Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
DANNY
I t’s hard to focus on grilled sandwiches and Porta Potties when you can’t stop thinking about a quickie on the filing cabinet. But I do owe Frankie a sex favor, and I’m pretty sure she’ll expect better than wham bam on an aging set of metal drawers.
Uh-oh. She’s giving me the look. The one that means she’s asked me a question. That I didn’t hear.
“Seriously?” She knows exactly why I didn’t hear. “Not even the stapler threat worked?”
“I looked over at the filing cabinet,” I plead. “What can I say?”
“You can say, ‘Sure, Frankie, I’ll liaise with Farmer Johnston about the parking.’”
“I will do that. Noting it down now.”
“And you’ll need to hunt out last year’s signs and the store of hi-vis vests. And talk to Javi about volunteers who aren’t scared of turkeys.”
“Turkeys. Got it.”
“And pick one turkey to be our ritual sacrifice. Ensures a good vintage.”
“Ritual sac?—”
Oh, ha, ha.
“Anything else?” I say, with dignity.
She checks her notepad. “Seeing you and Ted are best buds now, you could politely ask him to make the mocktails with normal ingredients, not ones sourced from berry trees and seaweed.”
“I’ll mention it,” I say. “But it’s possible he thinks those ingredients are normal.”
Frankie pencils a tick and scans her list. “Done,” she says. “Phew. I need to let off some steam.”
Music to my ears.
But her next words are, “Let’s go play pickleball.”
She’s messing with me again. Has to be.
“I can think of a lot more fun ways to let off steam,” I suggest.
“Matches are short – thirty minutes max,” she says. “Plus, the time to drive to the courts, and lunch after because I do not skip meals. We’ll be gone for two hours tops.”
Two hours . We could have a lot of sex in that time.
Frankie notes my pained expression, but instead of relenting, she raises her eyebrow and says, “Afraid I’ll wipe the court with you?”
That’s it. My competitive urge is triggered.
“I’ll grab my gear and meet you by your car in twenty,” I tell her.
Of course, while I’m hanging around by the Karmann Ghia, who should roll up but Ava and Cam in the old Dodge, its cargo bed full of wine barrels.
Out they both get, Ava quickly, Cam the polar opposite of quickly. He’s wearing the summer version of his usual backwoodsman outfit – old jeans and a faded checked cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose his manly forearms. Ava’s in a black athletic tank top and cropped leggings. I, on the other hand, am wearing running shorts and a T-shirt that says, “Big Dink Energy”.
“Cute,” says Ava. “What’s a dink?”
“About to find out,” I reply. “Frankie’s challenged me to a pickleball match.”
Ava’s eyes light up. “Can I come?”
“ No! ” I say. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy! Besides, you can’t play pickleball with three people.”
At least I hope you can’t.
Doug’s turned up to help Cam unload the truck. Each barrel must weigh a good ninety pounds but Cam wraps his big ol’ manly arms around one and lifts it off like it’s nothing. When he’s cleared a space, he hops onto the cargo bed, squats and hefts each remaining barrel, hands them across the tailgate to equally strong-as-an-ox Doug, who sets them on the ground. I feel like I’m witnessing a bunch of health and safety laws getting violated, and I’m also vowing never again to skip leg day at the gym.
“Frankie!” Ava spots her before I do. “Can I come play pickleball with you?”
Frankie is in the cutest outfit, a short pink strappy dress and matching sneakers. God, I adore her.
“Not this time,” she says to Ava. “I have to teach your brother how to lose.”
Ava high fives her. I’m outnumbered and outgunned.
“Are you going with Cam to pick up Mom tomorrow?” Frankie asks Ava.
“Squeeze in between them on the Dodge’s cozy bench seat, you mean?” Ava replies.
They exchange a look that I’m not sure how to interpret.
Then Ava grins. “Enjoy your pickleball. Don’t mind it if Danny sulks. He’s always been a terrible sulker.”
“Insult jar!” I insist.
“Not an insult if it’s true!” Ava yells over her shoulder, as she hops off to go watch Cam and Doug compete for the title of world’s strongest man. They’ll probably be ripping phone books in half next.
Frankie’s expression is thoughtful, but when she notices I’m looking at her, she smiles.
“Ready?” she says.
“Not even a little bit.”
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
I’ll spare you the details, but Frankie kicks my ass. Pickleball isn’t hard, but there’s definitely an art to it that she’s mastered and I comprehensively have not. We play three games and in each one she cleans me up in record time. It’s more of a drubbing than I’d ever had playing Izzy and Max at tennis. But do I sulk? No, sir, I do not! I am a most gracious loser. Because, of course, I want Ava to have a second entry in the insult jar. If I can’t win at pickleball, at least I can win at petty revenge.
We grab sandwiches and sodas from a place that we select for its outdoor seating because we smell like sweat and, in my case, defeat. I remember what Frankie looked like coming out of the shower yesterday, her bare skin all rosy and glowing, and the supportive gusset of my running shorts proves no match for Lil Danny at full salute. Luckily, the table provides adequate concealment.
“Have you considered that you might be a sex maniac?” says Frankie.
Not adequate enough, it seems. Though she is sitting right next to me.
“It’s not my fault!” I protest. “I’m up against hormones and pheromones and primal mating instincts and the irresistible magnetism of Old Spice!”
“It is a sexy scent, isn’t it?” says Frankie, smugly.
“And you!” I add. “You and your cute little dress, and your big blue eyes, and the melted cheese on your bottom lip – what’s a red-blooded guy to do?”
Frankie gazes at me with her big blue eyes, as she lifts the string of melted cheese off her bottom lip with one finger and pushes said finger all the way, very slowly, into her mouth. Lil Danny is on the brink of an incident, and I did not bring a change of clothes.
“This is cruel and inhuman punishment,” I say. “First a pickleball thrashing, now a sex act with cheese. Can we leave now? Do I have to beg?”
“You’re so cute when you’re desperate.” Frankie bats her eyelashes at me. “Yes, we can leave now.”
She glances at my shorts. “But you might want to hold your pickleball paddle over that. Spare our fellow diners’ blushes.”
It’s hard to walk casually when you’re holding a paddle over your groin. I remind myself that the day’s humiliations are almost at an end, and long hours of pleasure await as the afternoon stretches on to evening.
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Nate.
Ava and Cam staying for dinner.
Fuck. I forgot. It’s my night to cook.
“Uh, Frankie,” I say, as she’s about to unlock the car. “Can we go via the grocery store?”
She gives me a look. “Okay, but if Lil Danny gets over-excited in the dairy aisle, I’ll make you both hitch a ride home.”