Page 68 of Comeback
“Nah. It wouldn’t be weird,” he says. “I’d like to meet them too.”
On Saturday night, I force a still reluctant Olivia out of the house, and we take an Uber to Sweet Pickle. It’s only been open a month, but it has become a hot spot for twenty and thirty-somethings.
Inside tables are spaced around one half of the restaurant and a long bar stretches across the other side. There are cutesy signs with pickleball rules and sayings all over the wall, but somehow it doesn’t feel cheesy. Maybe it’s the women in dresses holding cocktails like they’re spectators at the US Open that keeps it from looking like a dive. The pickleball courts are outside, with a patio, providing more seating to eat, drink, or watch people playing.
“I feel like I need eye protection,” Olivia says after we grab drinks and head outside.
It’s nice out. The nights are finally starting to feel like fall. We manage to snag a seat at a bar top table that looks straight onto the courts.
Thankfully the guys playing on the closest court seem to be well in control of their balls.
“You know, it doesn’t escape my notice that you have an in with professional football players and instead we’re here watching guys play pickleball.”
“Pickleball is the fastest growing sport,” I tell her. I read it when I was looking up the restaurant.
“Uh-huh.” She pulls something up on her phone and then sets it down in front of me. It’s a picture of Archer at practice splashed across the team’s social media page. He’s in football pants, but his pads up top are gone and so is his helmet. His hair is sweaty and slicked back, and a navy T-shirt stretches across his chest. I’ve seen it before. In fact, I’m the one who sent it to her.
I swallow. Hard. Then take another sip of my wine before I say, “You bitch.”
She laughs as she takes her phone back. “Any more late-night run-ins?”
“No. Nothing. He’s been gone all week.”
“You should have kissed him again.”
“We’refriends,” I enunciate the word carefully.
“Uh huh…” She unlocks her phone and flashes me the photo one more time.
“Delete that picture right now.”
“You sent it to me.”
“I was trying to be a good friend by sharing all that sweaty hotness with you. I didn’t think you were going to use it to torture me.”
“First of all, he’s not really my type. Undeniably hot, yes, but I prefer someone a little more down to earth.”
“Archer is very down to earth,” I say, feeling myself get defensive.
“Honey, he is a professional football player. I’m sure he’s very nice but he does not live in the same world that we do. Or that I do. You are literally living in their world now.”
“They aren’t that different. Taller and more muscular.”
“More money.”
“Yeah, but they spend it on typical guy stuff like sneakers and electronics.”
She snorts a laugh. “All I’m saying is my type is more practical. No guy living his best life making millions of dollars and who can get literally any woman he wants, is interested in a twenty-three-year-old single mom.”
“They should be so lucky. Greer is amazing and you are a fucking catch.” My whole body heats at the thought of anyone looking over my best friend and her daughter as less than.
“Someday, maybe, when they’re on their second marriages and already have a couple of kids of their own.” She waves one hand in the air and looks off into the distance like she’s seeing her future.
We giggle, but I sense the sadness in her even as she jokes.
“You are going to find someone great who adores you and Greer.”
She nods but her expression isn’t completely convinced. “Do you think I’m going to find him here?”
