“Oh my gosh, you lookso good,” Meredith exclaimed when I walked in. “Daniel’s going to love you!”
I squinted at her, then down at the white sleeveless shirt and black skort she’d loaned me. “I feel like I’m impersonating you.”
As if anyone could confuse me for the willowy goddess. The skirt that looked cheeky on her was downright Catholic school uniform on me, and not in a sexy Halloween costume way. In an “I was elected hall monitor; I need to see your bathroom pass” kind of way.
It didn’t help that I was still in a growing-out-a-breakup-haircut phase. Hacking off six inches of my chestnut hair had felt like the right move in the moment, but now I was stuck with a lob that was too short for a real ponytail. When I actually put forth a little effort, I could make it look semi-cute, but lately nothing had felt worthy, which meant I was about to subject the world to a ponytail the size of a cocktail weenie.
“Stop, you’re totally owning it! And that’s half the battle,” Meredith said. “Look like you know what you’re doing, and everything else will follow.”
“But Idon’tknow what I’m doing,” I protested gently, plucking at the skort. “I’m not exactly athletic.”
“Trust me, pickleball is super easy.”
“Says the woman who’s basically ready to go pro after a week of playing.”
As predicted, Meredith had dominated the court and fallen in love with the game, so when Colton had suggested a round of mixed doubles with his buddy Daniel from work, she used my “say yes” campaign to trap me into playing with them.
“Honestly, this is less about pickleball and more about you meeting Daniel,” she assured me. “Colton swears he’s great.”
She’d shown me his photo and he was decent-looking, so I wasn’t totally dreading that part of the pickleball equation. Sandy hair, a square jaw, and a smile that made him look like he’d just told a joke and was waiting for people to laugh. In any other scenario, I would’ve passed, but Meredith had giddily reminded me that I didn’t have much of a choice.
Which was why I found myself on the hallowed grounds of the Chelsea Pickleball Academy, awayfancier place than I’d anticipated. The vibes there felt more upscale coworking space than gym, with a clean black-and-white aesthetic and windows overlooking the skyline. My initial understanding of people who played pickleball was that they skewed boomer and wore visors, Skechers, and “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere” T-shirts. The people on the courts around us all looked like part-time models, especially Colton and Meredith, with their matching, blinding blondness.
Daniel was cuter in real life than his photos, a surprise plus. After we were introduced, I’d caught his reflection in a window as he pointed at me, then did a victory fist pump, making Colton laugh and me feel better about my outfit. I knew right away that I wasn’t going to be into him, but maybe I’d still enjoy our forced fun?
If I wasn’t so sports averse, I might’ve admitted that a date on the pickleball court was a decent first hang. Rather than dealing with awkward small talk, we’d gotten right to the rules, with all three of them trying to dumb them down for me but making it twice as confusing.
Dinking in the kitchen zone, mandatory double bounce—it was a lot to take in for someone who’d stopped playing organized sports in middle school. What made it worse was that the court we’d been assigned backed up to the club’s juice bar, which meant everyone camped out for a postgame smoothie could watch my carnage.
“Let’s get out there,” Colton had finally suggested after going over the rules twice. “We’ll just have some fun.”
“You’ve got this,” Meredith said to me as she moved into position across the court from me.
“Hey, don’t fraternize with the enemy.” Daniel laughed but sounded alittleserious at the same time. He looked at me. “Remember, pickleball is easy to learn but tough to master.”
I gulped as I nodded at him because even the learning part had been hard for me so far. I glanced around as they all got into position and assumed serious, spread-legged stances.
“Yo, keep that paddle up, Brooke,” Daniel coached over his shoulder at me. “If youstayready, you don’t have togetready.”
I refrained from rolling my eyes at him. There was a fine line between helping and mansplaining.
“Zero, zero, start,” Colton announced as he got into position for the underhand serve that kicked off the torture.
Of course, the ball came directly to me.
I wasn’t about to fail right out of the gate, so I rushed toward it, swinging the paddle back and forth around my body like it was a flyswatter.
“Brooke, watch thekitchen,” Daniel scolded as my paddle connected with the ball. “Come on!”
I was thrilled that I managed to hit the ball but mortified when it popped straight up and went flying onto the next court over, which was occupied by two very intense players.
I grimaced and hunched my shoulders to my ears when they both froze and turned to glare at me. “Sorry! Sorry!”
The guy closer to me scooped the ball and then served it back in my direction, and when I reached up to try to receive it, the ball ricocheted off my paddle and back to his side. He opted to jog it over to me.
“First time?” he asked, smiling as he handed over the ball.
I tried to answer him and couldn’t find any words, because the slightly sweaty guy grinning at me was jaw-droppingly good-looking. Between the messy hair, black-brown eyes, bright smile, and adorable little mole next to his mouth, I was an instant goner.
