Page 68 of Kiss My Glass
“Cute,” says Ava. “What’s a dink?”
“About to find out,” I reply. “Frankie’s challenged me to a pickleball match.”
Ava’s eyes light up. “Can I come?”
“No!” I say. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy! Besides, you can’t play pickleball with three people.”
At least I hope you can’t.
Doug’s turned up to help Cam unload the truck. Each barrel must weigh a good ninety pounds but Cam wraps his big ol’ manly arms around one and lifts it off like it’s nothing. When he’s cleared a space, he hops onto the cargo bed, squats and hefts each remaining barrel, hands them across the tailgate to equally strong-as-an-ox Doug, who sets them on the ground. I feel like I’m witnessing a bunch of health and safety laws getting violated, and I’m also vowing never again to skip leg day at the gym.
“Frankie!” Ava spots her before I do. “Can I come play pickleball with you?”
Frankie is in the cutest outfit, a short pink strappy dress and matching sneakers. God, I adore her.
“Not this time,” she says to Ava. “I have to teach your brother how to lose.”
Ava high fives her. I’m outnumbered and outgunned.
“Are you going with Cam to pick up Mom tomorrow?” Frankie asks Ava.
“Squeeze in between them on the Dodge’s cozy bench seat, you mean?” Ava replies.
They exchange a look that I’m not sure how to interpret.
Then Ava grins. “Enjoy your pickleball. Don’t mind it if Danny sulks. He’s always been a terrible sulker.”
“Insult jar!” I insist.
“Not an insult if it’s true!” Ava yells over her shoulder, as she hops off to go watch Cam and Doug compete for the title of world’s strongest man. They’ll probably be ripping phone books in half next.
Frankie’s expression is thoughtful, but when she notices I’m looking at her, she smiles.
“Ready?” she says.
“Not even a little bit.”
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
I’ll spare you the details, but Frankie kicks my ass. Pickleball isn’t hard, but there’s definitely an art to it that she’s mastered and I comprehensively have not. We play three games and in each one she cleans me up in record time. It’s more of a drubbing than I’d ever had playing Izzy and Max at tennis. But do I sulk? No, sir, I do not! I am a most gracious loser. Because, of course, I want Ava to have a second entry in the insult jar. If I can’t win at pickleball, at least I can win at petty revenge.
We grab sandwiches and sodas from a place that we select for its outdoor seating because we smell like sweat and, in my case, defeat. I remember what Frankie looked like coming out of the shower yesterday, her bare skin all rosy and glowing, and the supportive gusset of my running shorts proves no match for Lil Danny at full salute. Luckily, the table provides adequate concealment.
“Have you considered that you might be a sex maniac?” says Frankie.
Not adequate enough, it seems. Though she is sitting right next to me.
“It’s not my fault!” I protest. “I’m up against hormones and pheromones and primal mating instincts and the irresistible magnetism of Old Spice!”
“It is a sexy scent, isn’t it?” says Frankie, smugly.
“And you!” I add. “You and your cute little dress, and your big blue eyes, and the melted cheese on your bottom lip – what’s a red-blooded guy to do?”
Frankie gazes at me with her big blue eyes, as she lifts the string of melted cheese off her bottom lip with one finger and pushes said finger all the way, very slowly, into her mouth. Lil Danny is on the brink of an incident, and I did notbring a change of clothes.
“This is cruel and inhuman punishment,” I say. “First a pickleball thrashing, now a sex act with cheese. Can we leave now? Do I have to beg?”
“You’re so cute when you’re desperate.” Frankie bats her eyelashes at me. “Yes, we can leave now.”
