Page 81 of Pickled
“It’s a work in progress.” I pulled out of the parking lot. “We’re playing in a tournament together next weekend. First prize is twenty-five grand!”
“Whoa,” Ace said. “If I’m in the hood, can I come and watch you lose?”
“Sure, dude.” I brushed off his comment. “Put Goldie on.”
“She’s not here.” Ace’s voice was uncharacteristically flat.
“Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah. With us, everything is good. There’s just some drama going on up here. I’ve got the weekend off—I was serious, can I come down and hang out with you? I can be the ball boy for your tournament. I can get a flight in on Friday.”
Classic Ace. I pulled into the driveway and pushed the button for the garage door. “I’m pretty sure you’re not qualified for the ball boy role, but I’ll have C.C. make up the spare room for you. See you Friday night.” I was about to hang up, but paused with my finger on the button. I love you Ace.”
“Love you too.” He didn’t even hesitate. “See you on the weekend.”
After we hung up, I sat in my car for a few minutes. What a difference a few hours could make. This morning, I was sure I’d lost her. This afternoon, we were partners.
Could this actually work?
26
PIPER
Monday morning came too fast.I pulled on my shorts and a T-shirt, ignoring the way my stomach was twisted into knots. Last night, I’d barely slept, worrying about this week of training. Every time I thought about Gideon, my heart did a stupid backflip, but twenty-five grand was on the line. I had to get my head in the game, and fast.
“Mom, are you nervous?” Olive leaned against my bedroom doorway. She was already dressed for school, her backpack slung over one shoulder.
“A little,” I admitted. Olive didn’t have to know why. She still hadn’t figured out that “Coach Bailey” was the neighbor who helped me find the cat and the one who left me the hockey tickets.
“You’ll be great. You and Mr. Bailey are really good together.” She pulled on the other strap of herPaw Patrolbackpack. “I think you’re going to win.”
“We are sure as heck going to try.” I ran my hand down one of her silky brown pigtails.
“You will.” She shook her head, freeing her hair from my fingertips. “I know you will.”
I kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo. “Go find Judy. She’s probably waiting for you.”
After Olive skipped across the yard to the main house, I grabbed my gear bag and walked the few blocks to the club. The morning air was already thick with humidity, but it was Florida—what else was new? At least I could blame the heat for my sweaty palms.
Gideon was already on the court, stretching by the net. When he saw me, that perfect smile with the impossibly straight teeth spread across his face.
“Morning, partner.”
“Morning.” I dropped my bag on the bench, trying to calm my racing heart. “Ready to work?”
“Always.”
We started with some slow dinking, hitting easy shots back and forth across the net. Something had changed between us. Every time our eyes met, or every time he called out “nice shot,” my body responded. My hands got even sweatier, the thrum between my legs downright pulsing at the sound of his voice.
After about ten minutes, I couldn’t take the energy that crackled in the air between us. I moved to the net and whispered, “We need to talk.”
Gideon stopped mid-swing, the ball bouncing past him. “About what?”
Curling my finger, I made him approach the net. Who knew what ears might be lurking next to the courts. “About this.” I gestured between us. “About what happened after our match yesterday.”
“You mean when we won?”
“You know what I mean.” I lowered my voice so that he had to lean in to hear me. “The tournament is only five days away. Until then, we need to focus on pickleball. No other distractions.”
