“So you’re telling me it’s hopeless.” I felt my shoulders sag.
“Not necessarily,” Owen replied flatly. “You’re right; the best way in is definitely through pickleball. If you commit to practicing, I can help you get to a point where you could hold your own, and then I could engineer a game with him.”
“In four weeks?” I asked. “What are you, a miracle worker?”
He spun his paddle like he was a Wild West gunslinger. “Sort of. But you’d have to come twice a week at least.”
“But I’m not a member, and I’m maxed out with these four lessons,” I reminded him.
He glanced around the space, then back at me. “If you can be here before we open, Tuesdays and Thursdays are yours for the next four weeks.”
“You mean three weeks, since my first lesson is already over.”
He waved his hand through the air dismissively. “It’s fine. I can do four. I guess the question is, canyou?”
I straightened my back. “Whatever it takes.”
Owen frowned at me. “You’re really into Kai, huh?”
“As of now, I’m into theideaof him,” I replied quickly. “I’m assuming he’ll live up to my hype. You’d know that better than me at this point. Is he a good guy?”
“He’s fine, I guess,” Owen said with a shrug. “Great player. Always on time. Obviously very good-looking.”
A shrill bark echoed around us, and Owen glanced over his shoulder to the offices.
“That’s Marti. She needs to take a walk. Gimme a sec and we’ll head out with you.”
“You’re dog friendly here?” I asked as he jogged away.
He turned around and jogged backward, something he’d told me during the lesson was a pickleball no-no. “Not really, but Martina doesn’t care about the rules.”
I tried to envision what sort of dog Owen could have and settled on something big and goofy, like a Rottie or pit bull. The scruffy little purse dog that skittered across the courts to check me out was the last breed I expected to meet.
“Well, hello, you!” I dropped to my knees to try to pet the pup as she barked and spun in circles. “She’s so cute! What’s her mix?”
Owen watched her proudly. “A chihuahua-terrier combo, rescued from a hoarder. Best dog in the world.”
Marti was chihuahua-sized, with brown-and-white wiry fur and the most impressive muttonchops and mustache combo I’d ever seen. She had the sort of crazed expression that suggested she had a lot of opinions about everything and needed to express them all, right this minute.
The little dog finally stopped barking and spinning and allowed me to rub her shoulders. She panted up at me, leaning against my hand.
“If you don’t stop petting her, she’s never going to let you leave,” Owen cautioned. “Hey, Marti, suit up. Let’s walk.”
Owen pulled a leash from the pocket in his shorts and clicked the clasp a couple of times, which woke Marti from her trance. She ran over to him and danced on her back legs. He scooped her up, clipped the leash onto her navy harness, andgave her a quick kiss on top of the head before setting her on the ground again.
They were adorable together. Tall, solid Owen and sassy, little Marti, who walked in front of him like she was a protection dog and not actually appetizer-sized.
“Ready?” Owen asked me. “I want you to take a paddle and a couple of balls home with you. Work on those forehand and backhand drills.”
“Pickleballhomework?” I laughed as I put the paddle I’d been using in my bag. “I thought this was supposed to be fun.”
Owen either didn’t hear me or he pretended that he didn’t. I joined them on the way to the lobby, where the morning shift employees were just filing in.
“Morning, Grip; hey, Marti.” A couple of them saluted the pair with their coffee cups as they passed by.
Owen turned to me once we were out on the sidewalk, pausing to let Marti sniff the base of an overfull garbage can.
“If you’re serious about getting good, I can help you,” he said, fixing me with a stare that felt sharper than the way he’d been watching me during the rest of our lesson. “But you need to commit. And you need to stop going on and on about how you’re not athletic.”
