My mom had been my beta reader forTruth and Beauty, but there was no way I wanted her reading about my strapping, horny ranchers and the women who preferred riding cowboys over horses. There wasn’t a single romance on her bookshelf lined with literary bestsellers, which was more than enough reason to keep my work from her, plus the fact that my last book,Saddled Up with the Sheriff’s Daughter, had the word “clit” mentioned nine times.
I knew that my ghostwritten books weren’t great works of fiction, but they did have something going for them: guaranteed happily ever afters plus scorching open-door sex scenes. I made sure that there wasn’t one magical penis among my heroes, just hardworking men who put in overtime between the sheets.
I’m okay, thanks, love you!
Hootie hoot, fight blue fight. Hootie hoot!!!!!
She replied with the nonsensical Barnham stadium song.
I glanced back at my tablet as the camera zoomed in on Wes running down the field. He was so damngraceful, like clearing the length of it at top speed took no effort at all.
The athletic genes that defined the rest of my family had hopscotched right over me. I’d made my peace with my two left feet, but now the whole Kai situation made me wish for at least a little hand-eye coordination.
But maybe I could fake it? Meredith was already good enough to teach me the basics, and she’d be thrilled to broker a meet-cuter with Kai. And then once he figured out that I wasn’t just goofing around on the courts, that I wasseriousabout the sport with the silly name, then maybe sparks would fly?
And once that happened, I could almost guarantee my muse would be back for good.
Chapter Four
On Thursdays we wore Lululemon.
Or at least onthisThursday, I was decked out in borrowed athleisure once again, crossing my fingers that Kai was consistent and would show up at the Chelsea Pickleball Academy at approximately the same time as the week prior.
Yeah, total stalker vibes, but I was on a mission.
No surprise, Meredith had jumped at the chance to be my wingwoman. Unlike me, her belief in romantic serendipity was unscathed, and she was convinced that we were starting chapter one of a great love story.
I hoped that she was right for so many reasons.
When we walked into the place, the rhythmic pops of gameplay were an instant reminder of what I was attempting. I wasnot goodat sports. Any of them, from softball to bowling, so what made me think that my nonexistent skills could woo someone who obviously took the game seriously?
But that could be yet another in with my inspo. I was a newbie looking for an expert to show me the ropes, and that was a total turn-on. Hell, I’d used the concept in my bookThe Rancher’s Romantic Rival, where true love bloomed between a shy nanny and her cowboy employer when he taught her how to ride a horse. The lessons had allowed Molly to discover thetenderness hidden beneath Dirk’s gruff exterior, and Dirk had loved being the subject matter expert and showing off his skills.
Of course, I still had some complications to work through, like Kai actually showing up and then me angling to look just the right amount of clueless. A little helpless but still competent.
It was going to require alotof acting, because once I had a paddle in my hand all bets were off. Ball going straight over the net? Unlikely. Ball zipping over to smack a bystander in the gut? Almost guaranteed.
Meredith and I stood at the counter while the front desk woman chatted with someone in an office behind it. Meredith cleared her throat to signal that we were waiting and then rolled her eyes at me.
“This would never fly at Harmony Pilates,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth. “Client check-in sets the tone for the rest of the experience.”
I was too busy scanning the courts for a certain dark-haired expert to notice that we were being ignored. There were plenty of beautiful people smacking balls around but no Kai.
I suddenly wanted to abort our mission, but it was too late. The gum-smacking front desk person finally made her way over to us.
“Sorry, I was busy watching our mascot being adorable,” she explained, not sounding sorry at all.
“Hi, I’m a member but my friend has a day pass,” Meredith explained, nodding toward me.
I smiled and held my phone out to her with the QR code I’d discovered online enlarged, so all she had to do was scan it.
The woman’s expression went confused. “Day pass? I’ve been here six months, and I’ve never heard of that. Lemme see.”
She yanked my phone from my hand and zoomed out on the screen.
“There’s no expiration date,” I explained helpfully as she studied my phone. “I checked everywhere.”
“Hold on,” she said with a sigh, then walked back to the office with my phone. “Hey, Grip, do you know anything about a day pass thingy?”
