Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE DUEL… PICKLEBALL-STYLE
T he remaining tension with James dissolves in the twenty-minute ride to the Fairbanks Tennis Club.
Between his repeated nudges as if to say I told you they were friendly each time Lars reached across the console to squeeze Jackson’s knee, or James’s musings about the similarities of pickleball and the yard tennis he’d played as a child, I relax.
“I don’t recall writing that.” I wrinkle my nose.
“I have the memory of playing with my cousin Reginald as children,” he says, sliding out of the backseat of the SUV once we’re parked at the complex.
The sprawling compound nestled beside a local park offers both indoor and outdoor courts for tennis and pickleball.
Jackson and Davis play on Saturdays with two other people from No Boundaries.
This week. it will just be them against Lars and James.
However, I seriously doubt Lars will want to be on James’s team.
I’m thankful we’ll be indoors. The notorious Southern California September heat is already climbing skyward, and I don’t sweat sexy. A pink hue doesn’t kiss my skin. I just get blotchy and glisten like a live pig that wandered into a BBQ.
“Hey, Larsy-poo.” Smirking, Jackson juts his chin toward Lars. “Can you take my gym bag in. We’re at court three. I just need a moment with Georgia.”
Lars flashes a lopsided grin. “I got you Jacky Bear… Come on, Lord Short Breeches, let’s head in.” He hoists the gym bag onto his shoulder.
I know what this is about. Outside of a “Are you sure?” last night when I said I was heading out with Davis, we’ve not talked about the werewolf in the room. I may have given a thumbs up, but knowing Jackson, he still worries about how his new relationship impacts me.
His focus jumps to where Lars and James disappear through the entrance and then back to me. “I wanted to check in about?—”
“About you stealing my would-be suitor,” I tease.
“I didn’t mean for Lars and me to happen.”
“It’s totally fine.” I reach out and squeeze his forearm. “Lars and I were never going to be anything. It’s clear there’s something between you two.”
A furrow mars his brow. “All morning, I just kept thinking, am I like Lena? Did Lars and I do to you what she and Will did to you?”
I huff a short laugh. “This is completely different. Lars and I were never in a relationship. Not to mention, you didn’t sneak around. I’m assuming outside of the longing stares and lingering hand touches, nothing happened until after I gave you the all-clear sign.”
“Outside of some vivid dreams… nothing.” A sigh rolls through him, relaxing his posture. “You’re really okay with all this?”
“Yes.” I lightly punch his bicep. “Don’t be melodramatic.”
“Good, because I really like him.”
“You really like him?” My right eyebrow lifts. “So, this is like a real thing and not just a little hormone-filled dalliance.”
“Dalliance?” He guffaws. “Maybe it’s time to cut down on your historical romance reading… But yes, I think this could be something real with him.”
“But what if he…” I motion with my hand as if that fills in the words that I’m hesitant to speak out of fear of what the reality of those unsaid words may do to my brother.
“Doesn’t stay?” Nodding, a thoughtful but sad expression covers his face.
So much about this situation is uncharted. If the witchcraft consultant helps me undo my wish, will all three of my book boyfriends return to their original stories? Will Lars want to, and if so, what happens to my brother?
“It’s worth the risk. I may only have a short time with Lars, but that fear isn’t holding me back. Whatever happens, happens. In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy the time we have together and hope that fate or, maybe, the author of this story writes one with us together.”
“This story?” My laugh is breathy.
He shrugs. “Who knows, maybe we’re just characters in someone’s story, just like Lars, Owen, and James.”
“Maybe… Or maybe this is just our lives.”
“Whether a story or just my life, I hope it gets spicier.” He winks. “I’d like to take advantage of having a sexy werewolf boyfriend.”
“Maybe he’ll chase you through the woods on your next jog.” I waggle my brows.
“ God , I hope so.”
“You may be the most well-adjusted of the three Lane siblings, you know that.” I bump his shoulder with mine.
Looping his arm around me, he tucks me into his side. “I’ve learned a lot from my big brother and sister.”
“Mostly what not to do.”
“And, also, what to do,” he says, admiration shines bright in his eyes.
“And we’ve learned a lot from you. It appears that I’m taking a page out of your book. I’m withdrawing myself from this pseudo-Bachelorette competition.”
“Because not one of these men is the costar of your story.”
“Correct.”
“And you like Davis.” He squeezes me.
“And I like Davis.”
“I figured it out last night at the bar, but then Lars filled in the blanks.”
“And he says Owen has a big mouth,” I quip. “But this isn’t just about my feelings for Davis, it’s about me. It’s about me pushing past my fears to put my wants and needs first.”
He twists to face me. “Does that include putting your wants and needs first about the wedding?”
“Yeah.” I brush my hair behind my ears, the action settles the anxious knot in my stomach. “I spoke to Mom this morning.”
Before picking up the food for Hope and Rem earlier, I stopped by her place to tell her I’m not going to go to the wedding because it would be too hard to sit there, forcing a smile of happiness for two people who’d hurt me so badly.
I don’t love Will anymore. My not wanting to be there isn’t about me wishing it was me, but about the knowledge that two people who supposedly loved me had no care for my heart.
Even if Will and I weren’t meant to be, he once claimed to love me, and Lena claims she still does. If you truly love someone, you don’t treat their heart like a flimsy napkin so easily tossed away.
“I’m proud of you for making this decision.”
“Mom said the same thing.” I smile. “I told her that she should still go. Lena hurt me, but I don’t want to take her family away from her.”
“Even though she took Will away from you,” he grumbles.
“She didn’t, though… Will and I were never going to be a forever thing. No matter how much I thought that was going to happen, it never was.”
Rem’s comment about Will accompanied me most of the night while mulling over this decision.
Time allows us hindsight to see what we were once blind to.
The future I envisioned with Will seemed so real…
until it wasn’t. In the aftermath of that heartbreak, I see the little clues that I’d missed that it…
that we would never be. Will’s hesitation to take our relationship to the next step.
Every step of the way, he’d pull back just a bit.
How everything was always about him. Even our dates.
He never went to Fisher’s Landing with me, let alone show up at the ER with a to-go box from there for me.
“As much as I love this Zen Georgia, I wish I could see his face when he finds out you’re not coming. That guy hates losing.”
“ That he does.” I loop my arm with Jackson’s and stroll toward the entrance.
The memory of how grumbly Will would get if Jackson beat him at basketball, or he lost to Rem at cards, is a sharp contrast to Davis’s pretend aghast expression each time Estelle squealed Uno the other night. Will would never happily lose to anyone, willingly or not.
“As devastatingly good as I look in my tux, I’m happy to stay home with you next weekend. We can?—”
“Not necessary.” I pat his forearm. “You go. As understanding as Mom is, she and Uncle Hans will be disappointed if you’re not there.”
“Will you tell Lena before or just not show up?” Jackson opens the door and holds it for me.
“I kind of hope it’s option B, so I can see Will’s annoyed face that not only did you not show up, but he’d already paid for your meal.
Which, out of principle, I will not eat, no matter how good the steak is…
I’ll just let it sit there to mock him.”
“As delightful as that sounds, I’m still me.” I laugh. “Plus, Uncle Hans is paying for the wedding, so that dulls any perverse pleasure. I’m going to email Lena today, and I’ll offer to cover the cost of my meal to Uncle Hans.”
“Georgia,” he groans.
“Baby steps, little bro,” I coo, moving down the long walkway toward the pickleball courts.
Jackson reserved one of the four indoor courts. A mural depicting a park scene covers the walls dividing the four courts. The vibrant colors simulate spectators watching from checkered blankets laid atop lush green grass.
Above the courts, a balcony allows spectators to peer down on the matches.
For the next hour, that’s where I’ll be.
Despite my athletic wear, I slipped on a pair of black flip flops, so there’s no confusion that I will not be participating in this sporty escapade outside of spectatorship.
Perched at the edge of the balcony, I nibble my pecan bar and watch Jackson, Lars, and James hit practice balls while waiting for Davis.
The mix of the tasty pastry and relief about the decisions I’ve made relaxes every muscle into contentment.
My chill demeanor is short-lived with the slam of a door, drawing my attention to the court’s entrance. Davis strides in. A red muscle shirt molds over his sculpted torso, and a pair of black mesh shorts hang just right on his hips.
“Oh, my,” I almost whimper, my core clenches with the many illicit thoughts fuzzing my focus.
With a wave to the guys, he tosses his bag on the side. Bending, he unzips his duffle and pulls out an eyeglass case. Straightening, he looks around,
“I thought Georgia was coming?” he shouts to Jackson, who volleys the ball back to Lars.
“Her highness is watching from above,” Jackson drawls.
“Like the angel she is,” Lars quips, making me roll my eyes at his playful but friendly flirtation.