10. Piper #2
Lisa shrugged. “He isn’t the only good man out there. You can have it all, Pipes. Now, tell me more about this guy.”
Gideon’s strong forearms flashed in my mind. I blinked to get the roped muscles from my brain. “All I will say is that it’s not going to happen again.”
“Hold on.” Lisa held up her hands. “I get that you’re not looking for a relationship, but we all have needs. Why don’t you enjoy this mystery bedroom king for a while?”
“I’m sure he would love being called a bedroom king.” Gideon hid a lot of smiles, but his eyes always gave him away. I could imagine the crinkles beside those brown eyes if I ever called him the Bedroom King.
“He was that good?”
“I think I left my body at one point.” I giggled. “Have you ever had three orgasms in one night?”
Lisa’s eyes widened. “Yes, but not in at least twelve years. Pipes, you have to go back for more. And what if this guy decides he wants to give you triple O’s for the rest of your life?”
“Oh.” I cut the air with my hand in an “ absolutely not ” gesture. “This guy is not the marrying kind.”
“Did he say that?”
I shook my head. “Not in so many words. He’s focused on his career right now. And I’m not really his type.”
Lisa furrowed her brow so hard I worried it would leave permanent lines between her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“I mean, I just…” I was flustered. Lisa wouldn’t understand. “He’s really successful, and I’m… not.”
“Stop,” she almost shouted. “Don’t you do that. You’re a catch, Piper Jones. He’d be a fool not to see it.”
The sliding door grumbled open. “Mom, are you ready to go yet?” Preteen irritation hung in Ariana’s voice as she leaned out of the house.
Lisa rolled her eyes, then turned to face her daughter. “I was ready twenty minutes ago.”
“Madison’s mom called. They’re in Aspen for the week, so Gabby doesn’t have a partner today.”
“Shit.” Lisa narrowed her lips. “Nikki is always traveling. Now poor Gabby has to play with the older kids.” She gathered her water bottle and smoothed her tennis skirt. “Wait, I have an idea. Do you want to come with us?”
“To the courts?”
“No, to the ice rink.” Lisa laughed and pulled me up from the chair. “Come on, Olive told us about the boxes of tennis trophies she found in your garage. You can play with us, and Olive can take Madison’s spot in the kids’ camp.”
“I… It’s been years since I’ve picked up a racket,” I stammered. “I don’t think I’d be any good.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, and don’t worry, I’ve got an extra paddle for you.”
I followed Lisa, trying to think of another excuse.
The idea of the finest instructors teaching Olive overtook the self-conscious tennis player in me.
Even if I put her on the waiting list today, by the time her name rolled to the top, she’d probably have already gotten her period.
A good mom wouldn’t say no to this opportunity.
“Fine. But don’t expect Serena Williams out there. ”
“I’m sure you’ll pick it up like it was yesterday.” Lisa disappeared into her bedroom and returned with a stack of clothes. “Here.” She shoved the clothes into my arms and shouted with the authority of a drill sergeant. “Girls, let’s go. Olive, you’re coming to the club with us.”
An excited squeal came from the basement, and the two five-year-olds thundered up the stairs. When I saw their huge grins, I knew that I’d made the right decision. I’d embarrass my varsity tennis star self every day of the week if it brought a smile like that to my daughter’s face.
Lisa continued to bark orders. “Gabby, go get Olive an outfit to wear.”
Olive got suited up, and I slid into the tennis skirt and matching top.
Olive and Gabby were basically the same size; Lisa and I were definitely not.
“This is slightly obscene.” I stepped out of the bathroom and gestured to my chest. “My boobs might fall out. I don’t think this is Azalea Bay appropriate. ”
“No, it’s perfect. You never know who might be on the courts.
” She disappeared into the entryway closet.
“It’s Florida—everyone’s got their tits out.
” Her voice was muffled as she tossed a couple of backpacks from the depths of the closet.
When she emerged, she handed Olive and me a couple of big ping-pong paddles.
“What’s this?” I patted my hand with the bright green thing. “I thought we were playing tennis.”
“Tennis?” Ariana furrowed her brow at her mom. “Are we playing tennis today?” Her eyes welled with tears.
She squeezed her daughter. “No, we’re not playing tennis today, but I knew Piper wouldn’t come if she knew that we were playing pickleball.”
“Pickleball?” I groaned like Ariana.
“See?” Lisa pointed at me. “I knew you’d make that face.”
I wasn’t aware that I was making a face. “I hate pickleball.” I pointed at her with the stupid paddle.
“I know, I know. You went on that huge rant about it the last time we were at the girls’ swimming lessons. It’s the sport for people who can’t play tennis .” She imitated my voice. “Ah.” She smiled. “ Now your pickle hate actually makes sense, Miss Professional Tennis Star.”
“I can’t believe you’re playing a sport designed for old people.”
“It’s not for old people, Piper. It’s super fun,” Ariana said. She ran outside and shouted, “Shotgun!”
“Come on. Humor me.” Lisa gave me a playful shove out the door.
“Fine,” I grumbled.
“Yay!” Lisa locked the door behind us. “Arie! You can’t call shotgun when there’s another adult in the car.”
Groaning, Ariana slid into the back seat with the two younger girls.
I grimaced as I hopped into the front seat, my bare legs meeting the searing leather.
Thankfully, Lisa started the car, and cold air shot through the holes in the seat.
“Ooh, that’s nice.” The tiny jets of ice-cold air felt pretty damn good on my legs, a welcome contrast to the lingering tenderness between them.
A slightly uncomfortable but welcome reminder of the night’s multiple rounds of overtime.
“So, how do you score in this… sport? Is it like ping-pong?” I asked.
“You’ve seriously never seen a game?” Lisa kept her eyes on the road.
“Why would I watch a pickleball game? Are they even televised?”
“Oooh boy.” Lisa whistled. “This is gonna be interesting.”
I shook my head. “How hard can it be?”
“I like your confidence. Girls, can you explain the scoring to Piper? And maybe give her some tips?”
Ariana and Gabby explained the scoring. I tried to focus while they droned on about a kitchen or a dining room.
As Gideon’s laneway came into view, my heart did a stutter step, and their voices disappeared completely.
I strained against the seat belt, hoping for a glimpse of him.
Was he the kind of guy to wash his car in his driveway?
I bit my nail as I wondered. Suds, muscles, and a glistening eight-pack dripped through my imagination.
“Piper?” Lisa snapped her fingers. “Where are you right now?”
“Huh?” I blinked the shirtless car wash scene from my brain.
“Do you get the rules?”
“Sure. No kitchen dancing. Serve across the dining room. Everyone is too senile to keep track of the score, so you have to say it every time.”
“Piper, there’s no dining room.” Ariana took on a serious tone. “Top pickleball players are as big as tennis stars now. You should actually try.”
She was right. I didn’t want to play pickleball, but I needed to be a positive influence on the kids.
I held up my hand like I was taking an oath.
“I promise to be serious from now on.” The seat belt chafed on my cleavage as we went over a speed bump.
I checked to make sure that my nipples were still tucked inside the top. “Can we stop at my place?”
“Why?” Lisa glanced at her watch. “I don’t want to be late, and we’re already cutting it close.”
“I’d like to get one of my own shirts.” I patted the red spot on my chest.
Lisa gunned the engine. “Nope. That shirt is perfect. And Piper, you’re going to eat your words. Pickleball is way more fun than tennis.”
Tennis stopped being fun years before the pressure of a scholarship was piled on my young shoulders.
“I promise I will try, and I promise I will keep an open mind.” It was a lie.
There was no way it was going to be a fun afternoon.
I was on my way to whack around a bunch of wiffle balls in the blazing Florida sun.
“What do you think, girls?” Lisa looked in the rearview mirror. “Is Piper going to turn into a pickler?”
Olive giggled. “A dill pickler. Those are her favorite kind of potato chips.”
“She’s going to be a banger.” Gabby’s squeaky voice was filled with excitement. Lisa pulled into her staff parking spot, and the girls unbuckled their seat belts the second she put the SUV in park.
“A banger?” I raised my eyebrows.
She shut off the engine. “It’s a compliment. It’s someone who hits the ball hard.”
“You can hit it hard? That’s possible?”
“Come on, dilly pickler Piper.” She patted my bare thigh. “It’s time for you to eat your words.”
I laughed. “The only thing I’m going to eat are some real dill picklers.” My stomach growled at the idea of a salty snack. My electrolytes were low. Hydration had been the last thing on my mind last night.
The younger girls scampered ahead, and Ariana walked with us. Lisa was right—I was going to be open-minded. This was what I needed. To laugh with a friend, spend time with my daughter, and not worry about a man.
“That’s a nice vintage Porsche.” Lisa shielded her eyes and pointed to a familiar black convertible. “It reminds me of the one David Duchovny drove in Californication .”
“I haven’t seen that show.” I shrugged, trying to keep cool. The last thing I needed was to run into Gideon Bailey. Scratch that. The last thing I needed was to run into Gideon Bailey while I was playing… pickleball.