Page 82 of Pickled
“Distractions?” The sides of his lips turned up. “Is that what I am?”
“Gideon, I’m serious. Twenty-five thousand dollars could change our life. I can’t mess this up because…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence.
“Because?”
Was he going to make me say it? “Because I can’t think straight when you’re around. I can’t think about the way you spun me around yesterday and how damn good that felt.”
The sun brought out the gold flecks in his dark eyes. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that until Saturday night, we’re just pickleball partners. Nothing else. No touching, no flirting, no moments.” I crossed my arms, trying to look more confident than I felt. “Can you handle that?”
“Can you?”
I didn’t tell him that I’d been fighting the urge to hurdle the net, leap into him, and squeeze his waist with my thighs. How it was going to be akin to torture to be on the same court as him everyday this week, with his broad shoulders and deep voice. “I have to.” It was all I could say.
“Then I guess we both do.” He picked up his paddle. “Partners only. Got it.”
We went back to the rally, but the rhythm we’d found yesterday was gone, replaced with tension. When I watched him move, I had to force myself to focus on his technique instead of the way his shorts hugged his thighs.
This was going to be the longest week of my life.
Tuesday morning was better, and we fell into a routine. It was a quick warm-up, perfecting various serves, then strategy. Gideon was all business. He held the ball like it had been in a dog’s mouth and was covered in slobber every time he had to pass it to me. He ensured his fingertips wouldn’t accidentally touch mine.
“Your serve is getting stronger,” he said. We both sipped from our water bottles as we took a break.
“Thanks.” I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “Your drop shots are looking good too, way more controlled.”
“You sound like you’re reading from a coaching manual.”
I laughed. “Isn’t that what you wanted? All business? I studied sports management in school—I guess some of those courses did teach me something.”
“Actually, you’re the one who wanted all business. And, sports management is a tough course. I’m impressed.”
It would be more impressive if I actually finished, I thought to myself.
Avoiding the compliment, I took another sip of water, trying not to stare at the way his shirt clung to his pecs. “How’s your recovery going? The concussion?”
“Good. Really good, actually. My balance is back to normal, and the headaches are gone.” He bounced the ball on his paddle. “My doctor says I might be cleared to play again soon.”
“That’s amazing. You must be excited.”
“Yeah.” He sounded reluctant. “It’s what I’ve been working on.”
“But?”
“But nothing. Hockey’s my job. My life.” He shrugged. “This is just temporary.”
The words stung. Of course, this break from his real life was temporary. It reminded me exactly why I needed to keep my head in the game.
“Right,” I said. “Temporary.”
We went back to practicing, but the wordtemporaryechoed in my head with every shot.
Wednesday’s practice was the best yet. We were clicking on the court, anticipating each other’s moves, covering for each other’s weaknesses. Janie came out and almost beat us at two on one. We won after Gideon set me up and I smashed the ball straight down the divorce line, just out of reach of Janie’s paddle.
“Yes!” I raised my paddle. “Did you see that?”
“How could I not?” He grinned. “That was beautiful.”
