Chapter 8 #3
“And we’re told that all men want endless women, and yet all we see are men sitting at home by themselves. I don’t even know what they’re doing.” I grunt as I hit the ball back to him, putting a little of my frustration into it. He has to jog back to grab it. “What are they doing, Calder?”
I was an attractive woman. Not like Megan attractive, but I had what Sam and I both agreed were good boobs. And that was the terrifying part. Maybe men were putting stock into personality, and they just didn’t like mine.
“You don’t want to know.” Calder waits for me to get into position.
“I very much want to know.”
“It would pop your little bubble.”
My eyes widen. “My bubble?” I turned to Sam. Proof. Right there. “Do you think I’m—”
“Don’t say idiot.” Calder gives me a look.
“—oblivious?”
“You do seem oddly happy.”
Sam nods in understanding. “I thought she was doing mushrooms or something. For like the first two weeks I knew her.”
Sam and I met back when I was still at my old marketing job and she was the freelance designer assigned to one of our product campaigns.
She barely hid her eye rolls the first few meetings, and honestly, knowing her backstory, I couldn’t blame her.
She was in the middle of the hardest year of her life.
Her best friend from college had taken his own life a few months prior.
Nobody saw it coming. My perkiness may as well have been a physical blow.
“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” Sam shrugs, and my heart warms. Most people thought I was putting on a show, wearing a mask of toxic positivity. When Sam realized I was really just a squirrel with the attention span of a goldfish, we became fast friends.
With those positive vibes, I win two points.
Only because Calder’s trying to lower his game-play and it’s throwing him off.
The line of his mouth is more relaxed, and that feels like the highest praise.
He beats me 11-4, then as Sam rotates in he tries to make me feel better by giving some spiel about how playing the baseline is more difficult.
Another almost compliment. I’m beaming as I take my place on the bench, dead set on earning that sucker.
Sam cackles when she swings and misses the ball completely. “This paddle is too small! I need way more surface area.”
Calder blows out a breath, his mouth curling at the edges, and a flash of jealousy curdles my stomach. He smiles for her? What does he have against me? Am I that annoying to him?
Sam only gets to three before he hits eleven and has her switch to the kitchen. Since she has to leave, we both agree she should go first. She manages six points that time, then wipes her brow and jogs over for a hug.
“See you tomorrow?”
I nod. “You did great.”
She huffs. “Not a sports person.”
“You’re lying to yourself.”
She grins and waves, then heads of the court. Now it’s my turn to be the player at the kitchen line. Even though there are people all around us and Sam is still gathering her things at the bench just outside the fence, my nerves amp up having Calder’s attention completely on me.
I adjust my paddle grip, then serve the first ball. It’s a thousand percent easier to score points in this position, but Calder still gets back every ball I hit.
“To my feet,” he barks.
“Yeah, I’m trying.”
“Don’t be afraid to attack it. Keep your—”
“Paddle up. I know.” I grit my teeth and serve.
I put up a good fight, but he still beats me 7-10.
“I think you were actually trying on that one.” I plant a hand on my hip.
Calder fiddles with the wrap on the handle of his paddle. “I’m always trying.” His brows are furrowed. He won’t even make eye contact.
I glance up at the screen on the fence. Two minutes left. Yeah, I’m done. “Thanks for the lesson.” No code cracking for me tonight.
As I walk toward the gate, my brain finally clues in on the silence around us, and I turn to see all but one of the courts empty. “Wow. This place cleared out fast.”
Why am I making small talk? For all I know, that’s what sets him off. My inability to be silent like he is.
“Yep.”
I set my paddle on the bench and take a swig from my water bottle. Calder walks to the corner of the court and retrieves a ball we neglected to pick up.
“Time to pay up.”
He pauses at the gate. “You didn’t earn the sucker.”
A laugh bursts out of me. Seriously? “The tips, Calder. For me and Garrett?”
His jaw tenses. He nods once, then sets the ball in the holder on the back side of the wall, and exits the court. For a moment I wonder if he’s going to admit he doesn’t have any advice and only said that to get me and Sam to show up, but then he says, “He likes competition.”
I chew my lower lip. “Okay. Like—”
“Garrett wants to win. He’s always more interested if there are high stakes.”
“Mm. Perfect. So I challenge him to a duel? Pistols at dawn?”
A corner of his mouth ticks. “Make him think there’s someone he’s losing to.”
That makes it click, and it seems stupidly obvious. Of course. Men were always more interested in a woman who was desired by other men. “So I pretend to have a boyfriend.”
He grunts. “That could work.” Calder takes off his shoes and shoves them in the bottom compartment of his bag, drops the paddle into a back pocket, and puts on his slip-ons. “You walking out to your car?”
I nod, pulling on my sweatshirt. Guess I’m washing this. I didn’t realize how sweaty I was until I stopped moving and the AC hit me full force.
Calder hangs his bag back on the fence.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you . . . sometime.” I sling my backpack over my shoulder.
“I’ll walk you out.”
“That’s not necessary.”
He peers at the dark windows. “It’s late. I’m going to walk you out.” He starts for the doors, so I don’t bother protesting. I’m tempted to grab a sucker from the bowl as we pass the front desk, but don’t out of principle. Even though Calder fabricated the stupid rule, it’s annoyingly motivating.
We push through the inner doors, and when we exit through the storm doors to the parking lot, I gasp. Rain is coming down in buckets. There’s a small awning over the entrance, so we aren’t immediately soaked through, but the rain seems to be coming from all directions.
I laugh, remembering my car is at the very end of the row. Wasn’t expecting a thunderstorm in early October.
“Do you have an umbrella?” Calder calls over the hissing rain and grumbles of thunder.
“Nope!” I grip my bag strap tighter and gear up to make a run for the back of the parking lot when I see it. Nestled along the sidewalk is the largest puddle I’ve seen in years. My eyes grow wide as saucers.
“What is it?” Calder leans in, peering through the sheeting rain.
I point. “That’s insane!”
“Oh, yeah. Happens every time it rains. The asphalt is graded in the wrong direction.”
I turn to face him, my eyes huge, a goofy grin painting its way across my face. I shouldn’t do this. He already has opinions about me, but . . . that also means I have nothing to lose, right? And this puddle isn’t going to last forever. “I’m sorry. I have to.”