Wildcard

Book 2: A Match Point Novel

by Jennifer Iacopelli

Genres: Friendship; Sports; Contemporary Romance; New Adult Romance; Sports Romance

Synopsis

She’s at the top of her game…can she risk falling for him? A tennis star takes a big swing on a secret romance in this juicy sports rom com filled with friendship, rivalries, and drama.  
 
Indiana Gaffney’s first love has always been tennis, and after snagging a slot at the elite Outer Banks Tennis Club, she’s climbing the ranks quicker than one of her own speeding serves. But Indy wants more than top billing at the club—she’s set her sights on a wildcard invitation to Wimbledon and she’s going to do anything it takes to make sure that spot is hers.
 
But while her eyes are on the competition, Indy's heart is somewhere else: Sports agent Jack Harrison. Tall, handsome, a powerhouse in the tennis world and the older brother of Indy’s new friend and the sport’s biggest star, Penny Harrison. 
 
Indy knows that tennis stardom and relationships rarely mix, so she’s sneaking hookup sessions between practice drills, keeping Jack a secret from everyone in her life—even Penny. Instead, Indy throws herself into training with her one‑time rival Jasmine Randazzo, who is still mending her own broken heart.

But with the days ticking down to Wimbledon, Indy's off-the-court romance with Jack is heating up and for the first time in her life, Indy will have to choose: How much will she do for the love of the game—and how much will she do for love?
 
This heart-pounding sports romance is told through the eyes of three tennis stars as they balance relationships, high stakes tournaments, and friendship, from the author of Finding Her Edge (coming to Netflix), perfect for fans of Sarah Adams and Chloe Walsh.

Release date: June 9, 2026

Publisher: Requited

Print pages: 320

Sample

INDY’S PALM SLAPPED AGAINST JASMINE’S WITH A SATISFYING thwack. There were grass stains on her elbows and a gigantic bruise blooming on her knee, but neither could stop her wild smile as she caught her breath.

She and her doubles partner were at the top of their game and had absolutely dominated their training session, two separate entities moving around the court as one seamless unit. They were so ready for Wimbledon.

Now she just needed that wildcard.

Two really, one for singles, one for doubles.

Two potential paths to victory.

“Nice,” Dom called from the sidelines, actually standing up and applauding with his own broad smile slipping over his perpetually tanned features. But he then turned his attention to their training partners, two young men who were regulars on the Challenger circuit, standing flat-footed and winded, grumbling to each other in low tones.

“And what the holy hell do you two think you’re doing?” Dom barked at them.

Indy couldn’t help but smirk at Jas as they listened to Dom’s lecture.

“Last I checked, this was the Outer Banks Tennis Club. Did you think because they’re women they’d be easy pickings?” he asked, gesturing toward Indy and Jasmine with a sweep of his arm. “They took the best doubles team in the world to three sets. Indy just kicked the shit out of the entire field in Bari. You’re lucky to share a court with them. Get out of here. I’m sick of the sight of you.”

The young men trudged off the court still muttering, and Dom’s eyes narrowed. “Changed my mind. Three tours. Want to make it four?”

The taller one nudged the smaller with his elbow as they both shook their heads and said, “No, Coach.”

“Good. Get lost.”

They took off down the path at a measured jog, conserving their energy for the three laps of the entire facility, a circuitous route that would take them through the maze of forty-five practice courts, finishing up with a sprint across the sandy beach that lined the OBX property.

Jasmine raised her eyebrows toward Indy, who smiled back. In her short time at OBX, she’d endured Dom’s wrath enough to simply enjoy when someone else was his target.

“Ladies, that’s enough for this morning,” Dom called over to them. “Cool down. Indy, get some ice on that knee before it blows up like a balloon.”

She’d taken a little tumble during that last rally, but it didn’t even sting.

“It’s fine,” she said, glancing down at it. “I bruise easy.”

“Okay, then, video analysis after lunch,” he said before leaving them for his next training session.

Indy grabbed her water bottle and swished a mouthful before spitting it out. Too much water would weigh her down for the rest of the day, but she had to stay hydrated under the hot North Carolina sun as the weather shifted from a warm spring toward what promised to be a humid summer. Though, if she had her way, most of that summer would be spent far from OBX, on courts around the world, starting with the grass lawns of Wimbledon. She envisioned herself there as she swung her arms around in slow circles, letting those muscles gradually recover from the intense workout she’d just put in, before moving farther down her body, twisting and bending at her core, then lunging and reaching for her legs.

“Better every day,” Jasmine said as they left the court and headed in the direction of the locker room for a shower and a fresh set of clothes.

Indy pulled her long blond hair free from its ponytail and ran her hands through the sweaty locks. “I just wish they would make a decision.”

They were the All England Club, the British equivalent of the USTA and the people in charge of her fate for the next month or so. It was within their power to grant entries to the Championships at Wimbledon.

After she and Jasmine pushed the number one doubles team in the world to a third-set tiebreaker, it made sense that they’d be granted a wildcard into the main doubles draw. If the wildcards didn’t come through, they’d both be relegated to the qualifying tournament, but that was out of Indy’s control, and even though it had only been a week since Bari and her first tournament win, patience had never been one of her virtues.

“It should happen soon, maybe tomorrow,” Jasmine said as they entered the locker room. The buzz of dozens of young women echoing off the tile floors and metal lockers soon faded. Since their return, the atmosphere at OBX had been strange, to say the least. Indy was used to it. She’d been an outsider from the moment she arrived, but her stomach twisted for Jasmine, who’d spent her entire career training inside the high fences of the best tennis club in the world. She didn’t know how to handle the silent glares and fervent whispers that followed them everywhere.

“Ignore them,” Indy said, “they’re just jealous.”

Jasmine sighed heavily. “Just like I was when you first got here.”

Indy shook her head, not letting Jasmine go back down that road. She’d moved on. “To be fair, I can be a massive pain in the ass.”

And that did the trick. Jasmine laughed. “Yeah, you can be, and speaking of asses, how are things with you-know-who?”

“‘Speaking of asses’?” Indy asked, the rest of the question not registering fully.

Jasmine grinned wickedly. “He has a really, really nice one, or haven’t you noticed?”

For half a second, Indy indulged in the memory of exactly how nice Jack Harrison’s ass was and the deep rasping noise he made when she had her hands on it, but then reality set in. Looking around quickly to make sure they were alone, Indy said, “Not here.”

Jasmine stared at her, unimpressed, and then whispered, “You’re not going to be able to keep the secret forever.”

“I know,” Indy said quietly.

“Have you talked to her?” Jasmine asked, thankfully changing the subject. She nodded toward Penny’s empty locker while grabbing her shower kit from her own.

“Yeah,” Indy said, wrinkling her nose. “She’s pissed off that she can’t train.”

“Sucks,” Jasmine said before walking off to the shower room.

“Totally,” Indy agreed. She’d never missed tennis because of an injury before, but just talking to Penny on the phone told her all she needed to know. She could hear the longing in her friend’s voice to get back on the court, to do something. But, in true Penny fashion, she hadn’t wallowed for too long. She’d gushed about being able to spend time with Alex in England and reported that PT was a bitch but going well. And she’d even hyped Indy up for Wimbledon qualifying because she knew how hard Indy was working, knew how hard it had been to build herself back up after her mom died and how shitty it was that her dad really only cared about Caroline Morneau. And all the while Indy had sat there biting her tongue and trying desperately not to let it slip about Jack.

God, she was a shitty friend.

A little more than a month ago, Penny and Jasmine hadn’t even known she existed, and somehow they’d become her closest friends. Now she was lying to one and asking the other to lie for her.

Jasmine was right—she needed to come clean; and she would, if she could only work up the courage to do it.

The hot water was heaven after the morning workout. Indy took her time, letting her muscles recover as much as they could because she’d need them again during that afternoon’s singles training. Building her endurance up to pursue both was even more grueling than she’d imagined. She never thought it would be easy, but knowing that in theory was one thing; the everyday reality of it was another.

The locker room was blissfully empty as she emerged from the showers. Jasmine had gone to lunch with her parents. So, Indy could get ready in peace. She left her hair alone, knowing the warm air outside would make it curl, and pulled on a pair of white terry cloth shorts, then a bronze T-shirt with the Nike swoosh blazoned across the chest in black. It was a gift from Penny, who had more Nike merchandise than she knew what to do with after signing a lucrative sponsorship deal to become the face of their tennis line. Indy smiled to herself, knowing that one day soon, she’d have her own sponsorship deal. Caroline, her agent, had said as much over and over again since they’d returned from Italy. She had made contact with all the big outfitters, and it was just a matter of waiting for the best deal and negotiating terms that brought in the most money for the most exposure.

Stepping into the sunshine, Indy shouldered her bag and turned toward the OBX video room to keep cool while analyzing some of her own play from the past week, when a shadow crossed over her path, a large body falling into step with her, close but not touching, their strides matching.

“Jack,” she said, glancing up at him sideways, a small smile threatening at the corners of her mouth.

“Indiana,” he said, echoing back her name, sending a shiver down her spine. He was the only one she didn’t mind calling her that, the only person who made the name she’d hated since forever sound so, so good.

They walked together in silence, turning the corner that separated the courts from the residential area of the complex, but her steps were suddenly cut off when Jack slid his arm around her waist and pulled her into a shady walkway between buildings. Her heart leapt as he gently guided her back against the wall, his eyes boring into hers.

Walls were their thing. Their first real kiss had been against a wall in a random hallway at Roland-Garros, their second pressed against the wall of their hotel in Paris, and now that they were back in North Carolina, they’d found any excuse to push each other against a wall and kiss until they were gasping for air and their bodies begged for relief.

Now Jack’s lips trailed from her temple, using the wall behind her as an anchor before bending his head to hers. Pushing up onto her toes, Indy met him halfway. She’d never been so grateful for every millimeter of her five feet ten inches as she was when she was kissing Jack. She fit perfectly against him.

She pulled away to draw a breath. “My favorite part of the day,” she murmured, and he answered with a soft chuckle.

“Mine too.” His hands slid through her hair, twisting it around his fingers, then cradling the back of her head, drawing her mouth firmly against his.

Indy brought her hands to his torso, gripping his T-shirt, letting her palms press against the cut of muscle that disappeared into his cargo shorts. His mouth fell open just enough to allow her tongue to slide in, deepening the kiss, before letting her teeth nip at his bottom lip. A groan rumbled in his throat as he pressed even closer, his body full length against hers.

He wrenched his lips from hers, trailing his mouth over the line of her jaw to the spot just behind her ear. “You feel incredible,” he said before diving in for more.

It was her turn to gasp, and her head fell back, scraping against the wall, as she arched into him. Jack smiled against her skin as her fingertips dug into his sides, and she let a moan slip free as he focused his attention on that spot, his teeth sharp against it, then soothing that small pain with a flick of his tongue. Her hands scrambled to get purchase against his shoulders, desperate for some leverage, anything to help her press her body against his. Then he was gone, his hand out of her hair, his mouth away from her neck, and his body inches then feet from hers. Indy blinked at him, trying to figure out what had happened, when the voices echoing down the pathway toward them finally reached her ears.

He was already lifting her bag from where it had fallen on the ground as she desperately ran her fingers through her hair, knowing he’d made an unholy mess of it.

“You’re fine,” he muttered, handing her the bag, keeping the distance between them as a group of junior boys stomped past, none giving them a second glance.

“You have good ears,” Indy said finally, biting her lip at the close call. If those boys had seen them, the news would have spread like wildfire through the OBX campus and everyone would have known by the end of the day. And they couldn’t have that. She was a young tennis pro on the verge of breaking out; he was an up-and-coming agent. The last thing either of their careers needed was the heightened publicity of a controversial relationship, even if Jack Harrison was far more of a gentleman than any guy she’d ever met. Sometimes, a little too much of a gentleman, truth be told.

Jack glanced back over his shoulder again before facing her fully. “I’m sorry about this.”

She reached out and took his hand. “We agreed,” she said, entwining their fingers, “it’s just between us for now. It makes sense for both of us.” He nodded, but she knew he wasn’t entirely convinced. Hell, she wasn’t entirely convinced. “You said you were okay with it.”

“I just wish it were different,” he said, tugging her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. His hands released hers and dropped to her hips, the edges of his thumbs brushing against her hip bones in slow circles, sending shivers over her skin.

“Me too.” She wanted to scream it from the rooftops that this amazing guy was hers. That he had deep green eyes that glowed at her touch and a smile that brightened whenever he looked at her. That he was brilliant in ways she couldn’t even fathom with a degree from Harvard to prove it. That he’d fought their attraction for so long because of an ingrained sense of honor, like one of those heroes in a fairy tale, except Jack was real, flesh and blood.

“Have you thought at least… maybe we should tell Penny?” Indy asked, her guilt from earlier creeping back in even as her fingertips landed on his forearms, gently stroking up to his elbows and back down to his wrists. Maybe Jack would have some answers there.

Jack let out a heavy breath. “Penny has a lot on her plate right now.”

“I know. I just feel funny keeping it from her. And Jasmine knows. I would feel bad if Penny found out from someone who wasn’t us.”

“You think she’d tell her?”

Indy considered for a moment. “I don’t think so, not on purpose anyway, but secrets have a way of getting out, one way or another.”

“If you’re uncomfortable, Indiana, then the rest of it doesn’t matter. If you want to tell Penny or tell everyone, that’s what we’ll do.”

“No, I… that’s not what I mean. I don’t need a supportive…” She hesitated, almost using the word boyfriend, but that didn’t really fit, did it? Not if they were keeping it a secret. “I need your honest opinion.”

He leaned back, looking her in the eye. “Honest? Honestly, my sister doesn’t do well with change. It freaks her out, and right now, I’m not sure that the idea of you and me will go over that well. On the other hand, if we don’t tell her and she finds out?”

“She’ll be pissed.”

“Yep.”

“We could tell her in London.”

Jack considered for a moment. “Face-to-face instead of over the phone.”

“There’s always FaceTime,” she said, though her stomach twisted at the thought of telling her at all. She wasn’t really sure if she wanted to know what Penny, the only girl who’d befriended her when she first arrived at OBX, would think if she found out she and Jack were together and they’d both lied about it.

“There’s that,” he said, sounding just as hesitant as she was.

“No.” They should do it in person. They should have done it before they left Paris, but Penny had been so devastated after she had to withdraw from the tournament that it hadn’t felt like the right time then either. “In London. We’ll be there in less than a week. We’ll tell her then.”

“Okay, in London,” he agreed.

They stood together for a moment, just breathing each other in, until Jack leaned away, checking his phone. “I should go. I have a meeting with a potential new client this afternoon and I’ve got to prep.”

Indy snorted a laugh. “Right, like you don’t already have a complete profile worked up, along with potential sponsors to contact if they sign.”

“You know me so well.” He smiled, peering around the building, checking the pathway for any more unwanted spectators. “I’ll go this way.”

Indy gestured back in the opposite direction. “And I’ll go that way.”

He hesitated for a second and then leaned in for one more kiss, quick and fierce, that sent a current of white-hot electricity through her. Then he was gone.

She adjusted her bag over her shoulder and headed toward the video room. She’d only have about half the time for vid analysis that she originally planned for. But as she pressed her fingertips lightly against that spot on her neck, recalling the feel of his mouth and the way her entire body was lit on fire by his touch, she decided it was totally worth it.

“Are you sure that is a good idea?” A voice rang out from just a few steps behind her, the French accent giving its owner away, if the superiority and condescension weren’t enough of a clue. Indy spun around and came face-to-face with Caroline Morneau, her agent. Tall, blond, perfectly put together in a silk blouse and linen skirt, she somehow looked completely cool and calm despite the blazing sun and oppressive humidity. She was in town before they all left for England, mostly to go over her plans for Indy’s future off the court.

Words of denial formed on Indy’s tongue, but she knew it was useless. Caroline had clearly seen them. Shit.

“Good idea or not, it’s none of your business.”

Raising her eyes to the sky and shaking her head, Caroline said, “You are my business, Indiana.”

“How many times do I have to say it? Don’t call me that, and my tennis is your business,” Indy corrected. “Keep your nose out of everything else.”

“It is not that simple,” Caroline insisted, her voice inching up in pitch.

“It really is.” Indy turned on her toe and walked away, wanting to look back, hoping that Caroline’s brow was furrowed and her hands were on her hips, mouth twisted in aggravation. But looking back would ruin the moment. Even though Indy had gotten the last word, Caroline now had the upper hand, and it was only a matter of time before she pressed her advantage.

THE LUNCH CROWD HAD EMPTIED OUT OF DEUCE BY THE time Jasmine arrived. She scanned the nearly empty tables for her parents. She’d been in such a hurry that morning, she hadn’t thought much about their lunch invite, but now it struck her just how weird it was that they’d asked to meet at the club restaurant when she could have walked across the beach and had lunch at their home. Instead, they’d insisted upon the decent but generic buffet and, most importantly, the waitstaff—witnesses.

As she rounded the corner, it all became clear. The man from the French Open final party, the one who’d been talking about the dozens of universities that would love to have her lead their teams to the NCAA championships, was seated at the table with her parents. She caught her own reflection in the window: an OBX T-shirt and jean shorts; her long dark hair, nearly black thanks to her shower, pulled up at the top of her head in a messy bun. She wasn’t exactly dressed for a business meeting, but if they were ambushing her, that wasn’t her fault.

Her father and the man stood, politely waiting for her to sit down and join them. She did, plastering a smile across her face, the same smile she wore whenever she met any of her parents’ friends, the ones who expected her to be something. Because that’s what happens when you’re the only child of two tennis greats; people expect it of you, too.

“Jasmine, you remember Felix Wolner from Backcourt Management?” her dad asked.

“Of course, Mr. Wolner. Sorry, I didn’t know you’d be joining us for lunch,” Jasmine said, her smile turning saccharine.

“It’s Felix’s last day in town, and he mentioned that he never got a chance to finish speaking with you at the party,” her mom said with raised eyebrows, matching the sarcastic expression.

Jasmine had learned from the best.

Shrugging, she said, “Well, it was a party to watch the final, and since no one else was, I thought I’d catch the last bit of the match, just to keep up appearances.”

“It was amazing, wasn’t it?” Felix cut in. “Everyone had written Russell off as finished. Nice to see . . .