Done. See you Sunday.
I put my phone down and picked up the paddle, deciding that I’d keep practicing until I was able to do ten bounces in a row.
Twenty minutes later, I was a WIP that made it to twelve.
Chapter Ten
A broken lock and lax building management meant that Meredith and I had secret rooftop access. We could tell that a few other tenants in the building were aware of it as well, based on the cigarette butts that occasionally appeared (and we cleaned up), but we’d never run into anyone else, so we considered it our private oasis.
It was a generous descriptor since the space wasn’t cute or even all that comfortable, especially in the summer. The heat forced us to sit in the shadows of an ancient wood water tower, near the peaked skylight over the staircase and a big metal humming box. Still, we made the most of it, stringing up some star-shaped, solar-powered lights Meredith had found at IKEA and stashing our beach chairs behind the box.
Thanks to a break in the weather, it was the perfect night to picnic with our dinner takeout, courtesy of Colton. I’d been worried about his ability to step up when Meredith got hurt, seeing as he was a quintessential handsome good-time guy, but he’d gone all out since her accident. I was a happy beneficiary of the bouquets and takeout meals dotting our apartment.
“Mere told me you had your first lesson with the Big Gripper,” Colton said. He was forced to sit on a blanket since we only had two roof chairs. “How was it?”
I held up a finger as I chewed my massive bite of falafel sandwich. I’d been trying to figure out how I felt about the lesson, because Owen had made me question a long-held truth about myself; maybe Iwasn’thopeless when it came to sports? Of course, my performance at lesson number one was downright embarrassing, but it was his insistence about the mental side of the game that made me wonder if maybe I could mind over matter my way to passable skills?
“I thought he was just this big, friendly dude, but he’s sort of a taskmaster,” I answered.
Colton nodded as he threw back a Modelo. “Yeah, I’ve heard he has a split personality. Nicest guy in the real world but a killer on the court, both as a player and instructor. He played tennis at Princeton and he wasreallygood, so I guess you can’t get away from that kind of drive.”
“Oh, one hundred percent,” Meredith said as she shifted and propped her boot up on the wall next to her. “For me, the hardest part of moving from dance auditions to teaching Pilates was letting go of feeling like I had to ‘win’ every class. I still get a little bit of that competitive feeling even now when I’m in a room of other instructors. Striving to be the best becomes a part of your DNA.”
I was tangentially aware of that drive, thanks to Wes and my parents, but I’d never come close to experiencing it for myself. We’d all figured out that my role in the family was sidelines cheerleader. I even refused to do anything ball-centric in the yard with Wes and my dad growing up, because every casual game somehow turned into real competitions, and all I had to offer was comic relief.
“Did you have fun?” Colton asked.
I tipped my head as I considered it. “Um, not exactly? But I’m on a mission, so . . .”
“Right.” Colton nodded. “Meredith told me. That Kai guy. Talk about a killer on the courts.”
“Don’t say that,” I griped as I fell back against my chair. “I need to feel like I have a chance to play with him.”
“Hey, if anyone can get you there, it’s Grip. Just do everything he says and you should be golden.”
I’d actually been putting in the work in preparation for our second lesson in just twelve hours. My forehand paddle skills had improved to me doing twenty ball juggles in a row, but my backhand was still dicey. My perfectionist tendencies meant that any time I had a writing lull I found myself reaching for the paddle to practice, which I discovered was sort of the equivalent of squashing a stress ball.
“How much did you write today?” Meredith asked. “Is breathing the same air as your crush at CPA helping?”
The corner of my mouth turned up. “Yeah, I guess it sort of is. I managed to plow through a healthy thousand words that I don’t hate.”
“Any spice?” Colton waggled his eyebrows at me.
I shook my head. “Sadly, no. Austin is currently dealing with a fence line dispute with the ranch next door.”
“And how’s the brainstorming going for your next Brooke book, hmm?” Meredith asked as she polished off her shawarma.
Colton swiveled to look at me. “You’re going to write a book under your own name?”
“Yes, she is,” Meredith answered for me. “Brooke has an outstanding balance at the Bank of Waxman, and the only accepted payment is in the form of a book deal advance.”
I reached for a second beer, which was a bad idea considering how early I needed to be up. “I might have a rough concept.”
“Wait,what?” Meredith slammed her hands on her beach chair armrests and screeched at me, causing the pigeons congregating above us to fly away. “You do? Tell me everything!”
The idea had come to me in the shower, which happened frequently enough to make me consider buying a waterproof whiteboard. The concepts didn’t stop; it was my willingness to plot them out that was the issue. The moment I tried to flesh out my stories, the self-doubt from theTruth and Beautyfailure hijacked my creative impulses.
“I don’tknoweverything yet; it’s just a thunderstorm of thoughts at the moment,” I answered. “But it feels very different for me. A new genre.” I cocked an eyebrow to build suspense.
