You don't have a score, and you're "love"
The first time you score, you get 15 points.
The next time you score, you get 15 additional points.
The next time you score, you only get 10 points.
Then you win (no idea how many points you get, but you win anyway).

The only way I can see this happening is a guy and girl were playing a long, long time ago when it was just starting out.

"Ready, love? I'm going to serve."

"Whatever you say, love. These clothes seem awfully revealing, love."

"It's okay, love. No one but the servants can see us. Remember, we own the surrounding miles of land. The peasants are far away."

"Okay..."

[Serve. Ace.]

"My goodness! That was so fast!"

"I got lucky. I get 15 points."

"Seems like a lot of points just for one serve."

"If we use small numbers, the peasants will be able to play. This new sport should be reserved for us elites. If they can't add big numbers, they won't be interested in playing."

"If you say so, love."

"You know what, 'zero' sounds a bit harsh, don't you think so, love?"

"Yes. What shall we call it?"

"How about 'love' in honor of you, my love? So our score is 15-love."

"Splendid idea!"

[Serve. Ace]

{pouting voice} "Love, that was clear on the other side of that small box. I was expecting you to hit it where you did last time."

"Well, the idea of the sport is to hit it where the opponent isn't."

{forced smile and a bit of a glare} "So right you are, love." {shakes her head a bit, looks at the ground.}

"30-love"

{purses lips in determined pout}

[Serve. Love lunges at the serve. Misses and stumbles, getting red clay on her clean, white attire. 30 snickers ever so softly equally at his dominance and at her stumble. Love hears something faintly, but not clearly enough to question him... though she has her suspicions.]

"Did you say something, love?"

"No, love. Just clearing my throat."

"Just look at my clothes! They were so beautiful, but now they're so...so RED. Do you really have to use red clay?"

"It's how the court stays in good shape, even after it rains, love."

[She knows he's lying. No longer makes any pretense of a smile. He notices.]

"Oh, I see. I still think it's too red."

"Do you really have to take a full 15 points? I gave it a valiant effort, love."

"I know you did, love. How about we only make it 10 points?"

"That's sweet of you, love."

"40-love."

{Grrr...}

"Oh, come on, love. Be a sport, will you?"

"I'M FINE...love. Serve it already."

"Here it comes." [lobs an easy one]

[hits it back, but in her excitement, hits a fault back.]

"That's it. You win. It's been lovely, dear. How about we take a break?"

"Grand idea. Thank you for being a great sport, love."

"My pleasure, love." [Makes determination to ask her friends over to play instead of humoring him. She may even spit in his lemonade, just because.]