Page 67 of Pickled
“Whatever’s eating at you, playing it out in your head over and over won’t solve it. Sometimes you have to step onto the court and see what happens when the ball is actually in play.” She patted my arm. “You’ve got good instincts, Gideon. Trust them.”
22
PIPER
Was running latethe new theme in my life? At the last minute, Olive had decided that she needed her lucky hair scrunchie, and by the time I found it in the couch cushions, we were going to be late for both school and my first session with my tournament partner.
Luckily, traffic had been on our side, and I’d gotten Olive to school with one minute to spare. My hands shook as I drove to the club to meet my mystery partner. I didn’t know anything about him other than Lisa told me he had tennis experience and would complement my style, whatever the heck that meant. She’d been a little cagey about details, and I excitedly wondered if she managed to score a ringer, maybe a retired professional.
I grabbed my paddle and water bottle, trying to calm my nerves. This plan was insane, but twenty-five thousand dollars. Half of that would be more than enough to pay for Olive’s enrollment in the camp.
The pock of balls from the court and many voices calling out scores told me the courts were crowded.
I rounded the corner to the courts and froze. Was I losing my mind? Why the hell was Gideon Bailey on my court? The man wasn’t facing me, but I knew that ass. Dark curls peeked out from beneath his blue hat, and his wide shoulders flexed under his T-shirt as he stretched.
Before I could retreat to the safety of the clubhouse, he turned, his face dropping the moment he recognized me.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” we both groaned at the same time.
If it was anyone but Gideon, it would’ve been a funny moment. Lisa was at the far end of the court and approached with a grin. “Lisa,” I hissed. “What have you done?”
Gideon crossed his arms, and his lips narrowed to a line.
“You two know each other?” There was a tremble in her voice. She was very aware that I knew Gideon Bailey. What kind of stunt was she pulling?
“We’ve met,” Gideon said, his voice flat. “I’m leaving.”
“Not if I leave first.” I turned on my heel.
“Piper, wait!” Lisa shouted. “You’re both here. Why don’t we hit a few balls and see how it goes?”
I wanted to run. Get back in my Honda and drive straight home. Fight or flight had kicked in, and my brain was screaming flight. But Olive. The camp. Twenty-five thousand dollars. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Gideon replied.
Lisa put us on the far side of the court and started feeding us balls.
At first, I tried to stay as far to the side of the court as possible, but after about ten minutes of trying to maximize my distance from Gideon, my competitive instinct took over.
The next shot was a high one, and Gideon was too far forward in the court. He shuffled backward but wasn’t going to make it. “Mine,” I shouted and smashed the ball across the net. Lisa couldn’t return it.
“I could’ve gotten that,” he grumbled.
“As if,” I whispered under my breath and returned to my position.
Despite the obvious tension, we started clicking. Gideon kept Lisa at the back of her court, and I dropped lob shots forward. If it had been an actual game, the play would’ve been perfect.
“Your serve is weak,” I said as we switched sides.
“You shouldn’t have used your backhand,” he shot back.
“At least I’m not trying to kill every ball.”
Lisa held up her hand and gestured for us to meet her at the net. “You two have a good rhythm together. It’s like you’ve played together before.”
I was going to murder my friend.
We continued practicing, and I hated to admit she was right. We were good together, better than anyone I’d tried to recruit as a partner these past couple of weeks. But between serves, the temperature on that hot Florida court seemed to drop about twenty degrees. Things were downright icy between us.
