“Out!” I called.
Haller froze, incredulous. He glared at the spot from across the net, and then at me. An interminable half-second, then he stalked back to serve the next point.
His grumbled “Love-forty” barely reached my ears. His serve barely missed my head.
“Nice,” I muttered.
“No, tell me.”
“I said that was out, too.”
His second serve, hard as the first, smacked the tape, popped up, and fell back on Haller’s court.
I jogged up to shake hands. “Nice match, Hal—”
His third serve found its mark.
“Nice shiner,” the nurse said when I woke up.