Page 78 of Pickled
“Careful, Jameson,” Riley warned. “It’s harder than it looks.”
“Please,” Jameson replied. “It’s tennis with a wiffle ball. How hard can it be?”
I was about to defend the sport when Janie Myers strode into the gym. The guys shut up and started pumping iron. Janie was very fit, and she had that perfectly curated “girl next door” look, the kind that took hours to look effortless.
“Gideon! Perfect timing. I have an idea about your tournament situation.”
“Tournament situation?” Jameson paused at the top of his squat. “Do tell more.”
“My teammates were just leaving,” I said.
Janie giggled. The guys resumed their workouts, but with all eyes on me and Janie.
“If Piper is worried about your skill level as a team, I have an idea. You and Piper should play a game against me and Preston Hartwell. He’s our club champion, one of the best amateur players at the club.”
It sounded like fun, but I didn’t think Piper would be up for it. “What’s the point?”
“If you can beat us, it will prove to Piper that you two are good enough for the tournament.” Janie picked up a fifty-pound dumbbell like it was a ten and set it on the weight rack. “She’s competitive. Tell her that if you two win, she has to play with you in the tournament.”
“And if they lose?” Owens racked the straight bar and draped his elbows over it.
“She’s got to go on a date with you.” Janie smacked my arm.
The guys broke out into laughter.
“Think about it.” Janie turned, her court shoes squeaking on the rubber floor. “And your friends should come and watch. I have the feeling there might be some spectators.”
When she left, Riley raised his eyebrows. “This I’ve got to see.”
“You fuckers better behave yourselves. If Piper agrees, you need to be on your best behavior.”
I sipped my water as I thought about it. Janie was right—Piper was competitive, and for me, it was a win-win situation.
Gossip spread fasterat the Azalea Bay Club than gonorrhea did through a small-town Triple A team. Word had gotten out about the Janie Myers/NHL player match-up, and the stands were filled with curious spectators. I was starting to regret making this so public.
Fred and Dot had claimed front row seats, along with Margie and Harold. My teammates stood along the fence, with Owens explaining pickleball rules to the others. Chelsea and Izzy sauntered over from the pool in their bikini cover-ups and wide-brimmed hats.
Chelsea interrupted my hamstring stretch, curling her finger to call me to the stands. “Gideon, you’re going to have to introduce us to your friends after the game.”
“Sure.” I kept it short. Those women would eat the guys for breakfast, and part of me wanted to see it happen.
The crowd murmured as Janie and the club champion took to the court. Piper followed. She was wearing an icy blue one-pieceshorts/tank top suit. My body stiffened as my teammates’ eyes followed her ass to the bench.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” she muttered as she approached the bench. “We’re going to get destroyed.”
“No, we’re not.” I kept my voice low. “We’re good together, remember?”
She swept her hair into a high ponytail. “So are they.”
Preston and Janie were stretching at the far end of the court. “They’ve never played together. We’ve done a lot more than that,” I whispered, letting my lips brush her ear.
She shivered. “That’s true.” There was a glint in her eye, one I hadn’t seen since that day in my pool. “You’re lucky I have good incentive to win.”
I clutched my heart. “You’re killing me.”
“No.” Piper pulled her paddle from her bag. “We’re going to kill them.”
“That’s my girl.” The words slipped out.
