Page 28 of Pickled
“Pickleball?” I groaned like Ariana.
“See?” Lisa pointed at me. “I knew you’d make that face.”
I wasn’t aware that I was making a face. “I hate pickleball.” I pointed at her with the stupid paddle.
“I know, I know. You went on that huge rant about it the last time we were at the girls’ swimming lessons.It’s the sport for people who can’t play tennis.” She imitated my voice. “Ah.” She smiled. “Nowyour pickle hate actually makes sense, Miss Professional Tennis Star.”
“I can’t believe you’re playing a sport designed for old people.”
“It’s not for old people, Piper. It’s super fun,” Ariana said. She ran outside and shouted, “Shotgun!”
“Come on. Humor me.” Lisa gave me a playful shove out the door.
“Fine,” I grumbled.
“Yay!” Lisa locked the door behind us. “Arie! You can’t call shotgun when there’s another adult in the car.”
Groaning, Ariana slid into the back seat with the two younger girls. I grimaced as I hopped into the front seat, my bare legs meeting the searing leather. Thankfully, Lisa started the car, and cold air shot through the holes in the seat. “Ooh, that’s nice.” The tiny jets of ice-cold air felt pretty damn good on my legs, a welcome contrast to the lingering tenderness between them. A slightly uncomfortable but welcome reminder of the night’s multiple rounds of overtime.
“So, how do you score in this… sport? Is it like ping-pong?” I asked.
“You’ve seriously never seen a game?” Lisa kept her eyes on the road.
“Why would I watch a pickleball game? Are they even televised?”
“Oooh boy.” Lisa whistled. “This is gonna be interesting.”
I shook my head. “How hard can it be?”
“I like your confidence. Girls, can you explain the scoring to Piper? And maybe give her some tips?”
Ariana and Gabby explained the scoring. I tried to focus while they droned on about a kitchen or a dining room. As Gideon’s laneway came into view, my heart did a stutter step, and theirvoices disappeared completely. I strained against the seat belt, hoping for a glimpse of him. Was he the kind of guy to wash his car in his driveway? I bit my nail as I wondered. Suds, muscles, and a glistening eight-pack dripped through my imagination.
“Piper?” Lisa snapped her fingers. “Where are you right now?”
“Huh?” I blinked the shirtless car wash scene from my brain.
“Do you get the rules?”
“Sure. No kitchen dancing. Serve across the dining room. Everyone is too senile to keep track of the score, so you have to say it every time.”
“Piper, there’s no dining room.” Ariana took on a serious tone. “Top pickleball players are as big as tennis stars now. You should actually try.”
She was right. I didn’t want to play pickleball, but I needed to be a positive influence on the kids. I held up my hand like I was taking an oath. “I promise to be serious from now on.” The seat belt chafed on my cleavage as we went over a speed bump. I checked to make sure that my nipples were still tucked inside the top. “Can we stop at my place?”
“Why?” Lisa glanced at her watch. “I don’t want to be late, and we’re already cutting it close.”
“I’d like to get one of my own shirts.” I patted the red spot on my chest.
Lisa gunned the engine. “Nope. That shirt is perfect. And Piper, you’re going to eat your words. Pickleball is way more fun than tennis.”
Tennis stopped being fun years before the pressure of a scholarship was piled on my young shoulders. “I promise I will try, and I promise I will keep an open mind.” It was a lie. There was no way it was going to be a fun afternoon. I was on my way to whack around a bunch of wiffle balls in the blazing Florida sun.
“What do you think, girls?” Lisa looked in the rearview mirror. “Is Piper going to turn into a pickler?”
Olive giggled. “A dill pickler. Those are her favorite kind of potato chips.”
“She’s going to be a banger.” Gabby’s squeaky voice was filled with excitement. Lisa pulled into her staff parking spot, and the girls unbuckled their seat belts the second she put the SUV in park.
