Page 91 of Pickled
“They’re brilliant, and you know it. Come on, we need something that says ‘we’re here to win, but we don’t take ourselves too seriously.’”
“How about Carpe Dinkem?”
“Not bad. I like it.” I had the feeling Piper would like it too.
“I can’t wait to watch Carpe Dinkem win tomorrow.” Ace finished his beer and looked like he wanted to order another. “You used to look like this when you talked about hockey. It’s nice to see the light back in your eyes, brother.”
Surprise tears welled in my eyes. Luckily, I was able to blink them away. I finished my beer and signaled for the check. “We should head back. I want to get some rest before tomorrow.”
As we drove toward home, I thought about what Ace had said. He was right; I had loved hockey. If I could find joy in the sport with a wiffle ball and a paddle, I knew I could feel it again for the one with the stick and puck. And I had one woman to thank for all of it. Piper.
30
PIPER
Extra bleachers had been constructed surroundingcourts three and four. The Azalea Bay Club’s “country club social” attire was on full display and ranged from athletic wear to Kentucky Derby–style dresses. Waiters in bow ties and cummerbunds milled about the lounge and outdoor seating areas, offering up champagne and the cocktail of the day, the pickle martini. One of the local sports networks covering the tournament had set up professional high-end cameras on moving platforms.
“Holy shit.” I grabbed Gideon’s arm. “This is way bigger than I imagined.” The long-ago pre-tournament jitters that I used to get seemed way worse than I remembered, and I just hoped I wouldn’t have to sprint to the bathrooms before our first match.
Gideon leaned over my shoulder. “Language,” he whispered. “Ignore all of that stuff. It’s just another game.” He squeezed my hand and adjusted both of our gear bags on his shoulder. “Another game with me.”
My body relaxed. Gideon’s presence beside me grounded my courage. “There’s the registration table.” I pointed to a white tent surrounded by arrangements of pink roses and azaleas.
Janie waved as we approached. She’d transformed from friendly club pro to full tournament director.
Gideon handed over our entry form. “Carpe Dinkum, checking in. We sent the money to the Venmo account.”
When Gideon had wanted to pay our entry fee, I’d refused. He’d grumbled a bit but then agreed.
“Love the name. It suits you two.” She scribbled our names onto her list.. “You’re in the championship bracket. Your first match is in thirty minutes. Carpe Dinkum versus Azalea Royals.”
Championship bracket. What were we doing? I glanced at the team name list and felt guilty as my nerves disappeared—our first match-up was against Dot and Fred.
“Ms. Jones?” A man in pressed khakis stepped out from behind the table, his hand outstretched. I’d seen him, his perfect hair and impeccably pressed pants, around the club but always assumed he was a member. “I’m David Harrison, athletics director. Mind if I steal you for a moment?”
He led me a few steps away from the registration chaos. “I’ve been watching you play this week. Lisa Chen told us that you have a background in sports management. We have a position opening up, coordinating some of our programs. Are you interested in discussing it after your games today?”
“I studied sports management, but I didn’t finish my degree.” Why had Lisa put me in this position?
That detail didn’t seem to faze him. “We can work it out. If you commit to us for a three-year contract, we could offset some of the cost of your schooling. It’s something we can discuss. You come highly recommended. “ He handed me his gold-embossed business card. “Think about it.”
Think about it. Like I could think about anything else. A job at the club and a chance to finish my degree? The jitters in my stomach from the match paled into comparison to the excitement that coursed through my body thinking about this job opportunity.
Our path to the finals was a blur of fairly easy victories. Throughout the day, the crowd had grown, spilling out of the stands to surround the courts, standing room only. By the time we reached the championship match, the energy crackled like the sky over the Atlantic before a thunderstorm.
Margie had claimed an entire section, armed with homemade signs and enough snacks to feed a small army. Harold sat beside her with his leather notebook, tracking every point like he was documenting the World Series. Dot and Fred had prime seats, cheering for us despite the fact that we’d knocked them out in the first round. The hockey players had temporarily adopted their nemesis. Ace sat with Jameson, Owens, and Morgan. Ace held up a sign, and I had to squint to read it.
“What does your brother’s sign say?” Gideon had gotten the nice penmanship gene in the Bailey family. Ace’s scrawl was barely legible.
Gideon shaded his eyes to look at the stands. “Oh, Ace.” He shook his head. “They shouldn’t have let him in here. It says, ‘Carpe Diem, don’t let Deez Nets get you down.’”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s a good thing Dot doesn’t know what Deez Nets really mean.”
I shouldn’t have stared at the crowd for so long. They had been noise before; now they were people that I knew, people that I cared about, and a few that I didn’t, and all of their eyes were on us. “This is insane,” I whispered to Gideon. My confidence had grown over the day, and my hands had finally stopped shaking.
“Good insane or bad insane?”
“Ask me in an hour.”
