“Yup, total virgin here,” I finally managed. I did a stupid little wave with my paddle, making my response that much more mortifying.
He graced me with a half smile. “Hopefully they’ll be gentle with you, then. Good luck out there.”
He dashed back to his court before I could say anything else, and I stood there watching his calves for what felt like a solid five minutes.
“Brooke?” Meredith called. “You okay?”
I snapped back to life. “Yup, all good. What happens now?”
Daniel stalked over to me, and I pretended to pay attention while he explained everything I’d just done wrong, as well as what I needed to do to fix it. I nodded along, but all I kept thinking wasWHO IS THE PICKLEBALL GOD ON THE NEXT COURT?
It was an involuntary full-body reaction that left me incapable of doing anything but sneaking glances at the court beside us. It felt like that tender part of my heart had been cauterized ever since Leo, like the only way for me to continue existing was to cut off the blood supply to a faulty organ. So what was this hopeful sweaty palms feeling?
And more importantly, did my muse just flit back into my life?
Daniel seemed to figure out that playing doubles with me was the equivalent of being on his own, plus I stopped trying after realizing that he kept reaching in front of me any time the ball bounced near my zone. Meredith mouthed, “Sorry,” across the net to me after twenty minutes of trying to stay out of his way.
We wound up losing, no surprise, and the moment the game was over, I focused all my attention on the court beside us, hoping that my new obsession might glance my way. He didn’t, but his opponent, a bigger, burly guy in a black bucket hat that looked completely off-brand for the club, couldn’t stop glancing my way.
Daniel walked over to me, forcing me to tone down my gawking. “Losers buy the winners smoothies. I can put it all on my house account if you don’t have your credit card with you.”
“Oh, uh, I, um,” I stuttered, momentarily stunned that he was implying that I, as the biggest loser of our team, deserved to foot the bill. “It’s in the locker room. I can go get it or...”
“It’s fine.” He waved his hand at me peevishly. “Let’s go.”
Daniel walked away to join Meredith and Colton in line at the bar, smacking his paddle against his leg with each step. I didn’t know him, but it was clear he wasnothappy being paired with me, my cuteness notwithstanding.
And we still had two more games to go.
“It’s your grip,” a voice echoed from behind me.
I turned to find the bucket hat player from the next court over holding his paddle in the air in front of him, his eyes burning holes into me.
He looked like he was dressed to clean a garage, in a whiteChelsea Pickleball Academy–branded T-shirt and oversized red basketball shorts. I half expected to see Nike slides and gym socks instead of sneakers when I looked down at his feet.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He stalked closer. “The reason your ball kept flying up was because your grip was off. Instead of doing this”—he mimicked the awkward way I hadn’t realized I’d been holding the paddle—“try this.”
He held the paddle up vertically, placed his right palm on the hitty part, and then slid his hand down to the handle to grip it.
“Like a handshake,” he explained. “It should feel really natural. Try it.”
He nodded to the paddle in my hand and I mimicked his movements.
“There you go.” He nodded approvingly. “Your next game should go a little smoother now. If your partner will actually let you take a shot.”
I spotted the hot guy he’d been playing against heading toward us, freshly showered and in his street clothes. It was summer, so he wasn’t in the Midtown dude uniform of navy slacks and a gray vest, but I could tell he probably worked in finance by the light blue button-down and the massive silver linked watch on his wrist.
My heart sped up as he walked closer to us.
“Oh, my doubles partner?” I replied in an overloud voice, sneaking a glance to see how far away the hot guy was and timing what I was about to say next so he’d be able to hear it. “Just met him today. I barely know him.”
The hot guy paused right next to us as I finished. Perfect. He glanced at me, then at Bucket Hat.
“Good time, bro,” he said, offering Bucket Hat a fist bump. “Thanks.”
“You know it.”
