I pause and rethink that. He seems to be playing along, but will that offend him? I delete the sentence.
Right. I get that you’re desperate, but we haven’t discussed compensation. What’s in it for me?
I stop the show because I have no idea what’s happened in the last eight minutes. My eyes are glued to my phone screen.
I thought free lessons were in it for you.
My eyes widen. I hit reply.
Oh, free? See, that was an important detail you failed to mention.
I laugh at the ridiculousness of this. We’re emailing like I used to in elementary school—bypassing the school system to message before I was allowed to have a phone. The thought occurs to me that I could give him my cell number, but I push it away. He’s a pickleball instructor with gorgeous eyes who happens to know Garrett Davis. We really have no reason to contact each other.
Another message comes through.
Thought it was implied. I need coaching hours.
Calder
I adjust the edges of my mask, then wipe the excess product on my neck before typing back.
Seems like I’m doing you a favor here. It’s a bit of a drive to Smash Point. I might need you to sweeten the pot.
Alecia
I second guess it the moment I send the message. It wasn’t meant to be debaucherous, but I read it from a man’s perspective and send a quick addendum.
That was a joke. Not me implying anything. Just ignore. Sorry, had a wine cooler and I’m in a robe.
I press send and groan.I told him I was in a robe?Okay, new rule. I have to count to ten before my thumb hits the blue button.
It takes a full three minutes before he replies, and I’m sweating bullets, probably negating any benefit from the collagen soaking into my face.
That explains a lot.
Calder
I immediately break the rule I just set for myself.
Which part?
The TV screensaver comes on, but I barely notice.
The robe, obviously. Only people with trust funds and emotional support pets lounge around in robes on a Friday night.
I snort. I’d worn robes since the time I was nine. They were my preferred late-night pajama wear because when I was ready for bed, I could rip it off and get under the covers.
Tell me more about how your parents didn’t love you,I send back.
That would drastically cut into your beauty sleep.
Something twinges below my ribs. Was he kidding? Regardless, that response sobered me.
Maybe you could buy me some of your favorite balls.
Both times someone mentioned loving or hating pickleball balls, he got all testy. I have to know why.
I don’t have favorite balls
