Partner four: Neil. Started our match by mansplaining the rules of pickleball to me. Twice. As if I were four years old. Granted, I’m not the Pickleball Queen, but the condescension! Broke down his strategy for “maximum domination,” which involved a spreadsheet on his phone. Maybe even more intense than the Hulk. No thanks.
Partner five: Greg. Actually nice. Totally normal. Self-effacing. Equally as bad at this game as I am. Able to laugh at his mistakes, and between the two of us, I don’t think we scored one point. I wrote his number on my little card and handed it to Lennon.
And he asked for my number too.
I was not happy Lennon conned me into coming, but she was not about to apologize.
“You left with a number, Claire,” she pointed out. “All’s fair in love and pickleball.”
In a weird twist, when I was making plans with Greg, Miles and his only match of the day, the redhead fromhis first game, walked up. She’s a bartender named Daphne with an arm sleeve of tattoos, but she had to be at least mid-thirties, so in my mind, that was a switch from his normal fare.
Still, I didn’t like seeing her hanging on Miles.
It bothers me that it bothers me.
We all started talking, and somehow I agreed to a double date.
Tonight.
With Miles and Daphne.
What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 17
Miles and I open our doors and step out into the courtyard at exactly the same time.
I watch as he closes his apartment door, and I find myself wondering what his place looks like. Meticulous? Modern? Messy?
None of my business, but I’ve developed a nosy streak where he’s concerned.
It took me way too long to get ready. I found myself fussing over one strand of uncooperative hair.
I might be a little extra nervous because I’ve actually met Greg, and there’s a little bit of potential there. I settled on black jeans, a cream off-the-shoulder top, and a pair of pointy kitten heels. I added layered gold necklaces and teardrop earrings, and my hair, other than the rogue strand, is in its natural curly state—a little wild, because it does what it wants.
When Miles turns and sees me standing there, his eyes go wide. Is my lipstick too bright? Am I trying too hard?
“Wow.” He overemphasizes the word. “You look amazing.”
I brush my hands down my jeans and scrunch my nose. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “What’s-his-name is a lucky guy.” He nods at my bare shoulder. “That’s going to drive him crazy.” His gaze lingers there for a beat too long, and when he meets my eyes, his smile catches for a split second in the charged air between us.
“Greg,” I remind him.
“Right. Greg,” he repeats. Then, after a pause, he says, “Kind of dumb for us to take two cars, right?”
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” I say. “But what if you want to bring Daphne back to your place?”
He shakes his head. “I won’t.”
“But what if you guys really hit it off?” I ask.
He scrunches his nose. “Still not bringing her back here.” Then his expression shifts. “What if you want to bring Greg back to your place?”
I shrug. “He can ride in the back.”
Miles laughs, and I smile, curious about his certainty where the conclusion of the date is concerned. The night I first met him, he’d had two different women at his place on the same day—but since then, I haven’t seen him with anyone.
