“You don’t want to know.” Calder waits for me to get into position.
“I very much want to know.”
“It would pop your little bubble.”
My eyes widen. “My bubble?” I turned to Sam. Proof. Right there. “Do you think I’m?—”
“Don’t say idiot.” Calder gives me a look.
“—oblivious?”
“You do seem oddly happy.”
Sam nods in understanding. “I thought she was doing mushrooms or something. For like the first two weeks I knew her.”
Sam and I met back when I was still at my old marketing job and she was the freelance designer assigned to one of our product campaigns. She barely hid her eye rolls the first few meetings, and honestly, knowing her backstory, I couldn’t blame her. She was in the middle of the hardest year of her life. Her best friend from college had taken his own life a few months prior. Nobody saw it coming. My perkiness may as well have been a physical blow.
“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” Sam shrugs, and my heart warms. Most people thought I was putting on a show, wearing a mask of toxic positivity. When Sam realized I was really just a squirrel with the attention span of a goldfish, we became fast friends.
With those positive vibes, I win two points. Only because Calder’s trying to lower his game-play and it’s throwing him off. The line of his mouth is more relaxed, and that feels like the highest praise. He beats me 11-4, then as Sam rotates in he tries to make me feel better by giving some spiel about how playing the baseline is more difficult. Another almost compliment. I’m beaming as I take my place on the bench, dead set on earning that sucker.
Sam cackles when she swings and misses the ball completely. “This paddle is too small! I need way more surface area.”
Calder blows out a breath, his mouth curling at the edges, and a flash of jealousy curdles my stomach.He smiles for her?What does he have against me? Am I that annoying to him?
Sam only gets to three before he hits eleven and has her switch to the kitchen. Since she has to leave, we both agree she should go first. She manages six points that time, then wipes her brow and jogs over for a hug.
“See you tomorrow?”
I nod. “You did great.”
She huffs. “Not a sports person.”
“You’re lying to yourself.”
She grins and waves, then heads of the court. Now it’s my turn to be the player at the kitchen line. Even though there are people all around us and Sam is still gathering her things at the bench just outside the fence, my nerves amp up having Calder’s attention completely on me.
I adjust my paddle grip, then serve the first ball. It’s a thousand percent easier to score points in this position, but Calder still gets back every ball I hit.
“To my feet,” he barks.
“Yeah, I’m trying.”
“Don’t be afraid to attack it. Keep your?—”
“Paddle up. I know.” I grit my teeth and serve.
I put up a good fight, but he still beats me 7-10.
“I think you were actually trying on that one.” I plant a hand on my hip.
Calder fiddles with the wrap on the handle of his paddle. “I’m always trying.” His brows are furrowed. He won’t even make eye contact.
I glance up at the screen on the fence. Two minutes left. Yeah, I’m done. “Thanks for the lesson.” No code cracking for me tonight.
As I walk toward the gate, my brain finally clues in on the silence around us, and I turn to see all but one of the courts empty. “Wow. This place cleared out fast.”
Why am I making small talk? For all I know, that’s what sets him off. My inability to be silent like he is.
