21 - Jazz
21
Jazz
“Hand me the putty knife?” Bash asked.
I handed it to him, swapping out the chisel he had already been using. Bash was on his hands and knees in my bathroom. I had insisted that he didn’t need to replace the tile for me, especially after helping paint three rooms in my house, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I was his assistant, sitting cross-legged in my bathtub while handing him tools.
Most of the time I just sat there trying not to seem too obvious while admiring his physique. With a white tank-top and a leather tool belt around his waist, he looked like what you would get if you Googled “Handyman Halloween costume.” Which was to say he looked extremely sexy. The way he was kneeling, leaning forward to spread grout and place each tile, gave me an unimpeded view of the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and upper back. Corded muscle that continuously flexed and went taut every time he shifted his weight.
Watching him on his hands and knees, head bent low, an intrusive thought wedged its way into my mind. I imagined threading my fingers into his thick blond hair, holding him against me while his tongue…
“I can’t thank you enough,” I said to distract myself from my dirty thoughts. “This is a lot more involved than painting a room.”
“The quote you got from that contractor was ridiculous,” he replied without looking up. “It would be criminally negligent of me to let you hire someone. We replaced the tile in two of our bathrooms last year, so I know what I’m doing.”
“I need to find a way to repay you,” I said.
His hand paused on the tile for a moment. “I’m listening.”
Shit. Had I allowed my dirty thoughts to trickle into my tone? To defuse the situation, I said, “I can’t give too much away, but as a manager I can set up some complimentary parties at Top Golf. You could bring everyone from work.”
Bash glanced up at me, blue eyes sparkling. “Hell yeah. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. It was nice to know I had an innocent way to repay all of the favors he was doing.
Although the less-innocent way sounded more fun.
“I have some bad news,” Bash said, glancing at his watch. “This took longer than I expected. I’ve got to be somewhere in an hour, so I’ll have to finish it up tomorrow. Sorry for leaving you with a torn-up bathroom.”
“It’s okay!” I replied, standing. “I can use the guest bathroom.”
Bash rose and stretched. “I’ll be back to finish it first thing in the morning, I promise.”
“I trust you. Plus, I know where you live. If you drag this out too long, I can threaten to light your plants on fire!”
He glared while taking the toolbox from me. “Ouch. Threatening plant arson after I spent all morning installing your tile.”
“I didn’t threaten anything,” I replied with the preciseness of an attorney. “I threatened to threaten to light your plants on fire. Important distinction.”
“I’ll allow it.” He extended a hand toward me. “Careful. Step right in front of that tile, then you should be able to jump across the rest of the tile. If you fall, I’ll have to redo all this work.”
I took his hand and followed his instructions, placing my foot where he told me and then leaping across the four-foot gap. He used his other arm to slow my momentum. The physical contact was brief, but still created a pleasant warm feeling in my chest.
“Where are you going in an hour?” I asked. “Got a hot date?”
“Nothing that exciting,” he replied with a smirk. “I’ve got a Pickleball match.”
“Oh, cool,” I replied. “I’ve heard of Pickleball, but I’ve never played.”
His eyes widened. “You’ve never played Pickleball? Seriously?”
“Calm down,” I teased. “It’s not like I said I was a virgin or something.”
“You’re a Pickleball virgin, which is even more shocking,” he said. “Aiden and I play all the time. We’re kind of hardcore about it.”
“You’ll have to show me how to play sometime,” I said while we walked out of my bedroom.
“How about Tuesday?” he immediately offered. “We could do that instead of playing Candyland.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That sounds great.”
I met Bash there after work on Tuesday. The courts, eight of them, were outside underneath a massive tent. Next to it was an actual building with a check-in desk, a bar, and a restaurant. Bash was waiting inside, and I immediately busted out laughing when I saw him.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
I gestured at him. “Your outfit.” He was wearing calf-length socks, short shorts, a tank top, and a headband, all of which were varying neon colors. “You look like you were teleported here from a 1980s fitness infomercial!”
Bash put a hand across his chest and bowed. “That’s the best compliment you could have given me, because it’s the look Aiden and I try to channel. If you’re taking yourself too seriously, then you’re doing Pickleball wrong.”
“I wish I had known the assignment,” I replied. “I feel like a loser wearing Lululemon workout clothes.”
“You look great. Sexy, but functional.” He gestured. “I already checked us in. Our court is ready.”
The courts were similar, maybe even identical, to tennis courts. It was a busy evening; all of the courts, except ours, were occupied. The hollow PLONK sound of paddles hitting wiffleballs echoed through the tent constantly.
Bash taught me the rules and we began hitting back and forth for fun. Most matches were doubles, he explained, but it was fine playing singles for practice. Especially to show a beginner like me how to play.
I was bad at first. Eight of the first nine shots I made either hit the net, or sailed out of bounds. “You’ll get the hang of it!” Bash called encouragingly. “It takes some time.”
He was right: after ten minutes I was hitting the ball back to his side almost every time. As my confidence grew, I even started hitting the ball harder, and aiming my shots around the court.
“Look at that!” Bash said, beaming like a proud instructor. “You’re good!”
“I actually played a few years of tennis when I was a teenager,” I replied. “I wasn’t good enough to be a starter on the varsity team, but I guess I have more muscle memory than I thought.”
“I’m glad we’re not playing for money,” Bash teased. “You’re a shark, hiding your secret Pickleball skill from me. I think we’re ready to play an actual game and keep score.”
Bash won the first game 11-3, but the second game was closer: 11-9. As I got into a good groove and started hitting the ball harder, Bash also cranked up his skill. In the third game, we were hitting the ball as hard as anyone on the other courts.
“Don’t you dare let me win,” I warned him after scoring a point at the net. “If you’re going easy on me…”
“I’m not!” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “That was a killer shot.”
The game went longer than normal: the first person to 11 points won, but you had to win by 2 points. We alternated points for a while, neither of us able to finish the other person off. Eventually I was up 15-14.
“Match point,” Bash teased. “No pressure, Jasper Barnes.”
“Using my full name isn’t going to rattle me,” I taunted back. “I’m going to end the game right here.”
Bash widened his stance and leaned forward, holding the paddle with both hands. “Bring it on.”
I served the ball, and Bash hit a laser back at me. I got to it just in time, somehow returning it across the net. I scrambled to get back into position, expecting another hard shot, but Bash did something sneaky: he sliced the ball, putting a lot of backspin on it.
I sprinted forward, rushing to get to the ball. I leaned forward and stuck out my paddle, returning the ball just before it hit the ground. But my momentum carried me forward, and I didn’t have enough room to stop. My shoes skidded on the court and I crashed into the net.
“OOF!”
The net was at waist height, and I was falling forward. But Bash was there in a flash, dropping his paddle and catching me before I could hit the ground. In his strong arms I felt safe, especially after I was prepared to smash into the ground.
But that wasn’t what I was focused on.
“I win!” I said. “You didn’t return the ball.”
Bash smiled down at me. “You hit the net. Which means I win the point. We’re tied, fifteen to fifteen.”
“You didn’t tell me that rule!”
“I didn’t think I needed to. You said you played tennis.”
I stuck out my tongue at him. “If you want to win by exploiting a beginner’s lack of knowledge, then I guess that’s fine.”
He glared at me. “Now hold on a second—”
“Hey, lovebirds?” a guy called at the entrance to the court. “We’ve got the court now. Your time’s up.”
Lovebirds? I realized I was still leaning horizontally across the net, held upright in Bash’s arms. He raised me back up and let go, then picked up the paddle where he had dropped it.
“Sorry, bud,” he called. “I didn’t realize it was six o’clock.”
We shared a look, then giggled while exiting the court. The guy and his three friends stood there with their arms crossed, looking unamused.
“They definitely take Pickleball too seriously,” I whispered.
Bash barked a laugh. “Exactly. Don’t be like those guys.” He held open the door for me so we could return the equipment. “Hey, I have a question to ask. And it’s okay if you say no.”
“Oh?” I asked, feeling my pulse quicken. Was he going to ask me out on a date?
“Aiden doesn’t get back until Monday,” he began.
“Uh huh.” My mind began to race. He was going to ask me out, wasn’t he? Why else would he bring up Aiden?
“We play in a monthly tournament, and it’s on Sunday,” he explained. “I was going to forfeit since I don’t have a partner. But if you want to take his place and join me, that would be cool. Only if you want to.”
I pushed away the disappointment I felt and squinted at Bash. “This is the real reason you invited me to play today, isn’t it?”
“It’s possible,” he said carefully, “that I was hoping you would be a secret Pickleball master who could potentially step in when I need a partner. Is that a yes? The tournament starts at noon.”
“I’m supposed to get brunch with my friend Cat on Sunday,” I said. “But I’ll totally move it and play in the tournament instead.”
“You sure? I don’t want you to have to change plans…”
I waved a hand. “She bails on me all the time. She’ll understand. Besides, now that I’ve gotten a taste of this game, I’m already itching to play again. As long as you don’t get mad if I totally suck in the tournament.”
“It’s just the amateur tournament. Everyone kind of sucks at it, so you’ll fit right in.” A sparkle shone in his eyes. “Hey, want to play again Thursday? To get some more practice in?”
“That was literally what I was about to suggest!”
Bash held up his palm, and we high-fived. “Oh, the other important thing about Pickleball: we always get a celebratory beer afterward.”
“Even if you lose?”
“If we lose, they turn into consolation beers,” he replied. “Either way, beers are required.”
“I like this game even more,” I said.
“I’m glad. I’m also glad you agreed to be my partner Sunday. If you said no, I was totally going to guilt trip you about all the house projects I’ve helped with.”
“I’ll be your partner, no guilt-trip required! I’ll buy the beers, too.”
“You’re already a better partner than Aiden, then,” he grinned.
The two of us laughed and went to the bar.