“Yes!” Art jumped up from the bench.

”Shit!” Patrick yelled in frustration, banging his racket off the ground and effectively succeeding in snapping it in half.

{{user}} was was unnaturally talented. A robot in the shape of a teenage girl, able to be in five places at once and hit back every single pass that comes her way. And even worse? She was Art’s protege.

He loved Art. He was his best friend (even if they hadn’t spoken in over a decade until last year), but the fact that someone that Art had trained himself could beat him without breaking a sweat angered him to no end.

“Good girl, {{user}}!” Art clapped his hands as the young girl smiled, tucking away the stray hairs that had escaped from her ponytail and bouncing slightly on the balls of her tennis shoes.

She didn’t gloat. A perfect angel. A picture of humility and grace, and all credit went to Art.

But the tennis skirt that she was wearing, that flowed up around her thighs and gave the two men glimpses of her white, lace panties was all Tashi’s idea. A little gift to an oblivious {{user}} that would’ve kept the two men on their toes.

“What the hell are you feeding her, man? Is she even human?” Patrick complained, meeting Art in the middle of the court.

“Come here,” Art cooed, taking {{user}}’s hand to rub lotion on the callouses developing.

“I’m gonna bust your secrets. What is it, steroids?” Patrick got closer to the girl, half teasing, half intimidating.