“What? That’s not true.”
I turn my back to Calder so he can’t lip read. “He never smiles when I’m around, Sam. Watch.” I grab my paddle and get on the court. As soon as Sam joins me, Calder herds us to the kitchen line.
“Dink warm-up,” he says. “No swings. Thirty-ball rally.”
“Oh, is that all?” Sam smiles sweetly, and Calder’s mouth turns up.
That! Right there! He never does that to something I say!
I try to catch Sam’s eye so I can throw my arguments telepathically. She doesn’t notice since Calder is throwing her a ball, and she’s wholly focused on tapping it over the net to me.
I did it again. Somehow managed to ruin his mood without even trying. The whole name thing was supposed to be a kindgesture, but here he was looking like someone just spit in his coffee.
Acknowledge it.That was the only option. If he’d gotten the wrong impression, I just needed to set it right.
“I think I bring out the worst in you,” I say, shuffling to get the ball, sending it back to Sam.
“Me?” Calder’s brows pinch.
“Who else? It’s not Sam.”
Sam grins. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”
I scoff and hit a ball into the net. “You think I’m a bad influence?” I bend to get it, then toss it over, and drop back into my squat.
“Not a bad influence, just a . . . you know. An unrealistic influence.”
I cackle. “What have I done that’s unrealistic?”
“Oh, I don’t know, believe you can pick up a sport in a week and a half? BelieveIcan pick up a sport in a week and a half?” Her breathing quickens as she darts for a ball. It’s not pretty but she gets it over.
“Pfft. Look at you. Youarepicking it up.”
“Don’t lean. Use your feet,” Calder says, and Sam points as if to say, “See? Someone agrees with me.”
Calder doesn’t respond to my comment, so I double down. “How unrealistic do you think it is for me to get Garrett’s attention?” We both know why I’m here. Maybe Calder just needs to be reminded that I’m solely focused on that goal so he doesn’t make assumptions and get pissy.
“Garrett’s attention isn’t hard to capture,” Calder says, and my jaw drops.
“Okay, ouch.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant?—”
“That he doesn’t stay with women for long,” Sam finishes. “We’ve covered that.” She gives me a pointed look.
“Just because he hasn’t stayed with someone for a long time yet doesn’t mean it can’t happen. People change.” Hopefully with me and not Megan. “He’s just been so career focused. You really can’t blame him.”
“LikeIcan’t blame him? Or the proverbial you?” Sam asks.
I smirk. “Either, or both. Also,” I turn back to Calder. “I hear you’re into pickleball skorts.”
His face reddens, but he plays it off. “Who isn’t into pickleball skorts?”
“Well, we’re both wearing them. And you haven’t said a thing.”
Calder rolls his eyes and focuses hard on the ball. After much effort, Sam and I finally string together twenty-one not-the-worst cross-court dinks before Calder finally gives us a break. Then he does some training on paddle angles. Wrists. Anticipating. Using our legs. I swear my brain will break playing this sport before my body will.
“Let’s try seven-eleven,” Calder says. “You and me. Sam will rotate in. Kitchen versus baseline. Your goal is to drop the ball into the kitchen and not give me an offensive shot.”
