Life on the tour is a grind. Train, rest, compete, train, rest...well, you get the idea. My coach, who’s also my sister, calls it “down the line”. A necessary evil, she says, if I finally want to win. And while it’s worked pretty well, it still isn’t enough. I'm open to anything to help my game, even talking to a shrink. My sister doesn't think it's a good idea. Affects your mind, she says. Messes with your game. She's right. And wrong, all at the same time. When Luca Wilde walks onto my practice court, he does affect my mind...in the most amazing way possible. Drop-dead gorgeous with a pair of steely gray eyes that could see into the very depths of your soul, I fall for him instantly. As for my messing with my game, it's the complete opposite. His ideas are hot, sexy and liberating, everything “down the line” isn’t. I go into the tournament expecting to compete, maybe finish in the top ten. Instead, I play the best tennis of my life. In Paris of all places, where my sister won three freaking times. But the last thing I expected to do was to leave having fallen in love...