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  "Oh," Laila repeated. Of course.

  They opened the door and faced the enemy. Erm, her family. She saw two empty spots in the lineup on the other side of the net, and she directed Hal toward them.

  "I hope you're better at this than you were last time," he remarked loudly as they ducked beneath the net and took their spots.

  The game started without preamble. Her brother, Michael, served for the other team. "Zero serving zero!"

  The ball rocketed over the net, coming down directly over Laila's head. She put her hands up to hit it, but misjudged the distance and it undershot her. She watched it bounce mere inches from her feet, earning the other team its first point.

  "That's my Laila," Hal said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Way to go.”

  She ignored him, shaking off the urge to defend herself. Hal was just playing a character. He didn't, she reassured herself, really mean anything by it.

  "One serving zero!"

  The game began in earnest with both sides playing hard. The spirit in the room was competitive, but fun. Laila's younger cousins ribbed each other good-naturedly when anyone goofed up, and since the skill levels of those playing went from athletic genius to fumbling klutz, there was a lot of ribbing. Bubbe and Zayde watched from the glass-protected loft above the room, calling out encouragement and video taping the entire thing.

  "Nice one, Lil," Hal said sarcastically when Laila's attempt at spiking the ball sent it flying into the net. "Real nice."

  Though the same words had come out of her cousin Charlie's mouth just moments before, from Hal, the comment bit and stung. Again Laila shrugged it off, knowing he was only doing as she'd asked. The ball flew toward her again, but Hal stepped in front of her to slam it back across the net. And he'd said he wasn't any good at the game?

  "I was going to get that," Laila blurted.

  "Sure you were, sweetheart," Hal said and rolled his eyes. "Just like you got the last one. Here's a clue, baby. The ball's suppose to go over the net."

  Laila bit her tongue to stop a sharp retort. She wasn't a bad player. In fact, once she got warmed up, she bordered on being pretty darn good.

  He was only doing what she’d told him, she reminded herself. She searched Hal's eyes for a flicker of warmth, of the man who'd kissed her under the stars. All she saw was patronizing contempt.

  The game got more intense with people flying all over the court trying to outdo one another. The ball sprang off walls and ricocheted around the room as the players got better at the game. Laila, despite Hal's repeated jibes, really began to enjoy herself.

  However, the better she got, the worse Hal's comments became. When she finally managed to spike a ball, she turned to high-five Charlie and her other teammates. Hal merely said, "It's about time."

  He called her butterfingers when she fumbled a serve. He told everyone to make sure they covered their eyes so they wouldn't go blind at the sight of her “wide load” when she bent over to retrieve a ball that had gone out of bounds. Worst of all, he laughed when she slipped and fell during one particularly valiant attempt at returning a serve.

  With every comment, Laila grew angrier. Now he was just being downright nasty. Though they didn't say much, she could tell her family members weren't appreciating Hal's acid remarks either. Eli in particular kept scowling at him. Laila hoped her brother wasn't going to take it upon herself to be her defender.

  The second game, if possible, was worse than the first. Though everyone else laughed and joked, Hal kept berating her. If she missed a shot, he mocked her. If she made a shot, he told her how she could have done it better.

  "Why not just stand there and let me do all the work?" he asked her after she'd stepped back to let him take a shot she knew she wasn't going to reach. "Oh, wait. That's just what you're doing already."

  Hot tears burned her eyes and she fought them back. She'd told him to be mean, and he was giving her what she'd asked for. She rolled her shoulders and her neck, trying to relieve the tension. Her earlier enjoyment was rapidly fading. She was glad the game was almost over.

  "Fourteen to thirteen!" Eli called, setting up the serve.

  The ball sailed over the net like it had wings. It came straight toward her, and Laila put up her hands. She was in perfect form, ready to slam that ball over the net and earn her team the next serve.

  She never had the chance. Hal barreled into her, his own hands in the air. His feet trod on her toes, filling her with a pain so intense it was almost sublime. His weight knocked her to the floor on her hands and knees.

  "Yes!" Hal yelled, pumping his fist in the air. He'd slammed the ball down on the other side of the net and nobody had gone after it.

  Everyone rushed to Laila's side, helping her to her feet. If she ever forgot why she loved her family, Laila thought a little blearily, she’d remember this day.

  One of her cousins pressed a paper cup of water into her hand. Another helped her limp over the bench along the wall. Still others gathered around to ask her questions about how she felt.

  "You shouldn't be playing such a rough game in your condition," clucked her normally quiet sister-in-law, Sarah.

  Laila would have asked her what she meant, but she didn't have a chance with the rest of her cousins clamoring to help her lift her feet, lower her head, or vice versa.

  She wasn't bleeding anywhere and even the pain in her toes had begun to fade. Laila finally waved away all the helping hands, saying she was fine. She was fine. The game was over, though, the fun mood spoiled, and she did regret she'd been the cause of that.

  "I'm fine, really!" she said for what felt like the hundredth time. At last she convinced the crowd to disperse, which they did reluctantly.

  "Bubbeleh, come with us to the movie lounge," Bubbe urged. "We're going to watch that little cutie Keanu Reeves in that football movie."

  Laila didn't have the heart to tell her bubbe that the actor's name was not pronounced “canoe.” Besides, she really didn't want to watch a movie right now. She really just wanted to go back to her room, take a long, hot bath, and curl up in bed. As gracefully as she could, she declined Bubbe's offer, then looked around for Hal.

  He was gone.

  The fallen leaves crunched crisply under Hal's feet as he trudged along the path. He had no scarf or gloves, but he had his humiliation to keep him warm. He passed the fork in the path that would take him back to Bramblewood's main building and kept going. He needed to think.

  Since Cassie ran off with his ex-partner John, Hal's only brush with real romance had been with the client who'd bought him the book of love poems. Other than that, the dates he'd had were work, not pleasure. Until meeting Laila, none of the LoveMatch women had been anything more than a way to pay the bills.

  She's just a client, he told himself fiercely. This is just a job. She wanted him to be a jerk, so he had been. But he hadn't meant to knock her down, not during the game or any of the times his clumsiness had gotten the best of him.

  And why had she been so upset when he hadn't tried to seduce her? It was strict LoveMatch policy that no escort was to make a sexual advance unless the client clearly stated that was what she wanted. No escort was required to provide sexual services, either, unless he wanted to.

  He thought guiltily of the kiss he'd given her after the carriage ride. It was certainly a mistake. He'd allowed himself to forget he was working. He'd let himself believe what he was pretending to have with Laila was the real thing. But it wasn't the real thing, Hal thought, with a kick to a pile of leaves that connected with a hidden tree root and started him hopping in pain.

  Hal limped down the path. If he'd met Laila someplace else, some other way? But who was he kidding? He had nothing to offer any woman, much less one like Laila. He had no real job, no car; he lived in a one-bedroom apartment with shabby furniture and not much more than mold and water in the refrigerator.

  Once he'd owned his own business, had a nice house, and driven an expensive car. Losing Cassie, he lost all that, too. Alon