“Alecia?” a male voice barks, echoing off the tile.
My mind races. Do I recognize the voice? Hard to tell since the sound is all distorted in here. Could it be Garrett? My heart races, and I clear my throat. “Yeah?”
The bathroom stall door rattles. “Let me see it.”
I toss the used toilet paper in the little trash can next to the tank. Not Garrett. The voice is too gruff. But who would follow me into the bathroom? “I’ll be out in a second.”
“Your feet are facing backward. You’re not on the toilet. Just open the door.”
I scoff, my eyes flashing. He was looking at my feet? I whirl, flick the lock, and yank the door open. “Listen, I—” I freeze. Calder stands in front of me, his jaw tight. His hands on his hips. His eyes drop to the red, angry mark on my thigh that looks a little like Swiss cheese, I guess because of the holes in the balls. Before I can protest, he leans down and wraps his hand over my thigh.
seven
I suckin a breath at the flash of cold, and I must stumble because Calder grabs hold of my arm. “What is that?”
“Ice pack.”
I blink. I can’t see anything under his hand. “I’m fine.”
“It will help with the swelling.”
“I doubt it’ll even bruise.”
His eyes flick up. He lets go of my arm, but keeps his hand in place on my leg, crouching so he doesn’t have to bend over, and my mouth goes dry.
His face is directly in front of my stomach, and I have the sudden urge to reach out and run my hands through his hair. His thumb slips against my skin, and my stomach lurches.
“Here, I can—” I put out my hand, motioning for him to let me hold the ice pack against my own skin.
“Oh. Right.” Calder hesitates, then straightens and hands me the ice pack. He steps back and looks a little dazed, bumping into the sink before backing up toward the door. “Just wanted to give you that.”
“In the women’s bathroom?” My pulse is still rushing through a crazy straw.
“Uh, yeah. I . . . wasn’t thinking.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw, but doesn’t leave.
“Thank you.”
He nods once. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
And then he’s gone, ducking through the door. What just happened? Calder was in here barely thirty seconds after I was. He was playing on the winner’s court wasn’t he? Had he left his game for this? Did he think something worse had happened? That I’d gotten hit in the face?
Maybe he was a medic or a doctor for his day job. Maybe his life was so stressful treating patients in the hospital, pickleball was his only way to unwind. And I treated him with such disrespect.
I hold the ice pack on for a few more seconds, then slip it into the pocket of my tennis skirt and march back toward the courts. I don’t want anyone to think I’m upset, but I’m not worried about looking it. Any tears threatening to escape were shocked back into my body the second I saw Calder on the other side of that door.
Court one is empty, and there’s a group of coworkers laughing and drinking, gathered around a table with high stools. I seriously debate joining them until I see a threesome, including Sam, waiting for me on court two. Garrett’s on the top court with Calder. Guess it doesn’t matter that we lost?
I grab my paddle and apologize for the wait, showing off my battle wound. My new teammate is an accountant named Josh who reminds me of an antelope when he moves for the ball. A little jerky and bouncy at the same time. We rotate partners twice, and at some point, I have to rally with Sam. It feels unfair. We both started at the same time, but I have years of tennis experience to draw on. I try not to hit it too hard, but Sam isgoing all out, and by the end of it, she and I are laughing so hard we can barely stay upright.
By the time our court bookings are up, my calves ache, I’m soaked in sweat, and the ice pack has melted to a lukewarm blob in my pocket.
The group trickles off the courts, people chatting and joking around. I sit on the bench by the court, pull off my indoor shoes, and stretch my legs, sighing with the release. It really is more work than I thought. Mental and physical. Half the time I miss points it’s because my head is out of it, not my body. In tennis, I have more time to react. More buffer. With pickleball? I have microseconds.
After slipping my sandals on, I glance down the aisle and see Calder packing up by himself. No Garrett. I scan until I find him leaning on the counter at the front desk, laughing with the staff.
I grab my backpack and shoes and walk over to Calder. “Are you a doctor?”
