Page 30 of Pickled
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Riley crossed his arms.
“What’s he going to do?” Jameson laughed. “Tell him all of our top secret plays? If there’s anything I’ve learned about Gideon Bailey, it’s that the man likes to win.” Another smack on the back. This one also felt like it had an intention. Jameson was right. I loved my brother, but I also loved winning.
Riley’s shoulders relaxed. “Your brother is a good player, but he’s got to have a weakness. Let’s have a drink, and you can tell us how to beat him.”
Sure, I wanted to win at all costs, but exposing Ace’s weak backhand when he did wraparound shots felt like a betrayal. If the tables were turned, would Ace disclose my tendency to go high with my slapshots if I wasn’t focused? Probably not.
We didn’t need this information to win. Teamwork and camaraderie were more important. I cursed as my teamwork mantra floated through my mind. “I’ll stay for one, but only if Jameson stays too.”
The look Jameson cast could melt ice. “Just one.”
The guys grinned.
Water misters workedovertime on the ABC outdoor patio. The hostess welcomed us with a smile.
“Hey, Sarah. Can you give us a table near the courts?” Riley was apparently on a first-name basis with the hostess.
“Are you sure, Landon?” The pretty girl clutched the menus to her chest. “Most people find it a little too… loud.”
“I’m sure.” Riley cast her a smile, and she blushed in return.
“Follow me.” Two long brown braids swayed down the back of her golf shirt as she led us across the patio. Decorative boulders flanked the edge of the restaurant, partly camouflaging the green court fencing. Bright green balls flew through the air as calls of “yours” and “mine” echoed off the playing surface.
“Now you can see what it’s all about.” Riley gazed over the courts. “There are some good players out there today,” he mused.
“Mabel and Herbert?” Owens said. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Ha. Ha.” Riley settled into his chair. “No, Britt and Janie Myers are here. They’re on court three.” He pointed past the kids on the nearest court. “They’re world-class players.”
We turned our attention to court three. “And they’re fucking hot.” Owens rubbed his eyes as though witnessing a mirage. “Holy shit.”
Sarah left with our order. I took a minute to clean the lenses of my sunglasses to get a better look. The women on court three were serious. For the first time in my life, I watched a few rounds of pickleball. It was a hell of a lot faster than I’d ever imagined. The Myers sisters had reflexes like tigers. I was impressed but, after all my shit-talking, wasn’t about to admit it.
Sarah with the Heidi braids delivered the pitchers of beer to our table. She started to pour our first round, but Owens took the jug from her. “I can see that you’re busy. I’ve got this.” He winked at her.
“Thanks.” She brushed her hands on her apron. “I’ll be by in a few minutes to check on you.”
“She’s cute,” Owens said. As he poured, his gaze tracked her ass across the patio.
“Don’t you dare,” Riley said. “She’s way too innocent for any of us.”
Owens shrugged. “Nothing wrong with innocent. You can teach ’em.” He held up his beer. “To destroying the Tigers tomorrow.” The toast was directed at me.
How could I reassure them that I wasn’t going to go easy on Ace? If anything, being on the ice with my brother amped up my competitive spirit. “There will be tiger blood in the water tomorrow.”
“Hell yeah.” Jameson grinned. “Spiny fins gotta be sharp.” We chuckled as we clinked our glasses together.
Owens’ eyes drifted over the top of my head. “Cougars, five o’clock,” he whispered into the foam on his beer. “I’m going in.” He stood.
Jameson rolled his eyes. “You’re playing with fire, Owens. Remember what happened to Stevens?”
Owens swatted away the warning like a mosquito and headed toward the table of gorgeous forty- or fifty-something women. Subtle primping spread amongst the ladies with the realization that Riley was approaching them. They all sat taller, pressed their chests forward, and a couple of them even stroked their long ponytails. It was like watching a nature film. I could almost hear the soothing voiceover.
Here in its natural habitat, a young Miami Barracuda beelines for its prey. He knows what he wants and is going for it. But, unbeknownst to the cocky razor-toothed fish, the prey is ready for him, and they are a lot more powerful than the fish realizes.
“He’s going to regret this.” Jameson shook his head.
Owens pulled up a chair in between long black ponytail and long blonde braid. He must have said something mildly witty asa titter of laughter broke out from the women. He turned and waved for us to come over. Jameson and I simultaneously shook our heads; he muttered, “Hard no,” under his breath.
