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‘Finding Her Edge’ Author Jennifer Iacopelli Teases New Novel ‘Game, Set, Match’ — Exclusive Excerpt

“If you love Brayden Elliot and you would like to see the British version of him get a happily ever after in a very satisfying way,” Finding Her Edge author Jennifer Iacopelli told Swooon, you need to read Game, Set, Match.

When Iacopelli’s YA romance Finding Her Edge hit Netflix, fans fell in love with skating teens Adriana Russ0 (Madelyn Keys), Freddie O’Connell (Olly Atkins), and Brayden Elliot (Cale Ambrozic). Now, Iacopelli is ready to introduce readers to another one of her sports romances. Ahead of the release of her new adult romance, Game, Set, Match, Iacopelli sat down with Swooon to reveal why fans of Finding Her Edge will love her new series and debut an exclusive excerpt.

“I write about ambitious young women and the guys that love them for it,” Iacopelli shared, “So Game, Set, Match is about three elite tennis players who are out on the pro tennis tour.” The Match Point series is set to follow all three protagonists, Penny, Indiana, and Jasmine, each with their own book and love story. “Our first book follows Penny Harrison’s romance arc. She’s 21 years old. She has just won her very first major pro tournament, and she’s headed to the French Open, just as her coach decides to bring in the bad boy of tennis.” Looking back at Finding Her Edge‘s Brayden, Iacopelli joked, “I have a penchant for bad boys, in case anyone couldn’t tell.”

Now, Penny has to train with Alex Russell, who “also happens to be the guy she had a one-night stand with at the Australian Open right before she lost her match there.” Iacopelli added, “She’s not really a fan [of him] anymore.” Cue: the enemies-to-lovers romance. Iacopelli teased, “She’s on the cusp of really breaking out, and she doesn’t want anything to get in her way. And there he is, all six-foot-three of him, with his multiple Grand Slam titles standing in her way.”

Of course, we had to ask Iacopelli whether Finding Her Edge and Game, Set, Match exist in the same universe, like Emily Henry or Taylor Jenkins Reid books often do. She told Swooon, “I never thought about that, but it would be fun for them to! There’s nothing in them that would preclude it, yeah? If people would like for them to be in the same universe, we can have a little Jennifer Iacopelli Cinematic Universe; they can all just exist in one little spot, and all these athletes could interact.”

Read Swooon‘s exclusive excerpt of Game, Set, Match below:

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?” PENNY KICKED AT the sole of Alex’s sneaker and his eyes flew open.

He pulled the headphones off, the notes even clearer now as a heavy bass beat echoed against the court.

“Sorry, what was that, love?” he asked with a wink, his eyes lighting up in recognition and then slipping over her form quickly, his tongue darting out against his bottom lip. And shit, she could practically feel his mouth against hers, stealing her breath and her sanity.

The air crackled between them as the low timbre of his voice sent shivers down her spine and her mind reeling back nearly four months, to the Nike event at the Australian Open she hadn’t wanted to attend in the first place.

She was midway through the most important tournament of her life and not in the mood for a party, but Jack insisted it was a chance to mingle with her potential sponsors and get her face out there. Plus, it was all for a good cause as proceeds were going to the fight against pediatric cancer. Jack had pulled that last part out of his hat after she flat-​out refused to go.

Twenty minutes in she’d been ready to go back to the hotel. She’d lost Jack in the crowd and was steadily making her way to the exit when she ran headlong into a chest and narrowly avoided the drink that sloshed out of its accompanying hand.

Penny blinked herself back to the present and looked at the same chest now as Alex stood, running a hand through his sandy hair, his jawline covered with stubble, just enough to give him an edge. His eyes shined down at her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she repeated through clenched teeth, crossing her arms. Her throat started to close because she suspected she knew the answer already. He was wearing a white T‑shirt streaked with red clay stains, and dark shorts that hugged around his thighs in a way she definitely wasn’t thinking about.

“Dom didn’t tell you?”

Suspicions confirmed.

He was technically an old friend of Dom’s. When Alex started on tour, Dom was finishing up his long career. They’d met up on the court more than once, and Dom’s final match— in the second round at the US Open— was against the much younger man, who was on his way to his very first championship.

“I’m your new hitting partner or you’re my new hitting partner, whichever you prefer.” An easy smile spread across his face.

Penny’s eyes narrowed. That was the same smile he’d bestowed upon her that night in Australia. He’d smiled and asked her to dance.

“You’re training again?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “No, forget it. I don’t care. This is not happening.”

“And why’s that?” His eyes sparkled, actually sparkled, like he was some damned cartoon prince in a Disney movie.

“I don’t play against has-​beens.”

The smile wavered and then disappeared completely. “A has-​been?”

“Everyone knows the LTA dropped your sponsorships and your agent left you, but besides that . . .” She trailed off, her eyes lingering on his knee, an angry-​looking scar surrounding the top of the joint. He was recovering from knee surgery and hadn’t played in a tournament since Australia, but she couldn’t bring herself to use that against him. It was every player’s worst fear, an injury that pulled them out of competition, maybe forever. He’d supposedly been lying low in London, rehabbing his knee and what was left of his reputation.

“Besides what?” he asked, forcing the issue. His expression darkened as he stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing against hers.

“Your knee . . . they said . . . everyone said that your knee was . . .”

Completely fucked.

“You should know better than to listen to everyone.”

Penny swallowed. The implication was obvious. The tour had buzzed incessantly about how they’d left the Nike party together in Australia, but no one knew the truth. The stories ranged from outrageous to obscene, but the reality was even more embarrassing.

He’d asked her to dance, and staring into those eyes and that grin, it had been easy to say yes. They’d danced; their bodies pressed together, the bass of the music pounding through them, his hands trailing paths of fire over her skin, and she knew he was feeling what she was, an intense physical connection, burning hot on the dance floor, that would become an all-​encompassing inferno somewhere more private. His mouth had pressed against her ear, pleading with her to leave with him. Taking a risk for the first time in her life off the tennis court, she agreed, and it had been one of the most incredible nights of her life. She snuck out the next morning, half out of embarrassment— she didn’t do one night stands— and half because she had a training session.

The next night on the news came reports of a motorcycle accident. An Australian supermodel with an insanely high blood alcohol level had been treated for minor injuries and the man people once thought could become the greatest tennis player of all time had torn his knee to shreds.

Penny brushed off everyone’s questions, even Jack’s. Alex had given her a ride back to the hotel, she said, nothing more, and she was pretty sure Jack had believed her, even if no one else did. Rumors and gossip didn’t matter. It stung a little that Alex was with someone else the next night, but what really struck her to the core was that it just as easily could have been her in that accident. She could’ve lost everything, and at the time, the risk hadn’t even crossed her mind. That was the thought she’d taken with her onto the court for her quarterfinal match, and that was what distracted her enough to go out in straight sets against a player not fit to carry her racket bag. Then Nike had pulled back their interest, and her reputation on the court— the only reputation that really mattered— took its very first ding.

She’d been working her way back ever since.

“Grab your racket.” Alex’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“What?” she asked, blinking up at him.

He walked to the bench just off the court and tossed his headphones and phone into the racket bag sitting atop the bench before pulling out a brand-​new racket, still covered in the clear protective plastic. The distinctive red W was easily visible against the tightly wound white strings. A Wilson racket, what he’d been playing with since he was a junior, not that Penny would ever admit she knew that.

“Grab. Your. Racket,” he said again.

“Why?” But she knew why, and the thought of facing off against him was both exhilarating and terrifying.

“I’ll show you exactly how much of a has-​been I’m not. Let’s go. You and me, right now.”

“No.”

“Scared?”

Penny glared at him. He was pushing her buttons, yet her pride won out over the logical part of her mind that told her this was a bad idea.

“Warm up and you serve first.”

The confrontation had her blood pumping. Alex ran in place, swinging his arms around, stretching them over his head and behind his back before going through his serving motion, whipping it through the air. Penny slowly went through her measured stretches starting with her ankles and wrists, then working her way inward. She kept her eyes focused on the clay, allowing each muscle to loosen up before moving on. Finally, she looked up at him. He was waiting at the opposite end of the court, racket in hand, bouncing a ball.

Penny pushed up onto her toes as she waited for what had once been the world’s best serve to catapult at her but then fell to her heels as a looping volley traveled over the net.

She straightened and caught the ball on her racket. “Has your game really regressed to this level? If it has, I’m not going to waste my time,” she called out, offended he was going easy on her.

“All right, then. Fifteen–love.”

Shaking her head that he counted that ridiculous serve as a point, she again bounced on the balls of her feet, preparing to receive a real serve.

He stood up straight and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “You sure about this? I figured we’d save it until you improved defensively, like Dom wants.”

Penny’s eyes narrowed. “Just hit the damn ball.”

“Your funeral,” he muttered, but loud enough for her to hear, before his body coiled and exploded through the ball.

She got her racket on it and blocked it back, but the combined speed of the ball and the tight strings of her racket sent it sailing long.

“Thirty– love.”

That was the best serve she’d ever seen. She’d played against men who could hit as hard, but this was in another category altogether. A wicked spin combined with the velocity, even with the clay slowing it down a little, made it sheer luck she got her racket on it. Apparently, reports of his knee injury were grossly exaggerated. No one could blast a serve like that on a blown-​out knee. Crossing to the other side of her court, she prepared again, taking a step back this time to compensate for the velocity. His face was stone, no emotion— all business.

Alex fired another serve out wide, sending her lunging. This time her return landed in play. Her feet caught up underneath her and she changed direction, knowing he would counter crosscourt.

She hit the ball in stride, launching it back across the court. For a split second, she watched the gorgeous backhand fly to the opposite corner for a winner. Then her momentum sent her sprawling into the clay. She rolled over, tucking her shoulder and landing on her back, knocking the breath from her lungs. Penny lay there a moment, gasping at first and then breathing slowly in through her nose and out through her mouth. Everything felt okay, so she rolled onto her side and stood up, brushing the clay from her hands.

Alex was on her side of the net by the time she regained her footing. “Are you all right?” he asked, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other running down her side to check for injuries.

A tremor slid through her as his calloused fingertips traced her jawline, tilting her chin upward, forcing her to look at him. She shouldn’t be feeling like this. Her body ignored her mental reprimand, and she ever so briefly leaned into the touch. It was just like that night, magnetism unlike anything she’d ever felt before. His eyes left hers and drifted down to her lips. She wet them unconsciously and he sucked in a harsh breath. It was enough to break the spell.

“Don’t touch me.” She pulled away, her skin immediately mourning the warmth of his hand. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Dom will kill me if you’re hurt.”

“Thirty– fifteen.” She ignored the pain in her hip— only a bruise— hoping to both reassure him and reignite the competition. She wanted to play, even more now than before.

Alex studied her and Penny kept all emotion off her face, not giving away even a hint of discomfort. “Thirty–fifteen,” he agreed before retreating to his side of the court.

A half hour later, they were thrashing each other, holding their serves, and despite the bruise still blooming on her hipbone, she was pleased with her effort. The respect she saw in his expression after she returned one of his serves for a clean winner wasn’t a figment of her imagination. She would never admit it out loud, but playing against him every day would help her prep for the French.

She was drenched in sweat, and adrenaline thrummed through her veins, so the sound of the gate opening didn’t register. She was too caught up in the thrill of the match, of having a fierce opponent, and she relished every point she won, a small revenge for the little part of her that still resented him for hooking up with someone else the night after Penny was in his bed.

“Got going without me, huh?” Dom’s voice rang out, startling Alex as he tossed the ball up. It fell to the ground, bouncing away.

Penny cringed. Dom had instructed her to start on her conditioning, not get roped into a full‑on grudge match. Her coach stood at the edge of the court, the breeze ruffling his dark hair. He looked every inch the elite athlete, still in great shape, even in retirement.

“Couldn’t help ourselves,” Alex quipped, retrieving the ball, and she contained the urge to glare at him.

“Well, next time, wait for me. I’m your coach. Can’t analyze anything if I’m not here to watch,” Dom said.

“Right,” Alex said, laughing. “Haven’t had a real coach in a while. Might take some getting used to.” Shaking his head, Dom turned his attention to her. His eyes caught the red clay stain on her white tennis shorts and blue T‑shirt. His thick black eyebrows lifted into his hairline, asking the question without having to voice it. What the hell happened to you?

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Penny asked, inhaling deeply through her nose, trying to keep from exploding at her coach. He didn’t know about her and Alex. This situation wasn’t his fault. It was hers. “Privately.”

“Say whatever you like, love. I’m a big boy.”

Her back teeth ground together and she turned to her coach. “Roland-​Garros is in a few weeks and I don’t have time to waste helping him get back into match shape or whatever. I’m not training with him.”

“I don’t know. It looks like you two got in a pretty good workout. Any other reason?” Dom asked, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. It was his battle stance. She hadn’t seen it in a while.

“She thinks I’m a has-​been,” Alex said as he started kicking around one of the stray tennis balls, picking it up with his foot and bouncing it off his knee then down, catching it with his toe, showing Dom exactly how seriously he took her opinion.

Penny pressed her fingertips against the side of her head, trying her best to ignore him as she led Dom a few feet away, giving her a little more privacy. “I can’t train with him, Dom,” she said, her voice quieter this time. “He’s too . . . I just . . . can’t.”

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Words failed her. She couldn’t tell her coach she wouldn’t train with Alex because he was a smug prick who already managed to seduce her once. That no matter how much playing with him could help her game, he would be nothing but a distraction at a time when she could least afford it.

Dom lowered his head, keeping his voice low. “Listen to me—he’s the perfect training partner for you.” She tried to interrupt him, but he cut her off. “This is the best thing for you going into Paris: someone who can keep up with you, challenge you on a daily basis. Even not having played in months, he’s better than everyone here. And he won’t admit it, but you’ll be good for his recovery.”

“He seems fine,” Penny groused, looking up at the sky and sighing in defeat as his words echoed her own thoughts.

“Good, then, so there’s no problem?” Dom asked, but it wasn’t a question, and he was already walking away from her, gathering up the stray balls from their impromptu match.

“What’s the verdict?” Alex asked, suddenly right beside her, and despite everything, as his body hovered mere inches from hers, her skin started to hum at the proximity. She spun on her toe, nearly losing her balance, and Alex’s hands came up to steady her, but she slipped away from his grasp.

“I told you not to touch me.” She moved back out onto the court and he matched her stride, their arms brushing as they walked. She pulled away immediately and stepped in front of him. Looking up, she squinted into the sunlight shining behind his head, reflecting off the golden streaks in his hair. “Outside of this court, you stay the hell away from me, understand?” she whispered so Dom wouldn’t hear.

Alex grunted, a sound deep from within his chest, a sound she recognized. He’d made it once with his lips buried between her shoulder and her neck, his weight pressing her down into the bed, skin against skin.

“Understood,” he said, but Penny knew the real test wasn’t if he could stay away from her, but if she could keep herself away from him.

Excerpted from Game, Set, Match by Jennifer Iacopelli. Copyright © 2026. Reprinted with permission of Requited. All rights reserved.