Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Markie
“Here goes nothing,” I mutter moments before my knuckles rap against a familiar door.
My pulse stutters as I wait for someone to answer.
I can’t believe I’m standing on Jory’s porch, preparing to ask him to help me win the tournament. After all the crap I talked, after telling him that I didn’t need him and wouldn’t need him … I need him. That’s humbling.
Music plays on the other side of the wood, loud enough that I wonder if they even heard my knock. So, I rap against the door again, louder this time, and hold my breath. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, footsteps come closer and the door swings open.
This is such a bad idea.
Jory leans against the doorframe with a smile as wide as the entry, as if he already knows why I’m here.
He's bare-chested, wearing only a pair of blue basketball shorts. His jaw is peppered with a day’s worth of stubble. I might’ve just woken him up, because his hair is a mess, unruly in a way that makes me want to run my fingers through it.
Focus, Markie.
“Hey,” I say, clearing my throat.
“You missed breakfast, and it’s not lunch yet, but if you hold on, I’ll make you something for brunch,” he says, with a grin so divine that it could bring the holiest nun to her knees.
My head spins, recalling just how many times I thought about that moment last night—the one beside my car when things almost got away from me.
Truth be told, I would’ve let it. Hell, I would’ve met him halfway.
Admitting that now, while I’m here for the purpose of asking him to play with me—no pun intended—is overwhelming.
A barrage of red flags is waving in the wind.
“Get in here,” he says playfully, stepping to the side.
I enter the house, looking around for his son. He’s a rascal, but his comic relief might be able to take away some of the sting of the endeavor. “Where’s Gus?”
“He’s fishing with a kid he met at the park. Josh Jordan. He lives behind Miller’s Market. I talked to his mom, and she promised to keep an eye on them.”
“I know her. She’s a nice lady.” I smirk. “She’s single, too. Just sharing in case Gus comes home playing matchmaker again.”
Jory laughs, his abs rippling. I consider asking him to put a shirt on. But who on this earth would do something like that? Not this girl.
“Thanks for the warning,” he says, entering the kitchen. “But something tells me he’s a discriminating little matchmaker.” He pours himself a cup of coffee. “Want a drink? An omelet? I’m here to please.”
“I hope that’s true.”
He looks at me over his muscled shoulder with a carefully lifted brow.
“Didn’t mean it like that,” I say, pointing at him as my cheeks heat. Get on with it, Markie. “But I did come over to ask you something.”
He retrieves a water bottle from the fridge and tosses it to me. I’m not sure if this is a reflection of our chemistry, or if my mind is running a compatibility test for the court, but he smiles when I catch it easily.
“You just looked a little flushed,” he says before biting his bottom lip. “Thought a drink might help you cool down.”
“Asshole.”
He chuckles. “All right. Ask away. What question do you have for me?”
I follow him into the living room and choose a chair across the coffee table from him. My palms are clammy as I set the bottle on a coaster.
I’m stuck in this messy place of wanting to relive the feeling of his palm nestled against the small of my back from last night and wanting to ask him to help me win.
He watches me expectantly, waiting for me to pop the question.
Although I know I have to do it, a part of me doesn’t want to, because, once I do, the dynamic between us will be forever changed, and I quite like it the way it is right now.
“Adam called me this morning …” I say, taking a long, deep breath.
He smiles before sipping his coffee. “Oh, yeah? How’s your protégé doing?”
I narrow my eyes, amusing him.
“I take it there’s trouble in pickleball paradise,” he says, lying back against the couch cushions. His abs are distracting, and the way he casually grips the top of the couch behind him, flexing his biceps, is frustrating.
He knows what he’s doing, and it’s wholly unfair.
“You could say that.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “To cut to the chase, Adam bailed on me.”
Jory’s eyes widen. It’s clear he’s as surprised by this as I was, but he says nothing as the air in the room shifts.
“I’ve burned another week, have no partner, and I had to watch Jasper and his new girlfriend practicing while I waited on Adam. Let’s just say that if they wind up winning, I’ll burn the pickleball courts down myself.”
“Then it’s a good thing that you look great in orange.”
I try not to smile but fail miserably. He grins, sitting upright and setting his mug onto a coaster.
“You’re telling me this because …” he says, resting his elbows on his knees.
“You know why I’m telling you this.”
He winks at me. “You’re right. I do.”
“So …”
“So, what?”
I groan. “Come on, Jory. Will you do it?”
“You haven’t asked me to do anything,” he says, his smirk growing deeper. “Besides, I think I remember predicting that this would happen and telling you that you’d have to beg.”
A cramp builds between my shoulder blades, and my head feels too heavy on my neck. Fucking men. They're the bane of my existence.
“Let’s start here,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “Why is this so important to you?”
I don’t want to get into this—it’s actually the last thing I want to do—but I have no cards to play, not an ounce of leverage to work with. He’s in the proverbial driver’s seat, and we both know it.
“Fine,” I say, sighing. “This is important to me because it’s the only thing that’s ever really been mine.
I win every year. And this year, my ex-boyfriend, who I taught how to play pickleball to start with, entered the tournament with his new girlfriend with whom, may I add, he cheated on me with. ”
Jory’s jaw twitches. “I see your point. Jasper? That’s his name?”
I nod. Hearing it come from Jory’s mouth is so weird. It’s awkward as hell. Jory seems to think so, too, because a look of disgust briefly crosses his features.
“Are you still in love with him?” he asks.
The question comes without missing a beat. His gaze is steady as he watches me, as if the idea that I might not answer has never entered his mind.
“What’s that have to do with anything?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Is that a yes?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I was never in love with him. I could’ve been, if things had gone well, but they didn’t.”
“It must’ve bothered you to some degree if you’re this determined to beat him.”
“Of course, it bothers me,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Wouldn’t you be bothered if you were cheated on? And they try to take the one thing that’s yours—the one thing you’re good at? The one thing that lets you relive, for just a few days, a time in your life before everything got all fucked up?”
A lump settles in my throat. I’ve never verbalized this to anyone, and I’m not entirely sure if I’ve ever even admitted that to myself.
Realizing the truth, that this competition during a festival that my parents, specifically my mother, loved so much makes me feel connected to them again.
It brings back the nostalgia. It brings back those precious memories.
Beating Jasper isn’t just about maintaining my winning streak, and it’s not only about punishing him for challenging me … and cheating on me. It’s really about holding on to something I love and refusing to let it be taken away from me.
God knows you don’t always get the choice.
He shrugs again. “Maybe it would bother me. But if someone has it in them to cheat on you, then it’s better if they do it sooner than later. Saves time that way.”
“Well, while I appreciate you sharing your logic with me, I’m not here for a therapy session,” I say, refocusing. “I’m over him. I’m just here because I need someone to go to war beside me in three weeks so I can put Jasper in his place and close this part of my life.”
“Oh, I’ll go to war beside you any day.” He grins mischievously. “But you haven’t exactly asked me yet.”
I stare at him as his smirk settles in for the long haul.
This bastard. A slow smile slips across my face. He really thinks I’m going to beg.
“You see,” I say, leaning forward so that my cleavage is on full display. Two can play this game. “On the court, I’m in charge. You probably need to know that from the start.”
His gaze drops to my chest.
“Understood?” I ask, feeling the power shift slightly in my favor.
“Understood.” His eyes lift, meeting mine with a heat so potent that I gulp. Guess the power didn’t shift after all. “But we aren’t on the courts right now.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that I offered to be your partner—a few times, to be exact—and you turned me down. Now, here you are, sitting in front of me, expecting me to agree to it without you ever asking.”
I roll my eyes again. “What do you want from me, Jory? Do you want me to get on my knees in front of you and beg?”
“If you get on your knees, begging isn’t what you’ll be doing.”
His gaze pins me to my seat, daring me to move. His green irises shimmer in the light and are filled with an unspoken challenge. I’m not often speechless, but I have no comeback on the tip of my tongue.
Holy fuck.
A part of me, the part that hasn’t had sex in over four months, wants to drop to the floor and make him prove it. My core clenches at the thought of having his dick in my hands, then in my mouth, and then shoved deep inside me as I come all over it.
But the other part of me, the one still barely in control, puts a halt to it.
I’m not here to complicate my life even more. I’m here for one thing. I need to get it and leave.
“While I’d love to make you put your dick where my mouth is, so to speak, that’s not why I’m here,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster. “I came here to see if you’d play pickleball with me. If that’s a no, then fine.”
I start to stand but am stopped with a carefully lifted brow.
“You know I’ll do it,” he says. “I would’ve done it even if I didn’t get the pleasure of teaching your ex a lesson.”
I grin. “He really needs to be taught a lesson. If you smashed him in the face with a ball three or four times, it might not be enough.”
Jory chuckles. “So what am I getting out of this, anyway?”
“I don’t know. What do you want?”
I know exactly what crosses his mind. Men only smirk like that when they’re imagining one thing.
Finally, he sighs. “I want you to tutor Gus. Every hour of practice is an hour spent sitting with him and working through his math packet. That puts you in complete control of your time and investment.”
I would’ve done that for free. “Deal.”
“I need to take a cold shower,” he says, adjusting himself. I make a point not to look at his groin. “Then we could meet up at the park and get a game or two in.”
This is music to my ears.
I exhale a sigh of relief, feeling the throb in the back of my neck ease. If all goes right, this might end up being a better fit than Adam, anyway.
“I’m trusting you,” I warn, getting to my feet. “Please don’t bail on me.”
He stands, towering over me, yet his gaze holds mine tenderly. Despite the softness, there’s a ferocity in his green eyes that makes me feel safe. That makes me believe whatever he’s about to say.
“You have my word,” he says, smiling. “Now get out of here and meet me at the park in an hour.”
“You got it.”
I toss him a wink as I head for the door.