“Meredith...”
“I knew you were going to be mad, so here’s the deal: I did it partly because I’m going to need to lean on you over the next few weeks, literally in some scenarios. Colton is in the middle of his busiest quarter at work, which means that he’s not going to be around as much, so consider the lessons a little thank-you in advance for helping me.”
“For fuck’s sake, that’s not an equal exchange for me running to get you glasses of water now and then. And it’s not like you’re incapacitated; it’s aboot. You’ll be thumping around in no time.”
She held up her hand to silence me. “You didn’t let me finish—there’s more. Now, Iknowyou have another Brooke Murphy book inside of you, so once you finally shift your focus back to writing for yourself and sell a book under your own name, then you can pay me back. Butonlythen. Deal?”
Meredith had always been sneaky generous, from sharing pizzas with toppings that I preferred to staying up after a long shift at the Hickory Bar to read through my latest manuscript before I submitted it. I did my part by always washing the pots she left piled in the sink without complaining and letting Colton crash at our place.
“Mere, there’s no way I can—”
“The lessons are nonrefundable,” she cut me off. “So you better use them.”
I bottled up my mixed emotions and jumped out of my chair to run over and hug her.
“Watch the leg, watch the leg.” She laughed as I knelt down next to the futon and wrapped my arms around her.
“You’re the best. I owe you.” I moved back on my heels and smiled at her.
“All you owe me is a book and some good horny stories from when you and Kai hook up.”
“Yes! Speak it into existence.” I traced an arc in the air above my head.
I wasn’t exactly thrilled that I was going to be exposing my lack of skills to Mr. Hat, but after feeling hollowed out after the breakup, he was my express ticket to word count.
Chapter Seven
I was a morning person when it came to everything but sports.
Getting up early for sexy times, eating, writing, shopping, or travel? No problem. But getting up to do anything that required coordination beyond making my pour-over coffee was out of the question. Unfortunately, the seven o’clock slot was all Owen could offer me. I was free to pick any day of the week but only at that heartless time.
I’d obviously opted for Thursday, since I was now two-for-two on Thursday Kai sightings. I knew it was unlikely I’d run into him at the crack of dawn, and when Owen met me at the front door to unlock it for me, I realized that it was downright impossible. My first lesson would be Kai-free, but maybe I could bring my laptop to the next one and then spend the rest of the day using the fancy coworking space in the hopes of running into him again?
Yeah, it was weird, but I was on a mission.
“Good morning,” Owen said as he stepped out of the way to let me in. “Welcome to the first day of your new obsession.”
For now, I was fine with letting him think that my true obsession was the game and not the player.
“Good morning,” I answered as brightly as I could, givenmy grogginess and nerves. I looked around at the empty space. “Are we the first ones here or . . . ?”
“Yup,” he answered as he locked the door behind me. “We’re not open yet, so it’ll be just us for a bit.”
Owen was wide-awake, bucket hatted, and completely focused on me. He was in green basketball shorts, and he’d branched out in the T-shirt department, this time in a black Wimbledon 2014 option, which, judging by the holes scattered at the seams, had clearly seen lots of action. I still couldn’t understand how such an integral member of the Chelsea Pickleball Academy team could write his own dress code. The other employees I’d encountered the two times I’d visited, from the people running food to the front desk staff, all looked ready for an Insta feature. I assumed that he was a good enough coach that he could sweet-talk his way into doing what he wanted.
Walking into the space without the sound of paddles thwacking balls and only half of the lights on made it feel eerie. I shot a glance at Owen, hoping that he wasn’t a pickleball-playing serial killer.
I shook my head. Impossible. The meanest thing about him was probably his serve.
“I see you’re ready to go.” He nodded at my borrowed outfit, a different pleated white skort that was actually pretty cute on me. Wasted, though, because Kai wouldn’t see me in it. “Do you want to drop your stuff in the locker room?”
I held up my small black duffel bag, which only contained my wallet, keys, and water bottle. “I’m good. Ready to start when you are.”
Because the clock was ticking. I had a check-in call scheduled with Piper later today and I needed to crank out somewords beforehand, so I could report semi-honestly about my progress. When it came to Austin and Abby, I was still running on fumes.
“Okay, let’s get you set up with a paddle,” he said. “Or do you already have one?”
I showed him my empty hands. “I have nothing, not even coordination.”
