Chapter 13
thirteen
The question isn’t for Garrett, it’s for me. After that one look in Garrett’s direction, Calder barely acknowledges he exists. Which is weird for someone who’s supposed to be a friend.
Calder got me these glasses. Did he also get me the membership? Was that part of taking lessons here? A perk?
“Oh, just doing some drilling after work,” Garrett answers.
I wince as Calder’s eyebrow quirks.
“Huh.”
Garrett strides forward and claps him on the shoulder. “Glad to see you, buddy. I wasn’t sure you’d make it tonight.”
My eyes narrow. Garrett knew Calder was coming?
The doors open again to more players, and realization dawns. Right. Open play. Everyone’s going to be showing up in the next thirty minutes.
Garrett walks back to me. “Want to get some mini games in before open play?”
I nod. Calder rounds the desk and busies himself with something in his bag as I start back toward our court. I need to explain this. Tell him Garrett had no idea we’d done lessons already. Calder would understand. He was the one who gave me the idea in the first place.
Garrett waits by the gate, and his hand lands on my lower back as I walk through. I stiffen. Has he ever touched me like that before? I glance up, but see his head turned toward the desk where Calder is still standing.
Our court is closest to the front desk.
Garrett knew Calder was coming.
“Is that a new skirt?” Garrett’s hand shifts to my hip, as he cocks his head to look at me.
“Yeah.”
“I like the color.”
The words feel oily, and pull back, pretending I’m in a hurry to get on the other side of the net. So. Garrett had planned this. Did he actually want to spend time with me or was our so-called date just a pissing match?
Garrett suggests we play skinny court. Similar to seven-eleven but we both start at the baseline and work our way up to the net. He serves, and I smack the ball back deep. These are the shots I’m most comfortable with.
Garrett hits a drop, and I’m already in the mid-court. I drive it. I know the goal is to drop it, but I don’t have it in me. I need to hit something. Hard.
Garrett blocks, but he obviously wasn’t ready for that shot. “Wow,” he laughs. “That break got you fired up.”
“You could say that.”
He tosses me the ball, and I serve it. When I drive his return, he’s ready for it. Something in his face changes—interest? Challenge? He starts taking it seriously now, matching my pace. The ball speeds up between us.
He laughs again. “Where’s this been hiding?”
I grin tightly and snap another shot toward him.
It’s stupid because he can easily hit these back. He sends the ball to my feet, and I miss my next shot into the net.
Garrett’s breathing heavy. “You’re a little scary.”
I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or another performance. My skin feels too hot, my hands jittery. It’s only made worse by the fact that our audience is growing. We play a few more points, then I tell Garrett I should probably finish up.
The decision to stay for open play or not has never felt easier.
“This was fun,” I say as I head for my bag.
“Yeah, we should do it again sometime.”
How I’d wished to hear those words just a week ago. Now they fell a little flat. “That would be great.”
“Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”
I salute him and head to the restrooms, the noise of the courts fading behind me. Right before I push through the door, movement catches my eye, and I look right instead of left. Calder’s at an open locker.
There’s no thinking before my next move. I rush forward, grab his arm, and pull him into one of the open shower rooms and close the door. “You can’t tell him we already had lessons.”
“Who, Garrett?”
I nod. “Yes, Garrett. Who else?”
Calder’s eyes narrow. “Why not?”
“Because. You said he needed competition, so I asked about you! I pretended I was interested in lessons. Like—” I press my fingers to my temples. “Like I was interested in you.”
His eyebrows lift. “You asked Garrett about me?”
“Yes! It was the only thing that made sense. You’ve seen the guys at work.”
“What about Jerome?”
I smack his chest. “Shut up.”
The corner of his mouth turns up, and I’m suddenly very aware of how close we’re standing.
Calder blows out a breath. “Lies. The perfect start to a budding relationship.”
“Oh come on! Everyone lies a little at the beginning of a relationship.”
He crosses his arms, and they nearly brush my chest. “I don’t.”
“Really. You’ve never told a white lie to get to know someone?”
He considers that. “No.”
“Well. Add me to your prayer list so I can ride your coattails to heaven.” I try to push past him to get to the door, but he doesn’t move. “I need to go.”
“Was Garrett good at drilling?”
I groan. “Oh my gosh, you’re the worst.”
“Did he have gentle hands?”
I laugh in spite of myself, then tip my chin up to level my eyes at him. “I drove hard. He took it like a man.” Not exactly the metaphor I was going for, but the look on Calder’s face is worth it.
A flush crawls up his neck. “Surprising. Garrett’s the kind of guy who likes control.”
“Hm. Garrett had plenty to say about you, too.”
I regret saying that instantly. Calder’s face clouds over, his eyes like an arctic lake. The air thickens, my skin buzzing. Calder shifts on his feet, and for a half second, I expect him to lean in. To put his hand out. To—
He steps back, leaving the door in plain view. “Staying for open play?”
I swallow, my throat thick. “No.”
He drops his eyes, nodding. “Well. I won’t break your cover.”
I fight to catch my breath without making it obvious I’m about to pass out. “Great. Thanks.” My hand somehow finds the handle. I drop it and yank, sucking in air as soon as I clear the threshold.
The market on Tuesday afternoon sprawls down 16th Street like a painter spilled a palette of color.
White tents billow in the breeze, and the smell of roasted nuts mingles with fresh espresso and something herbal—lavender, maybe?
The afternoon sun glints off the glass towers behind the booths, and the whole street hums with music and chatter.
If anyone at Paper and Pixel wants to take the client gift purchasing assignment from me, they’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.
I wander between vendors with my phone balanced on my shoulder, Sam’s voice in my ear. I forgot my earbuds back at the office. “So, let me get this straight—you dragged him into the shower room?”
“I pulled him,” I correct, scanning a display of hand-thrown mugs shaped like mountain peaks. “There was no dragging.”
“Semantics. You locked yourself in with him.”
“I didn’t lock it,” I protest. “And I didn’t plan it. It was just heat of the moment. I needed him to not say anything to Garrett.”
“Uh-huh.”
I finger a mug painted in a wash of turquoise and gold, pretending I’m not thinking about Calder’s face when I mentioned Garrett talking about him. “He said he wouldn’t rat me out.”
“Well, yeah. Of course he won’t.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
Sam exhales. “You know what it means, babe. We already talked about this.”
“Girl. He’s not into me, and I’m . . . I don’t know what I am.” That was the truth. Confused. Probably the best adjective at the moment.
I choose a couple of mugs and some gourmet hot chocolate, then hand my card to the vendor. “He gave me pickleball glasses.”
“Garrett?” she hisses.
“No. Calder.”
The woman wraps the mugs carefully, tucking them into a stamped recycled-paper bag.
“You didn’t want to tell me.”
“Right.”
“Because it’s evidence that improves my theory.”
“Maybe.” I take the bag and weave through the crowd toward a table stacked with candles that smell like the inside of a fruit bowl. “He said he never tells white lies. Like when he’s interested in someone.”
She laughs. “Well, la-dee-da.”
“That’s what I said!”
The air fills with the echo of a busker’s guitar, and I pause to listen a moment.
Sam perks up. “Hey, Megan was telling me there’s a singles’ night at Smash Point tomorrow night. Want to go?”
“Middle of the week?”
“Apparently they switch it up. It starts at six thirty. They’ve got food and drinks.”
My phone beeps with another call. “Yeah, sure. I’ll go with you.” I pull the phone down to look at the screen and almost choke. Garrett. His number’s been in my phone since I got the job, but I don’t think he’s used it once.
“Sam. It’s Garrett.”
“What?”
“He’s calling! I’m going to go, I’ll call you—”
“Go! Go.”
I hang up and switch to the next call, almost forgetting to breathe. “Hey, Garrett.”
“Hey. I heard you’re out shopping.”
I laugh. “Yep, it’s the best job.”
“Sorry to bug you, I know it’s late in the day.”
“No worries,” I say, stepping aside to let a woman with a stroller pass. “What’s up?”
“I, uh…” He chuckles. “This is really last-minute, but I have to go to this dinner tonight. Client event thing, kind of schmoozy. I just found out they’re expecting me to bring a plus-one.”
I blink. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” He pauses. “I thought since you’ll likely be working on this project, you’d be an obvious fit. Plus, I had a great time last night.”
I expect that to send my heart fluttering, but it stays stone quiet. Odd.
“Would you be interested in coming with me?”
My phone buzzes against my cheek. I look at the screen and see a text from Sam.
He’s in the breakroom. Running his HANDS through his HAIR.
For a heartbeat, I forget how to hold my phone. “Tonight?” I echo, a little breathless.
“Yeah, sorry. Totally fine if you can’t.”
“No, I—”
Garrett is talking to me, asking me out. He’s checking all the boxes for me.
“You still there?” he asks, voice a little uncertain.
“Yeah,” I say quickly. “Sorry, someone bumped me. So, the dinner, I think that should work. What time?”
“Six thirty. At Barolo Grill.”
I blink again. Barolo Grill. One of the fanciest Italian restaurants in the city. “That sounds amazing.”
“Great.” Relief filters through his voice, and it’s so genuine that it steadies me. “Why don’t you head home when you’re done? No need to come back to the office. I’ll pick you up at six?”
“Six works. I’ll see you then.”