and my parents will finally stop being on my ass about this school shit. I mean look at all these people, it’s pathetic.”

Pathetic wasn’t the word Indiana Gaffney would have used to describe the students around her. The library was crowded for a Sunday morning, and when the guy from her bio class spotted an empty seat at the table she’d claimed for herself, he sat down without invitation, started talking… and hadn’t stopped for nearly an hour. She couldn’t remember his name and he hadn’t paused long enough for her to ask or, really, for her to say anything at all.

Occasionally, she would flick her eyes up from her laptop, hoping he would get the hint that she didn’t have time for his shit. She was mostly working on her final bio lab report of the spring semester, but also keeping an eye on her phone, propped up against the screen, where a young tennis player, barely older than her, hair pulled back in a neat brown braid, walked across the screen bouncing a ball against her racket into the red clay surface of a court in Madrid.

Rolling her neck, Indy flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder, revealing the earbud firmly in place and raising the volume on her phone, completely drowning out her tablemate since he wouldn’t take the hint. If Penny Harrison was going to beat Zina Lutrova, Indy wasn’t missing it for some deluded tech bro who talked shit about community college students working hard on a weekend while also enrolled there.

The commentator was shouting over the raucous crowd. “Penelope Harrison, just twenty-one years old, is up a set, a break, and thirty–love. Another serve like that and she’ll have three match points.”

“It’s amazing,” the other announcer chimed in. “If you didn’t know who Penny Harrison was before today, you sure do now. She’s going to take down the number one player in the world and defending champion in the final of the Madrid Open—a huge win in her young career.”

Indy felt a small pang inside her chest. Two years ago she and her mom had watched this tournament on TV together. Her mom had been sure Indy would be playing there one day on that court in Madrid or Paris or New York, winning a major tournament. After she died, winning tennis matches really didn’t matter much to Indy anymore. Nothing mattered except she was gone and wasn’t coming back.

Though she’d probably be pissed as hell at Indy for giving up.

The thought came unbidden from a place in her mind she’d locked away for far too long. Was it time to start again? It was what her mom would have wanted, wasn’t it?

The camera zoomed in on the stands where Dom Kingston, Penny’s coach, sat, his hands clasped together like he was praying. He was one of the best coaches in the world and he’d wanted Indy to come play at the Outer Banks Tennis Club, his training facility in North Carolina. If she had, that could’ve been her standing across from the number one player in the world right now. Or maybe she would’ve been number one already. Indy bit her lip, wondering if Coach Kingston’s offer would stand more than two years later.

A hand pushed at her laptop, forcing the phone to slip onto the keyboard and send a scrawl of unintelligible text across her document. Her eyes snapping up, she glared at the guy, who immediately sat back in his seat, hands up in surrender, with a smirk that he probably thought was attractive but only gave smarmy creep.

“Could you not?” she whispered to be sure she didn’t disturb the other students around them.

“Your loss,” he said when he finally got up to leave as she readjusted her setup. By the time the phone was in place, the camera was focused on the court again as Penny tossed the ball into the air. Her serve was up into Lutrova’s body, an attempt to handcuff the Russian, who managed a sharp return, grunting with the effort, sending Penny scrambling.

It was a furious battle, a blistering exchange from the baseline, as they pounded away at each other like heavyweight boxers, neither giving an inch. Then Penny seized upon a short backhand and sent a rocket into the corner, perfectly placed. All Lutrova could do was watch the ball cut through the air as it passed her by.

“Yes!” the tiny version of Penny bellowed from the screen, pumping her fist, a rare show of emotion from her on the court, now just a point away from the championship.

“Yes,” Indy echoed under her breath. If she wanted it, if she wanted to be on that court in Madrid, then Bio 101 and scaring off college guys wouldn’t get her there.

Maybe she’d put in a call to Dom.

After all, what did she have to lose?

Forty–love.

Harrison Residence Ocean Hill, North Carolina

“And Penny Harrison has three championship points!” The announcer’s voice roared through the television set.

Jasmine Randazzo grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels by its neck and tried to yank off the cap. As much as she was rooting for Penny, it still stung a little that the other girl was off winning a huge pro tournament and she was sitting at home after losing in the first round. A warm hand surrounded hers and pulled the bottle away from her.

“Easy there, Jas,” Teddy Harrison said, twisting the cap off and handing it back.

“How are you not drunk?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at her friend. “I’m drunk.”

Teddy snorted softly. “I’m not drunk because I do this more than you. Some of us have actual lives off the court, you know.”

“I have a life, sort of,” she muttered, pouring herself another shot. The whiskey missed the glass, spilling over the table, and Teddy took the bottle away again. He poured out two glasses and handed one to her.

“Yep, sort of.”

“To Penny.” Jasmine saluted the TV set, then sent the burning liquid down the back of her throat.

“You gotta stop worrying about my sister,” Teddy said, settling back against the couch beside her, his arm coming around her shoulders, squeezing tightly.

“I’m not worrying about her,” Jasmine argued. “I’m happy for her and she better watch her back once I get on tour.”

“How many have you had?” Teddy asked, snickering through another shot.

The television camera zoomed in on the player’s box. Their coach, Dom Kingston, was there, applauding with the rest of the crowd, and one row behind him were Jasmine’s parents, sitting beside the Harrisons and cheering on Penny.

“God forbid we make it through a match without my parents being on camera,” Jasmine grumbled, leaning her forehead against Teddy’s shoulder. He was so solid and warm. She snuggled closer.

“It’s good for publicity,” Teddy said, probably for the hundredth time that week. “When people see Mr. and Mrs. Tennis out there, they want to come to OBX and train at the place they founded.”

“They aren’t nearly as cool as everyone thinks.”

“They’re pretty damn cool, Jas.”

“They’re my parents. Totally dorky like everyone else’s.”

“Nah,” Teddy said, taking another shot. Jasmine frowned. When had he poured that? “Your Grand Slam–winning, Olympic gold medalist parents are awesome and so are you.”

“Damn right I am.”

“You want another shot?”

She shook her head and the world spun a little more than it should have. “No, I think I’ve had enough.”

Teddy smiled widely, the dimple that routinely tortured her appearing in his cheek. “No such thing.”

Jasmine leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Her nose trailed over his neck, inhaling deeply. He smelled good, really good, like spices and ocean water and soap and Teddy, her best friend. It was nice to be that close to him. She should do it more often.

Vaguely, from the TV across the room, echoed the thwack of the ball against racket faces, a final desperate scream from Lutrova, and then an answering joyful shriek from Penny. Jasmine knew that sound—she’d been on the wrong side of it more than once. The crowd moved from a heavy anticipatory silence to a raucous cheer as the announcer shouted over them, “Game, set, and match, Harrison.”

“Teddy,” she whispered against his skin.

A grunt rumbled through Teddy’s throat. “Yeah, Jas?” he asked, his mouth suddenly really close to hers, close enough to feel his breath against her lips. She answered by leaning forward ever so slightly until there was no space between them at all. The kiss was heavy and deep. She could feel it in her fingertips, in her toes, and in a lot of other less innocent places, and then he was gone, flinging himself to the opposite end of the couch, staring at her, mouth agape.

For a moment the only sounds in the room were their breathing and the announcer screaming over the crowd. “Penny Harrison has won the Madrid Open and American tennis has found its newest star!”

“Jas,” Teddy started, but she shook her head. “Shit, Jas, I’m…”

“Forget it,” she mumbled, leaping to her feet, her shin brushing against the table, sending the now-empty bottle of Jack over on its side. She stumbled to the doorway and broke into a run. She heard Teddy call her back over the buzzing in her ears, but she didn’t turn around. She just kept going.

Game, set, match.

PENNY WAS BURNING FROM THE INSIDE OUT.

That was the only explanation she could conjure at the sensation of pure fire coursing through her veins. She reveled in every flame as she arched up off the cool slip of silk sheets, the firm grip of his palm at her hip, calloused thumb gently circling the rise of it as his other fingers left imprints that would bruise in the next few days down her thigh.

His mouth at her breast, the scratch of his stubble on her skin, his hips driving into hers, then the nip of his teeth against the sensitive line of her neck. His body long and firm above her, thick and heavy inside her. Strokes dragging, deep and deliberate, to hit the spot he found that made stars explode behind her eyes. She rose to meet him over and over, rocking into a punishing rhythm of their sweat-soaked skin and his raspy groans and filthy words and a note, high and desperate, from the back of her throat, that pulled her soul from her body while she shook beneath him and he talked her through it.

That’s right, love, take me with you. You’re so fucking perfect. Finish me off.

Her only answer was a jumbled mess of incoherence and distantly she heard his voice catch on one final word before his arms gave out and he fell into his own release, collapsing down into her, his weight a satisfying, crushing thing.

Penny.

And then… consciousness.

A beam of sunlight shining through her window warmed her cheek and she pressed her nose into the cotton sheets, not silk, and inhaled. The fresh, clean scent of the laundry detergent that her mother used—not sweat and sex and a hint of warm spiced cologne that led to so many bad decisions—was a reminder that, for the first time in four months, she was home.

That was a dream.

Just a dream.

But a vivid one, like she was back there, back with him.

“Penny!” Her brother Jack’s call carried up the stairs and into her bedroom, a repeat of the sound that pulled her from her sleep and a very different voice that said it. “Delivery for you!”

Groaning, she rolled out of bed, banishing the last fleeting images of burning blue eyes and the sound of his voice when he called her name.

That dream had turned into a nightmare in real life, and she no longer had time for it. She had work to do.

When she got downstairs, both her brothers were in the kitchen. Jack, five years older than her, who pulled double duty as her big brother and her agent, was digging through the fridge. Her twin, Teddy, was sitting atop the central island, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. Beside him was a long white box wrapped with a bright blue ribbon.

“You want some?” Teddy asked, his mouth full of the sugary crap he called breakfast, but honestly she was just impressed he was up this early. Normally you wouldn’t see him out of bed before noon on summer break.

“No thanks.”

Penny pulled the ribbon free of its bow and folded it neatly, setting it aside. She lifted the lid to reveal a dozen long-stem roses. There was a note tucked inside the sea of petals.

To many more victories.

Your friends at Nike

She breathed in the aroma of the fresh-cut flowers. Nike was upping their game. They’d been dangling a sponsorship deal since she’d won a few lower-level tournaments during her first year on tour, but they’d backed off slightly after she’d lost in the quarterfinals of the Australian Open. Penny wrinkled her nose. Lost was a bit of an understatement. She’d been eviscerated. A total embarrassment and something she’d never let happen again.

“The flowers are a nice touch,” Jack said, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

“A car would’ve been a nicer one,” Teddy quipped.

“I already have a car,” Penny said, tucking the note back inside the box and then pushing his legs out of the way to find a vase under the island.

Teddy smiled, his dimples appearing, making him seem far more innocent than he’d ever been. “Yeah, this new one could be for me.”

“Spending too much of that NIL money on beer, man,” Jack said.

Teddy’s name, image, and likeness deal with Duke had netted him a decent amount of money over the years, particularly after Penny had started making waves on tour. But it definitely wasn’t enough for a car.

“Speaking of cars, though, can I borrow yours real quick?” he asked, ignoring their brother and turning to Penny.

“Nope. I’m going to OBX,” she said. “You could come with me?”

“Wait, why are you going in today?”

“I have to train. The French Open is in less than a month. I can’t just walk into Roland-Garros unprepared.”

“Yeah, and you just won a million dollars in Madrid. You’re not going to take a day to enjoy that?”

“I did,” Penny said. “When Jack and I stopped over in New York to talk to potential sponsors I took the whole afternoon off and went shopping.”

“You’re a real wild woman.”

“I try.”

“C’mon, please? I don’t have time to wait for you to finish training to drive home, and I’ve already walked back once today.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked.

Teddy smirked. “I stayed over at OBX last night and I left my phone by accident. I just need to pick it up.”

“A new girl?” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You just got home.” Teddy went to Duke and had wrapped up his junior year a couple of weeks before. “Who was it this time?”

“Katie Nelson.”

“Katie’s sweet,” Penny said, looking up from arranging her flowers. “She deserves better.”

“She doesn’t think so. In fact—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Penny said, reaching for the bowl of car keys on the counter. “Take my car. I’ll hitch a ride with this one.” She motioned toward Jack.

“You’re the best.”

Teddy jumped down and took the keys from her, then strode out of the kitchen toward the front door.

“So, Nike,” Jack said, taking the card from the box. “Looks like your win in Madrid made them rethink things.”

Penny wiped some of the last sleep from her eyes. “Looks like it.”

“You know this isn’t just an outfitting deal. They want you to be the new face of their tennis brand. You can’t go into a major tournament and bomb out again. Things have to be different in Paris.”

“I know that,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. They’d had this conversation a million times since January. “I’ll be ready.”

Jack slung an arm over her shoulder and squeezed. “I know, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t remind you.”

Rolling her eyes, Penny said, “What was I thinking hiring my brother as my agent?”

“You were thinking that your big brother is brilliant and that he’d always do what’s best for you, even when that means kicking you in the ass. Now go get dressed.”

She stood tall and saluted him. “Sir, yes, sir.”

“Brat.”

Twenty minutes later, they sped down Ocean Trail toward OBX, windows open, the morning sun sparkling against the water, salt air crisp against her skin. Pulling into the parking lot, Jack navigated into her designated spot.

RESERVED FOR PENELOPE HARRISON

WORLD #33

The sign had been updated after her run at the Aussie, as well as some decent finishes in a few other tournaments. Now, after last week, she’d popped into the top twenty for the first time in her career. They’d have to update it again. Rankings were determined by a points system that reflected the results, good and bad, of each player at every tournament. Some tournaments were worth more than others and Grand Slams were worth the most. When Dom recruited her, convincing her parents to move their family from Chicago to this tiny town on the North Carolina coast, he promised she would someday be a top-twenty player. Now, here they were, a few weeks away from the French Open, where she could hopefully push into the top ten.

Penny grinned, thinking about that last match in Madrid. She’d worked for that win for a very long time. A breakthrough. A crucial step that brought her closer to winning her first Grand Slam.

As she stepped out of the car, the sounds of the game she loved filled her ears from over the high fences surrounding the forty-five-court complex, the solid thwack of balls hitting racket strings, sharp instruction from coaches, the pounding of feet on the hard courts. Jack went to the trunk to grab his bag, but Penny headed straight in.

She and Jack managed only a few steps into the main building, which housed the offices, a few indoor courts, and the training rooms, when Roy Whitfield caught sight of her.

“Penny Harrison!”

“Hey, Roy.”

The old security guard was at his usual post in the atrium, his stack of daily newspapers ready, the collar of his navy-blue polo shirt starched, and his ever-present walkie-talkie on his hip. He greeted her with a bright smile, just like he always did when she arrived home from tour.

As usual, not much had changed in her absence.

The air smelled the same, rubber from the soles of all the sneakers, the distinct aroma. . .