9. Gideon #2
The foursome ahead finished the hole. Fueled with sugar and a somewhat friendly wager, the competitive nature of four professional athletes came out in full force.
We finished number ten even, and by the end of the seventeenth hole, my cup holder was filled with at least thirteen hundred bucks.
I chugged a bottle of water and wiped my brow as we made our way to the last hole.
Jameson’s phone buzzed, and he took the call while he drove.
His voice changed as he spoke to the person on the other end of the line.
It was softer, and he smiled as he spoke to who I assumed was his wife, Bethenny.
I tried not to listen, but I was sitting right next to the guy.
Fresh fish and a bottle of Chardonnay were added to his shopping list.
“I love you too.” He finished the call and tucked the phone back into the cupholder.
“What’s it like, being married?” It was a personal question, one that I wouldn’t have felt comfortable asking Jameson before the game. We’d bonded through mutual shit-talking, and frankly, I was a little tipsy from the spiked iced teas.
Jameson slowed as he approached the green. “It’s fucking awesome.”
“Really?” I wasn’t used to men being enthusiastic about marriage, let alone calling it awesome.
“You just have to find the right person.” He pressed on the parking brake with his toe.
“I love spending time with my wife. I’m so glad I grew out of doing stupid shit like Owens.
He’ll figure it out one day.” Jameson sipped his water.
“It’s all about respect. I know that she’ll defend me, even if I’m in the wrong—she’ll cuss me out in private later.
” His accent seemed thicker. “I would never disrespect her by discussing our bedroom life with anyone, especially these horndogs.” He tilted his head in a gesture to Owens and Riley, who were leaning against the beverage girl’s cart.
“What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
Piper’s face flashed in my mind. “I’m not sure.”
Jameson raised his eyebrows. “Not sure? What kind of an answer is that?”
Since Piper left my bed, all I’d wanted was to have her back in it.
But that wasn’t all. When I went for a morning swim, all I wanted was for her to be in the pool with me.
Not naked, although that would be cool, but I liked just having her around.
She made me think about something other than winning the cup.
“I just met her last week, but I can’t stop thinking about her. ”
“Do you think Owens has had a second thought about any of the bunnies he’s been with this season?
” Jameson hopped out of the cart. “I’m no expert, Bailey, but if you can’t stop thinking about a woman when she’s nowhere near you, that means you should try and see her again.
Hell, I live with my woman, and I’m excited to get home and see her. ”
Jameson’s advice resonated, echoing my own thoughts.
See her again? That would be nice, but we’d agreed to one night and then a clean break.
To go back on that felt wrong, but the thought of not seeing her again felt even worse.
“That’s good advice.” I finished my bottle of water, knowing it was advice I wasn’t going to take.
We walked onto the green of the eighteenth hole, and I felt more relaxed than I had in years. Golfing with these guys was actually fun.
“What is that sound?” Jameson lined up his putt. It sounded like a bunch of kids playing dodgeball but with ping-pong balls.
Owens groaned. “It’s the worst sport ever invented… pickleball.”
Riley lined up his putt and easily scored a two on the par three. “I’ve tried it. It’s actually really fun.”
Owens scoffed. “Come on. If you’re not going to play golf in the off-season, at least play a sport that requires some athleticism, like tennis.”
For once, I was on Owens’ side. “Yeah, we’re all at least thirty years too young for pickleball.”
Laughter filled the air, along with the incessant pock sound of the ball. “Do yourselves a favor and try something before knocking it.” Riley tapped his ball into the hole for a three.
We all stopped and looked at the quietest member of our foursome. He was finally dishing it out. “What? You actually play pickleball?” Owens missed his putt. “Dammit.” He dropped his putter on the ground.
“Looks like that’s another hundo for Bailey.” Jameson grinned.
“Fucking pickleball.” Owens tapped his ball in for a four.
“I play every week. I dare you assholes to come out and try it. I’ll bet even Mabel and Roger would kick your ass,” Riley said.
“No, thanks.” Owens bent to retrieve his ball and replaced the flag. “I’ll wait until I’ve got my first gray hair before I pick up a pickleball racket.”
Riley crossed his arms. “It’s a paddle. And suit yourself. You’re the one missing out on a fun time and lots of hot chicks.”
Owens pulled a hundred out of his wallet and slapped it into my waiting palm. “You’re full of it, Riles.”
“I’m not. There’s lots of good-looking women who play.”
“Good-looking women named Mabel.” Owens elbowed me. “I’ll tell you what, the day that Bailey picks up a pickleball racket, I will too.”
“That day will never come.” I folded the stack of hundred-dollar bills and put them in my money clip.
“It’s a paaaaddle,” Riley groaned.
The annoying pock sound echoed over the rolling green hills of the course.
I was a tennis player at heart, and growing up had to choose between it and hockey.
I would never, ever pick up a pickleball…
paddle. A real tennis player would never blaspheme with a sport that uses a plastic ball with holes in it, one that’s named after a condiment.