23. Gideon
GIDEON
The Azalea Bay clubhouse smelled like fresh coffee and bacon. Classical piano drifted from the lobby speakers, mixing with the distant sound of pickleballs and early morning chatter. The azaleas lining the walkway rustled in the humid breeze, their pink blooms already wilting in the Florida heat.
All night, I tossed and turned as Piper’s words ran through my mind. As I walked to the pickleball courts, the thoughts started looping again.
Another entitled hockey player who thinks the world revolves around him.
The worst part? She was right.
“Morning, Mr. Bailey!” The cart kid, Tyler (check name), waved as he loaded up bags for the early golfers. “You playing pickleball again today?”
“You betcha,” I called back.
My phone buzzed.
Owens: Team meeting at your place. 10 AM. Bringing food.
Before I could respond, another text: Not optional, Grumpster. See you at 10.
I glanced at my watch. Just enough time to get my ass kicked by some country club women before my teammates showed up.
The courts buzzed with activity. The sun was climbing higher, and the humidity was building. I could already feel my shirt sticking to my back.
The four women from yesterday were waiting for me like they’d just hopped off a jet from a Paris fashion show. Expensive perfume mixed with sunscreen hung in the air around them.
“Gideon!” the blonde one purred as I approached. “We’re absolutely thrilled you could join us.”
“Thanks for including me. My apologies, ladies, I’m recovering from a concussion. You’ll have to remind me of your names.” They had told me their names when I agreed to the match, but I’d forgotten them the second I walked away.
The blonde’s smile faltered, but she recovered quickly. “I’m Chelsea.” She pressed her hand to her cleavage, then pointed to the brunette. “That’s Izzy, the ginger is Kensie, and little miss long legs is Sloane.”
Izzy positioned herself next to me during warm-up stretches, close enough that I caught a whiff of her floral perfume. “We’re so excited to get to play with you.”
The redhead, Kensie, flanked my other side. “These courts get so crowded with beginners. It’s refreshing to play with someone who knows the rules.”
The fourth woman, Sloane, hung back slightly. “Nice to meet you, Gideon. I’ve heard great things about how quickly you’ve picked up the game.”
Familiar sounds of the game filled the air once all of the stupid small talk was done. The hollow pop of paddle meeting ball and the scratch of sneakers on the court surface was a welcome break from their fake laughter.
The women were actually skilled. They’d clearly been playing for years, and their strategy was solid. What made the game more interesting was watching them compete against each other for my attention.
“Oh, Gideon, your power is just incredible,” Izzy gushed after I hit a simple forehand. “Richard—that’s my ex-husband—he could never generate that kind of force. He was always more focused on his golf handicap.”
“Speaking of exes,” Chelsea chimed in during the next changeover, “did you all hear that Miranda Ashworth’s divorce settlement finally came through? Forty million, plus the house in the Hamptons.”
“Good for her,” Kensie said. “Though I still can’t believe Charles thought he could hide assets in the Caymans. Amateur move.”
I rotated partners, finding myself paired with Sloane, who actually focused on the game instead of gossiping.
“Sorry about all the chitchat,” she said quietly as we set up for the next point. “They get excited about everything.”
During breaks, the conversation continued to revolve around yacht club memberships, charity auction drama, and whose plastic surgeon had done the best work. I started playing faster, my attempt to get the match over and done with. Give me Dot and Fred and Margie’s muffins any day over this torture.
“My personal trainer says I should start playing tennis again,” Izzy announced when she was my partner. “But honestly, pickleball is so much more social. And the tournament scene is way more fun.”
“Speaking of tournaments,” Chelsea said, “we should discuss partnerships for the Azalea Bay Open. I mean, we’re all entering, obviously.” She gazed at me as she sucked from the straw of her Stanley cup.
“Obviously,” Kensie agreed. “Though finding the right partner is crucial. Chemistry is everything in doubles.”
They all looked at me. I took a long drink of water. “I’m still figuring out my tournament plans.” I took the diplomatic route.
“Well, when you decide, you know where to find me.” Chelsea left pink lipstick as she met my gaze and gave me a very unsubtle wink.
We played for another thirty minutes, the longest half hour of my life.
“That was wonderful,” Izzy said. She put her paddle in her bag and bent to undo her court shoes. Looking up at me, while bent over, she batted her eyes. “We should do it again.”
“Absolutely.” No way in hell. “Thanks for the games.” I waved and left the courts, but when I reached my SUV, I realized I’d left my court glasses on the bench.
Shit. I ran back through the clubhouse. The women were sitting on the patio overlooking court one, sipping coffee.
They were likely too focused on gossip and divorce settlements to see me sneak by to get my glasses. I hoped.
My glasses were exactly where I’d left them. I grabbed them and glanced above me. The women couldn’t see me, but I sure could hear them. They hadn’t waited long to start gossiping about me.
“He’s even better-looking up close.” It sounded like Chelsea’s voice, and as much as I didn’t care about her opinion, it felt good to know that I still had it .
“It’s so charming, his whole…I-just-earned-it vibe.”
They all laughed. What the hell did that even mean?
“Not everyone is a third-generation club member.” Kensie’s’s voice was distinctive. “Can you believe they even let Judith’s maid in the building?”
I held my breath. Now they were talking about Piper.
“Did you hear she signed up for the tournament?” Chelsea said. “The help competing with actual members? It’s absurd.”
“Someone should speak to the tournament director,” Kensie said. “There should be standards. This isn’t a charity event.”
“She probably thinks winning will make her one of us,” Chelsea laughed. “As if money could buy class.”
My hands clenched into fists.
“That’s a bit harsh,” Izzy’s voice cut through the venom. “She seems nice. And she’s talented. I played with her the other day.”
“Oh please, Izzy.” Chelsea’s tone was dismissive. “There’s a difference between natural ability and belonging in our world.”
“Our world?” Sloane piped up for the first time. Out of the four women, she was the least unbearable of the bunch.
“You know what I mean,” Kensie said. “People like us, people who understand how these things work. Did you see how she yelled at Gideon in public? How crass. I doubt he’ll make that mistake again.”
“Men like Gideon don’t end up with women like her,” Izzy said matter-of-factly.
I felt sick. Was this what Piper dealt with every day? Women who smiled to her face, but behind her back treated her like she was a social climbing parasite?
“You’re all being unnecessarily cruel,” Sloane said quietly. “She’s a single mother trying to make a better life for her daughter. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“There’s nothing wrong with knowing your place either,” Chelsea replied.
I’d heard enough. I grabbed my glasses and strode through the clubhouse, my mind racing. Piper hadn’t lied because she was manipulative or gold-digging. She’d lied because she was surrounded by people who saw her job before they saw her as a human being.
People like me.
I got in my car and tried to process what I’d just heard but was interrupted by a knock on the window.
Had one of those plastic women followed me to the parking lot?
I took a deep breath— patience, Gideon —then turned to open the window, but it wasn’t one of the mean girls.
It was Judy Lockelhurst, whom I now knew was my real neighbor.
Instead of rolling down the window, I got out of the car and extended my hand. “Mrs. Lockelhurst, I’m Gideon Bailey. I believe I owe you a proper introduction.”
She shook my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Her caftan billowed in the warm breeze, and her thin hand felt like a bird’s. Her sharp eyes studied me. “I saw you playing with the lunch ladies. How did that go?”
“‘Eating glass would be more fun.” I still couldn’t believe all the shitty things those women said when they didn’t think anyone was listening.
“That’s about what I would’ve expected.” She slipped her hand into the crook of my arm. “Walk with me for a moment, over to those benches.”
I crooked my arm, and the two of us walked to the bench and sat in silence for a moment, watching golfers tee off on the tenth hole. “I want to talk to you about Piper.” She broke the silence.
“Mrs. Lockelhurst, I don’t think—”
“Judy,” she interrupted. “Do you know why Piper entered that tournament?”
I didn’t answer.
“There’s a spot open in the youth tennis program here at the club. It costs ten thousand dollars a year.” Judy’s voice was gentle but firm. “Her daughter, Olive, has real talent, Gideon. The kind that could take her places her mother never got to go.”
Ten thousand dollars. Half the tournament prize money.
“Piper was ranked in the top fifty junior players in the country when she was eighteen,” Judy continued. “Full scholarship. She was going to go professional.”
“What happened?” I knew that Piper hadn’t finished her program, but I had no idea why.
“She got pregnant with Olive and lost everything. Her scholarship, her tennis future, her family’s support.” Judy’s eyes were sad. “They cut her off completely when she chose to keep the baby.”
The words hit me like a cross-check. “Her family disowned her? What about the father?”