26. Piper
PIPER
Monday morning came too fast. I pulled on my shorts and a T-shirt, ignoring the way my stomach was twisted into knots.
Last night, I’d barely slept, worrying about this week of training.
Every time I thought about Gideon, my heart did a stupid backflip, but twenty-five grand was on the line.
I had to get my head in the game, and fast.
“Mom, are you nervous?” Olive leaned against my bedroom doorway. She was already dressed for school, her backpack slung over one shoulder.
“A little,” I admitted. Olive didn’t have to know why. She still hadn’t figured out that “Coach Bailey” was the neighbor who helped me find the cat and the one who left me the hockey tickets.
“You’ll be great. You and Mr. Bailey are really good together.” She pulled on the other strap of her Paw Patrol backpack. “I think you’re going to win.”
“We are sure as heck going to try.” I ran my hand down one of her silky brown pigtails.
“You will.” She shook her head, freeing her hair from my fingertips. “I know you will.”
I kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo. “Go find Judy. She’s probably waiting for you.”
After Olive skipped across the yard to the main house, I grabbed my gear bag and walked the few blocks to the club. The morning air was already thick with humidity, but it was Florida—what else was new? At least I could blame the heat for my sweaty palms.
Gideon was already on the court, stretching by the net. When he saw me, that perfect smile with the impossibly straight teeth spread across his face.
“Morning, partner.”
“Morning.” I dropped my bag on the bench, trying to calm my racing heart. “Ready to work?”
“Always.”
We started with some slow dinking, hitting easy shots back and forth across the net.
Something had changed between us. Every time our eyes met, or every time he called out “nice shot,” my body responded.
My hands got even sweatier, the thrum between my legs downright pulsing at the sound of his voice.
After about ten minutes, I couldn’t take the energy that crackled in the air between us. I moved to the net and whispered, “We need to talk.”
Gideon stopped mid-swing, the ball bouncing past him. “About what?”
Curling my finger, I made him approach the net. Who knew what ears might be lurking next to the courts. “About this.” I gestured between us. “About what happened after our match yesterday.”
“You mean when we won?”
“You know what I mean.” I lowered my voice so that he had to lean in to hear me. “The tournament is only five days away. Until then, we need to focus on pickleball. No other distractions.”
“Distractions?” The sides of his lips turned up. “Is that what I am?”
“Gideon, I’m serious. Twenty-five thousand dollars could change our life. I can’t mess this up because…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence.
“Because?”
Was he going to make me say it? “Because I can’t think straight when you’re around. I can’t think about the way you spun me around yesterday and how damn good that felt.”
The sun brought out the gold flecks in his dark eyes. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that until Saturday night, we’re just pickleball partners. Nothing else. No touching, no flirting, no moments.” I crossed my arms, trying to look more confident than I felt. “Can you handle that?”
“Can you?”
I didn’t tell him that I’d been fighting the urge to hurdle the net, leap into him, and squeeze his waist with my thighs. How it was going to be akin to torture to be on the same court as him every day this week, with his broad shoulders and deep voice. “I have to.” It was all I could say.
“Then I guess we both do.” He picked up his paddle. “Partners only. Got it.”
We went back to the rally, but the rhythm we’d found yesterday was gone, replaced with tension. When I watched him move, I had to force myself to focus on his technique instead of the way his shorts hugged his thighs.
This was going to be the longest week of my life.
Tuesday morning was better, and we fell into a routine.
It was a quick warm-up, perfecting various serves, then strategy.
Gideon was all business. He held the ball like it had been in a dog’s mouth and was covered in slobber every time he had to pass it to me.
He ensured his fingertips wouldn’t accidentally touch mine.
“Your serve is getting stronger,” he said. We both sipped from our water bottles as we took a break.
“Thanks.” I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “Your drop shots are looking good too, way more controlled.”
“You sound like you’re reading from a coaching manual.”
I laughed. “Isn’t that what you wanted? All business? I studied sports management in school—I guess some of those courses did teach me something.”
“Actually, you’re the one who wanted all business. And, sports management is a tough course. I’m impressed.”
It would be more impressive if I actually finished, I thought to myself.
Avoiding the compliment, I took another sip of water, trying not to stare at the way his shirt clung to his pecs. “How’s your recovery going? The concussion?”
“Good. Really good, actually. My balance is back to normal, and the headaches are gone.” He bounced the ball on his paddle. “My doctor says I might be cleared to play again soon.”
“That’s amazing. You must be excited.”
“Yeah.” He sounded reluctant. “It’s what I’ve been working on.”
“But?”
“But nothing. Hockey’s my job. My life.” He shrugged. “This is just temporary.”
The words stung. Of course, this break from his real life was temporary. It reminded me exactly why I needed to keep my head in the game.
“Right,” I said. “Temporary.”
We went back to practicing, but the word temporary echoed in my head with every shot.
Wednesday’s practice was the best yet. We were clicking on the court, anticipating each other’s moves, covering for each other’s weaknesses.
Janie came out and almost beat us at two on one.
We won after Gideon set me up and I smashed the ball straight down the divorce line, just out of reach of Janie’s paddle.
“Yes!” I raised my paddle. “Did you see that?”
“How could I not?” He grinned. “That was beautiful.”
“You two are getting good at this.” Janie winked and continued visiting players down the courts.
“We are.” His eyes held mine for a moment too long, and those damn butterflies were back to flutter in my stomach.
“Piper.” His voice was uncharacteristically quiet.
“What?”
He reached out like he was going to take my hand, then stopped himself. His fingers hovered inches from mine before he pulled back.
“Nothing.” He cleared his throat and ran his hand through his sweaty hair. “Good shot.”
But the way he’d looked at me wasn’t nothing. He’d almost touched me, and I found myself wishing he had. My skin tingled with anticipation, and for a second, I wanted to say fuck it, forget about my stupid rules.
Instead, I stepped back. “We should practice our returns.”
“Right. Returns.”
We spent the rest of practice hitting balls, pretending we hadn’t almost broken my no-touching rule.
As we packed up our gear, I caught him watching me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. Just thinking about Saturday.”
“The tournament?”
“The tournament, right.” But the way he said it made me think he was talking about something else. Something that would happen after the tournament was over.
Something I wasn’t sure I was ready for.