11. Rhodes
11
Rhodes
W hy are you so good at this?” Amber asks through strained breaths.
I stare at her across the net, breathing hard while my paddle hangs at my side. Did I just black out while playing?
“I-I don’t know.” Except, I do know.
I’ve been spending most of my free time these past two days watching videos to avoid spending most of that time thinking about Paige. It’s working. But that also means I’ve watched a lot of matches and learned tips and tricks to improve my game and form.
“I’ve been studying.” I shrug.
Her mouth gapes. “No. You’re obsessed.”
There’s probably a little bit of obsession sprinkled in there, too. “I like pickleball.”
“It’s terrible.”
“Because you haven’t hit your stride yet.”
She glares at me. “No, it’s because you’ve become a professional overnight. You’re athletically built, and I enjoy eating muffins. How are we supposed to face Jim and Agnes now?”
I shrug again and adjust the sweatbands on my wrists I found for a great deal at the sporting goods store yesterday. “We play. We win.”
She crosses her arms and nods. “You’ve been converted to the dark side.”
“To what?”
“To a highly obsessed sports person!” she yells, throwing her hands in the air. “Your brain has been hijacked by team spirit and endorphin rushes that only last as long as a game. You’re probably going to start hosting watch parties at your house every week. Well, I’m only going to come if there are snacks. Good snacks. Not beetroot salad or something.”
I shift on my feet, examining the feel of the rackett in my hand. “Beetroot salad is delicious, by the way. Something you’d know if you actually tried it. And you make it sound like being a sports person is the worst thing that could happen.”
“It basically is.”
“I haven’t thought about Paige all morning.”
She squints. “You texted her before we started playing.”
“How’d you know that?”
She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Because you get this specific look on your face anytime you think or even mention her. It’s curious and attentive, with your raised brows and sly smile. A little desperate if you ask me.”
I throw my hands wide. “I am desperate, Amber. That’s why I started playing this in the first place.”
It’s not like I wanted a new hobby, but it’s basically programmed into me. When Dad had his stroke, I started dabbling in videography more seriously to have something that wasn’t tainted by talks of his progress or the lack of it.
Now, it’s my career.
She stalks closer to the net separating us. “Thinking about her isn’t the problem here.”
This is news to me. “I thought that was the exact problem.”
She shakes her head. “You need to do what Paige is doing and go on a self-discovery journey inside your heart and mind. Why didn’t you tell her how you felt for years? Why’d you lie to her? What is it about Paige you love so much?”
Her finger is pointed at my chest by the end of her rant, crossing the line of the net and stabbing through to my core. She’s right, of course. Amber is usually the friend in our trio who is the most observant. It’s why she is so much better at search-and-find puzzles than we are.
Rounding the net and stalking toward the bench, she sets her racket down and sits with a thud. “And while you’re at it, ask yourself, why pickleball ?”
It doesn’t feel like the right moment to mention that she suggested it.
I don’t walk as fast to meet her on the bench, but when I make it there, I sit beside her and grab my water bottle. I’ve been avoiding thoughts of Paige for the last couple of days because thinking about her means considering all the ways I’ve messed up. The reality of my crush is that it actually ended up hurting her and me. That isn’t what I intended, but it was the impact I had.
“How do I fix this?” I ask in a small voice.
She blows out a breath. “You start being honest with yourself. With Paige. With me.”
My brows quirk together. “Not that I don’t disagree on the whole, but what do I need to be honest with you about?”
She swivels her head to the side and glares at me through a squint. “Do you really like pickleball?”
A small smile pulls at my lips. “I do.”
She groans. “Dammit.”
“It’s okay if you don’t, Amber.”
She leans against the glass wall at our backs. “I won’t let you compete against Jim and Agnes by yourself. I’ll be there on Saturday. And every other day you want to practice. But you have to promise me something.”
I stare at my hands. “What?”
“Ask yourself the hard questions, Rhodes, and be the man Paige needs.”
There isn’t a script for this sort of thing. I’m not even sure where to start other than being honest with myself first. I want something real with Paige. I want her to know I’m not going to lie about my feelings or what I’m thinking about—which mostly includes her. I want her to be able to rely on me like she’s never been able to with all of the other boys she’s dated.
I want all of that and so much more.
When I bought Paige her journal, I got a second one for myself to use for work. The leather was nice, and the pages were simply lined, making it an easy yes. Instead of using it for work, though, maybe I should do the same thing Paige is doing and write my thoughts down on paper—be honest in a way that gives me space to think.
Yeah, I think I’ll do that.
“Thanks, Amber,” I say. “I needed that.”
“I know.”
I rest my elbows on my knees and peer at her.
There’s a smirk on her face. “Now,” she starts, looking at her watch, “we have fifteen more minutes to play before my chiropractic appointment.”
I push to stand and offer her a hand. “You’re really taking full advantage of this guest pass, aren’t you?”
She strides to the court. “I’m thinking about joining.”
“No, you’re not.”
She whips around and crouches in position, ready to receive the ball. “You’re right, I’m not. But I’m going to enjoy using your gym for as long as possible.”
I shake my head and step inside the square box, positioning the ball to serve to her. “Loser buys ice cream?”
It looks as though she won’t agree, knowing she’ll likely lose, but a new wave of confidence lights up her face. “You’re on.”
AFTER AMBER LOST horribly, I told her I’d cash in on the ice cream another day. I was eager to sit in the sauna and stretch my muscles, followed by some collaboration emails I had to respond to. It was exactly what I needed.
Grabbing my soap, I nimbly walk toward the showers since I forgot my sandals, then test the water for the perfect post-sweat temperature—lukewarm—and hang my towel. The stream of water hits my loosened shoulders, rushing down the planes of my body. I shiver at how refreshing it feels to sweat from exertion and the sauna before washing it all down the drain.
Amber’s words come back to me with the force of the water pressure.
Be honest with Paige. Be honest with yourself .
Two weeks ago, I was finally honest with Paige about how I felt, and those feelings haven’t changed. I still want to be with her. To continue sharing all of the small things like watching our favorite shows, bringing her food, and hunting for treasures at the thrift store.
But if I’m being honest with myself, I also want the kind of vulnerability that comes from being in a committed relationship. I want this to be my last relationship, and I’m sure I could spend multiple journal pages just telling her why. I just don't know if she's there, too.
My parents are the epitome of their marriage vows, loving one another in sickness and health. In the moments where they aren’t at their best. I want this.
I want this with Paige, and I know she’s said she wants this, too. I felt it in the way she kissed me.
Maybe that’s why I told her I loved her the day before she left. It’s in me, welling up like the romantic I want to be. So if we have forever, isn’t this time apart just a short moment in our story?
Tipping my head back into the water, it hits my hairline and the overspray showers my face.
She pulled back when I tried opening up and telling her how I felt. And it’s likely because I’ve had years to think and feel this way. These feelings might be new to her. The ones I’ve only heard in the way she kissed me. She hasn’t exactly said she likes me. I shove this thought aside. Curling back in on myself and acting as though I don’t care as much as I do won’t help even if I’m tempted.
There was a time in my life when nothing else mattered except Dad getting better. My feelings, wants, needs, were all put aside to focus on what he needed. For good reason, but I can’t revert back to this mindset. My feelings matter. But what am I supposed to do with them while Paige is figuring hers out?
It’s not like I can tell them to sit on the couch, and I’ll be back to fetch them when it’s time. Instead, they’re just bouncing around in there without a soft place to land.
No wonder I feel restless.
I need to do something with all of this pent-up emotion, this desire anytime I think about her lips on mine. I know she felt something. The way her body pressed flush to mine, how her hands gripped my face, and her mouth opened, inviting me in to stay awhile. Those were all real despite the time and distance fooling me otherwise.
I rake rough fingers through my hair as my mind wanders to what Paige is doing right now. Up until an hour ago, I would have forced myself to think of something else, but instead, I linger here.
Maybe she’s walking around downtown, stopping for a late lunch since it’s almost after two. Or she forgot to eat, which is more likely, and she is walking along the river. Could she be packing up her campsite for her next stop in Idaho? Knowing Paige, she might have even taken a nap. When she texted this morning saying she felt sleep-drunk, I figured she’d be in bed early tonight. She always is when she gets too much sleep, something I haven’t quite worked out yet.
The water pelts my chest as I turn to face it. Maybe she’s doing other things. I didn’t mean to, but I carried a bin of miscellaneous items outside when we were packing up the van. It included things like chapstick, hand lotion, pens, and a toy—the kind that vibrates.
Has she used it yet?
Probably not.
But the thought alone has me growing harder.
I’m glad my gym has private showers, and at this hour, I’m the only one in the locker room, tucked away behind a curtain and thinking about the woman I love using her vibrator. Maybe this is how I get rid of some of these feelings.
My hand trails between my thighs of its own volition, wrapping around my shaft like I’ve done many times before. But this time, I think of the vibrator. I think of Paige. I think of her using it, me using it with her, and I can’t stop the train of my thoughts, chugging along like a steam engine that takes miles to slow down.
I tug on my erection, using my thumb to trail over the tip. It forces a hard breath out of me, and I have to prop my hand on the tiled wall, the water pelting my back. There’s something about the dim lights, solace, and thoughts of Paige that push me to keep going. I grope from base nearly to the tip and back again.
Paige’s lips on mine invade my thoughts, and I shudder. The way her body felt pressed against mine, and I imagine what it would be like if we didn’t stop at one kiss. If we’d kept going, kept kissing and touching, groping and fondling one another. I imagine what her perfect breasts would feel like in my hands, and my cock surges, building to a length I know I won’t last with.
Hand still pressed to the tile, my body pitches forward as I pump my hand faster, and I think about Paige’s body under mine. As if my hand is really just the tight walls of her body circling me with a grip that tells me to stay and never leave.
My breathing quickens as I think of her legs wrapped around my waist, ankles hooked at my lower back as I push into her one thrust at a time. The surge in my body reaches its peak, and with sloppy motions, my orgasm rips through me as Paige’s lips part, her head tips back, and she falls apart with me.
In my thoughts, at least.
I drop my hand from the shower wall, letting the last of my orgasm rush down the drain and already missing the feel of something I’ve never had. I open my eyes, realizing I shut them at some point, and Paige is gone. She isn’t beneath me, beside me, or anywhere close to me.
And while thoughts of her are nowhere near the real thing, it’s all I’ve got.
But the intensity burning a hole through my heart is still there.
Maybe even stronger now.