He shrugged it off like he didn’t want to dwell on it, and I couldn’t blame him. “It sucked, but I could count on him to be one thing—an asshole. Everyone could. He had a reputation. I think the worst thing that came from my interactions with him was that I thought every bully would be blatant. Then I started dating and all of Katrina’s red flags were invisible. Her comments were insidious. Little digs here and there to highlight I wasn’t like my brothers, but I didn’t notice them at first. Then, after the blowup, I thought back, and yep, it was all there. It’s okay to give someone a second chance, but you’re already questioning if she’s genuine. Cara already showed you who she is. Don’t waste your time on her.”
How did I know anymore whether I was wasting my time or not?
Cara might’ve been nicer than normal tonight, but there was a strong chance she’d devolve back into her normal style. She’d make friends in Bourbon Canyon. They’d be other entrepreneurs like her. Business professionals. Not someone who tried to look and sound trendy online all day while getting lost in smut all night. I would no longer suit her. I would become boring. And I’d be left wondering if she was really trying to use me to feel superior or if she was oblivious to how she sounded.
I knew the real answer. It was always the same. With Brock. With my other exes. Even with my parents. Just once, I wanted the answer to be different. For someone to choose me because I was me. And Tenor was. Kind of. I could wait a little longer for him, but not for Cara. “Okay. You’re right.”
He leaned close, his mouth to my ear. “I know.”
Flutters erupted in my belly. Damn Brock and those worries he’d planted. Tenor made me feel good about myself. He was a guy I could bring home. Not even Dad could find anything wrong with him. Except that he was part owner of the company I worked for. Dad probably also wouldn’t be thrilled about the age difference.
Was there a chance Tenor would ever meet my parents? We weren’t serious, but would he play one innocent tennis match just to appease my father? With Dad, the game wouldn’t be so innocent. I never thought a game of tennis would be cutthroat, but Dad turned everything that way.
I could at least get Tenor on the courts. Ease into the topic. Just in case the day came. And maybe because I wanted to see my cowboy turn into a studlete. “Think you can get away tomorrow or Sunday to hit some balls around?”
“I don’t golf.”
I smiled. “That’d be interesting with rackets.”
His right eye twitched. “I hope you’re not talking about pickleball.”
A laugh burst out of me. “You sound like my dad. What is the thing between tennis players and pickleball players? They’re often the same people.”
He drew himself to his full height. “Except when they’re not and tennis players can’t get any court time because of fucking pickleball.”
My laughter grew and his expression got more disgruntled. He’d have that in common with Dad. “Any time those pickleball players aren’t dominating the courts, then.”
He ground his teeth together and glanced away, but his lips twitched. “There is always an open court.” He caught my gaze and a devious grin spread across his face. “On the Bailey Memorial Courts.” He winked. “To further encourage the growthof Bourbon Canyon High School’s tennis team. No pickleball allowed.”
“Of course. You’re devious.”
“I believe the term you’re looking for is philanthropic.” The corner of his eyes crinkled. “And I’m free whenever you want, Goldilocks.”
Tenor
Turned out, Ruby wanted to hit the court as soon as she returned to Bourbon Canyon. This weekend, we’d scrimmaged for an hour. Yesterday, it had rained. Today, it couldn’t have been more perfect for a match. Sunny with a light breeze, it wasn’t too hot.
“You’re really good at this.” Ruby packed up her racket.
“Thanks. You’re not bad yourself.”
“I have some skills. My dad taught me, so I was learning when he was. He really wanted me to play in school.” She shrugged.
There was something else she wasn’t saying. “You didn’t want to?”
“I didn’t care, but Dad can be... It would’ve been like a football dad yelling from the bleachers.”
“That doesn’t pair well with tennis.”
She flashed a quick smile. “Neither does Dad but that doesn’t stop him from bringing his football energy to the courts.”
I didn’t elaborate on my experience. I had played from seventh grade until graduation. Tennis had kept me sane. It was a sport that tended to attract more mathletes than alpha-male athletes. I could expend my frustration on the court after a shitday. Nobody cared that I liked spreadsheets and Warhammer, and I won some matches.
My games hadn’t been as anticipated as Tate’s and Teller’s football games, but I hadn’t cared. With a gaggle of younger siblings and foster kids, my parents hadn’t wanted to risk the noise level and distract any players. The fewer the spectators, the better as far as I had been concerned. Tennis had been it for me. I’d been teased moderately less for it than I had with Warhammer.
I tucked my racket into my bag with my spare. I always carried two. Old habits died hard.
She walked to her car. Her flirty little white skirt swung around her thighs. “That was a nice treat. I got to see you in shorts, and it was a mellow game.”
