Chapter 20
BECCA
I probably had a little too much confidence going in. But Theo is a professional athlete. While I might not be the most coordinated person in the world, I at least have youth on my side. I expected us to at least be decent.
So when our mothers trounce us in our first game of pickleball, I’m more than a little baffled.
“Okay, we need a game plan,” Theo says as our mothers take a water break.
We’re at an enormous indoor pickleball center, and we reserved the court for the entire afternoon.
It only took them twenty minutes to wipe the floor with us, so I don’t disagree.
We have a lot of playing time left, and I’d rather they not stomp us over and over again.
But it’s only pickleball. I had plenty of fun, even if we did lose.
Theo, on the other hand, looks like it’s physically painful for him to not be winning.
I suppose he has to be that way to do what he does, but in this context, it just makes me giggle.
I grin. “You’re very serious about this.”
“Aren’t you?” he says. “They completely smoked us.”
“It’s literally the first time either one of us has ever played. They do this twice a week.”
He huffs. “But I’m…”
His words trail off, and I start to laugh. “A big, strong man who should be able to beat the old ladies?”
He finally smiles. “That’s not what I said.”
“But you were thinking it.”
“I wasn’t. I just … usually pick up on stuff pretty quickly.” He’s right about that part. In high school, he could do anything. Football, basketball, baseball. He was good enough that he could have played on the high school team for any sport he wanted.
I breathe out a dramatic sigh. “The burden of finally feeling average.”
“Don’t pretend like you aren’t competitive. Do you really want to lose five more games to our mothers?”
“I do not,” I agree. “But they’re already setting up for the next game. Unless we switch up the teams so we’re each playing with one of them, I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”
“Oh, we’re not switching teams,” he says. “That’s even worse than losing.”
I laugh. “Okay. What do you suggest?”
He pulls out his phone. “We’re going to take a ten-minute break and do a YouTube crash course on how to get better fast.”
“Oh my gosh. You’re ridiculous,” I say.
“Hey, what are we doing?” Kim calls from the other side of the court. “Are you ready to play or not?”
“We need a longer break,” Theo says. “We’re strategizing.”
Kim laughs. “Of course you are.” She looks over at my mom. “Let’s go get a snack.”
It takes twenty minutes instead of ten for us to watch three different videos about backswings and holding the kitchen line and keeping our power controlled. I only understand half of what we watched, but Theo is fully invested, nodding along, likely taking very detailed mental notes.
“All right. I think I’m ready,” he finally says.
“Are you like this when you play golf too?”
He grins. “It’s why I mostly only play with my teammates. They’re as relentless as I am.” He retrieves our paddles from the bench beside him. “Ready to do this?”
“I think we’re still going to lose, Theo,” I tease, and he shakes his paddle at me.
“Think positive. We’ve got this.”
We do not, actually. But we do manage to close the gap to five points instead of the nine we were beaten by in the first game.
“All right, let’s go again,” Theo says, and I exchange a look with his mom across the net.
“How did you survive this when you had two of him in your house?”
She lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “Lots of chocolate?”
We all laugh, then we start another game.
We lose this one too, but we are getting better. This time, the moms only win by two.
“Okay, break time,” Mom calls. “I need food, and my muscles need a rest.”
The four of us make our way to the picnic tables situated between the courts. I grab menus from a bin at the edge of the table, passing them around to Theo and our moms. Once we decide what we want, we can walk up to the bar to place our order.
“So, what do you say, Kim?” Mom says as she looks over the menu. “After we eat, should we beat them one more time so it’s an even four games?”
“I think we should,” Kim says. “We’ll be nice and refreshed. Should be an easy win.”
“Okay, rub it in,” Theo says, “but we might still surprise you.”
Mom and Kim give me their orders, then Theo and I walk to the bar together. He peels off for a bathroom break on the way, so when I get to the bar, I’m alone.
The bartender is helping a couple of guys sitting a few stools down, but he gives me a nod that seems to say he’ll be right with me. He’s young, probably about my age, and when he finally comes over, he offers me a wide, dimpled smile. He’s wearing a nametag that reads Andy.
“Hey,” he says, his tone friendly. “What can I get for you?”
I give him our food order, adding a couple of hard ciders for Theo and me.
“Got it,” Andy says as he types it into his iPad.
He picks up a number affixed to a little stand and slides it over.
“We’ll bring the food to the table, but if you sit tight, I’ll grab your ciders for you now.
” He disappears for a quick moment, then comes back, chilled cans in hand.
“So who’s winning?” he asks, head tilted toward the pickleball courts.
“Definitely not me,” I say. “My mom just beat me three games in a row.”
“Wow. Brutal,” he says. “If it makes you feel better, you aren’t the first person to tell me that today. It’s usually the moms who are the best at pickleball.”
I laugh. “I’m sure. Mine is in a league back at home, so I expected her to be good, but she’s so serious about it. It’s wild.”
“Back at home, huh?” Andy asks. “You aren’t local?”
“No. From Texas originally. But I live in Georgia now.”
“That’s too bad,” he says, offering me a flirty smile. “If you were from around here, I was going to ask for your number.”
Heat climbs up my cheeks as I let out a little laugh. “Were you now?” It has been a very long time since anyone has asked me out or hit on me in any capacity, and I feel woefully unprepared. I’m not really interested in giving him my number, but I also don’t want to be a jerk about it.
Andy uses a rag to wipe down the bar in front of me, then he leans forward, propping his elbows on his side of the counter.
His eyes are dark brown and rimmed with thick lashes.
Mia would love his vibe. “Would you have given it to me?” he asks, tone still unapologetically flirty. He’s good—I’ll give him that.
For a split second, I actually consider his question.
If I wasn’t on vacation, would I be interested?
The memory of Theo almost kissing me on the beach yesterday pops into my mind, making my heart turn over in my chest. Once we were back at the house, he was a perfect gentleman for the rest of the night, but all through dinner, I’d catch him looking at me, his expression knowing, like we were sharing some kind of secret.
Every single time, his gaze felt like a caress.
So I guess that answers my question. I shouldn’t be giving my number to Andy or anyone else. Not as long as Theo is making me feel like that.
In my periphery, I see Theo approaching.
“I would not have given you my number,” I say to Andy.
The bartender’s face falls, though he’s clearly hamming it up for dramatic effect. “You wound me,” he says. “Why not?”
I tilt my head toward Theo. “Because I’m here with him.”
It’s not technically a lie. I am here with Theo. There’s no harm in letting Andy think there’s more to it than that.
Andy looks over at Theo, and his eyes widen. “Dude. Is that one of the Williamson twins?”
Theo slides onto the barstool next to me before I can answer. He wraps an arm around my shoulders, giving them a quick squeeze. I don’t mind the gesture, but it does feel a tiny bit random, and I wonder if Theo would have done it were I not sitting here talking to another guy.
“Hey,” he says, his voice warm and friendly. “Did you get everything ordered?”
“I did. I was just sitting here talking to Andy, who I think is a hockey fan?”
Andy clears his throat. “The Tornadoes are my team, but yeah. Big fan. Mad respect for you and your brother,” he says to Theo.
“I appreciate it,” Theo says. “The Tornadoes are a great team.”
“We’ve had a rough couple of years,” Andy says. “But I think things are finally looking up. The draft was good to us.”
Theo nods. “I hope they have a great season. Hey, listen, man, it was great to meet you,” he says. He reaches for our drinks, then looks over at me. “Ready to go?”
I pick up our table number. “Yep. After you.” I wave to Andy, and he salutes before turning to another customer at the bar.
“So what did you and Andy talk about?” Theo asks. His tone is teasing, but there’s a current of something just under the surface that gives me pause.
“Oh my gosh,” I say, looking over at him.
“What?” he says.
I stop walking, and he turns to face me.
I smile as I look up at him. “You’re jealous.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not jealous.”
“You are. You saw me talking to a cute and flirty bartender, and you got jealous.”
His jaw twitches. “You think he’s cute?”
“Adorable,” I say, pausing for a long moment before adding, “but he’s not really my type.”
Theo smirks. “No? Well, what is your type?”
I narrow my gaze like I’m really considering. “I think I’d like a really small guy,” I deadpan. “Slight frame, glasses. Maybe a scientist? Someone who doesn’t like sports at all.”
“Wow,” Theo says through a chuckle. “A lot has changed since high school.”
I bite my lip, holding his gaze before saying, “Or maybe I’m kidding and nothing has changed at all.”
Fire flashes behind his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything else. He just nods like he’s making a mental note, then turns and starts walking again.
After a quick and surprisingly delicious lunch, and enough sitting around that we feel like we can play again without making ourselves sick, we set up for our fourth and final game.
Theo is totally locked in, adorably so, and we manage to keep pace with our moms until we’re up by one, ten to nine.
“Game point,” Theo says as he readies himself to serve.
“Bring it on,” his mom says from across the court. “Stop dawdling.”
I exchange a look with my mom, who gives me a tiny eye roll of commiseration, then Theo serves the ball. It arcs high and wide and bounces over the line, and I practically groan. Because now the serve comes to me.
Mom sends the ball back to our side of the court, and Theo retrieves it, walking it over and handing it to me. “You’ve got this,” he says. “Make sure you look where you want the ball to land.”
I nod and step across the back court line to serve. It’s good, landing just in front of Mom. She sends it back, and Theo volleys it over to his mom, who returns it into our kitchen. Theo races up and hits it just before a double bounce, then his mom spikes it hard, sending it directly toward me.
I let out an unglamorous squeak as I make contact with the ball, but I manage to hit it, sending it all the way to the back left corner of the court. It bounces just inside the line, and they miss it.
We won.
I lift my arms over my head and look over to Theo, then I chuck my paddle onto the ground and leap into his arms. My hands land on his shoulders as I wrap my legs around his waist, eyes locked on his. He catches me easily, his arms hooking under my butt, nothing but pure joy on his face.
Something warm and intoxicating unspools in my chest. I really like spending time with him. But even more than that, I like being the one who makes him this happy.
“Aren’t you glad we decided to fight for the win?” he asks.
“Fine. Yes,” I say. “It was totally worth it.”
“That’s a lot of celebrating for a team still down three games to one,” Kim says, and Mom chuckles.
“Oh, let them have their fun,” she says. “They earned it.”
Theo slowly lowers me to the ground, but he keeps his hands on my waist, his expression softening. “I like being on a team with you,” he says, his voice quiet enough that I’m sure our mothers can’t hear.
“Yeah, me too,” I say. “It was really fun.”
He licks his lips, his eyes never wavering from mine as he says, “Look. I know you have a list of very practical reasons to say no. But would you possibly forget them all and have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
My eyebrows lift.
“On a date,” he continues. “A real one. Just the two of us. I want to get dressed up and take you to a nice dinner somewhere and hold your hand in public and know that I’m out on a date with the most beautiful woman in the room.”
I’m suddenly grateful that I’m still holding onto him, my hands gripping his forearms. Otherwise, my knees might actually give out. I used to scoff at the idea of a man making any woman go weak in the knees. I thought swooning was something that only happened in books.
But the current of electricity moving through my body is rendering my muscles all but completely useless. His words sound so good. And the way he’s looking at me, so hopeful and sincere and vulnerable.
I shouldn’t say yes. All my practical, logical reasons still exist. But I can’t bring myself to say no.
So I don’t.
I lift my shoulders into a shrug and smile as I say, “Okay.”