Pickleballers

Chapter Fourteen

Fourteen

Meg gaped, her confusion giving way to surprise when her brain confirmed what her vision suggested. It was him, that dastardly, dashing Ethan Fine, sauntering onto the court.

Her lips stuttered before the words tripped out. “What are you doing here?” Meg asked, trying and failing to keep her voice cool as she wrapped her head around this turn of events.

“I was wondering the same thing about you,” he commented.

They blinked at each other and at the same time said, “Marilyn invited me.”

Still adjusting to the shock, she took in his full appearance. He wore a sports tee, the kind made from a material that clings to the pecs and accentuates the abs. When her eyes traveled down his torso, they halted. His right hand loosely gripped…a pickleball paddle?!

“Is that a…pickleball paddle?” The question, in light of the circumstances, was idiotic.

Ethan’s gaze flicked to his hand. “Sure looks like one.”

Of course he played pickleball. He looked like an ad for pickleball. Meg thought, I would buy a lot of pickleball . A reactive grin angled up Meg’s cheek, but she stopped it in its tracks.

Wait a sec. She was furious with him.

The chill Bainbridge aura that had soothed her moments earlier drained away and her mind recalibrated. Michael Edmonds, pie, the original courts, all of it vanished as she set about facing the enemy before her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Ethan Fine, master of pickle sabotage, was a pickleballer?! Yet he had padlocked Lakeview’s courts! The truth of his manipulations sank in: he had understood the impact of closing their courts on their preparations for the tournament, yet he had done it anyway! And then, to add insult to injury, he’d had the nerve to kiss her and make her feel all moony over him. That infuriating, wetland-preserving Adonis! What a weasel.

The porch door smacked shut. Meg forced herself to stop staring and turned to see Marilyn hefting a fat blackberry pie. “Ethan. Glad you could make it. This is Meg. I invited her today because I thought you two should meet each other.” She looked from one to the other. “Or have you already met?”

“Yes. Actually, Meg and I have met on a couple of occasions,” Ethan said, gazing at Meg with his sultry, hooded eyes. Dammit! Why wasn’t he acting all sorry and drenched in guilt for putting the kibosh on her league’s dreams? And why did his stare make her feel like combusting into flames? She felt the reaction in her belly, her barbecue burners heating up. She could have grilled a T-bone, easy.

Ethan was still chatting, oblivious to Meg’s inner incinerator. “My mom and Marilyn have known each other for years.”

Marilyn’s eyes twinkled with laughter. “Oh yes. She used to bring Ethan here all the time. He would run around like crazy through these woods. We had to watch him like a hawk to keep him from putting pine cones in his mouth.”

“And that was just last week,” Ethan deadpanned. The mischief in his eyes was so appealing. Dagnabbit! A pickleballer! The nerve. For the better half of June, he had worked beside their courts, hefting pipes and posing for her imaginary calendar, and never once did he give any indication that he was a player. Even times when they clearly needed a fourth.

She would bring it up. The locked courts. The destruction of Lakeview’s dreams. She would lay into him right now and give him a piece of her mind.

Marilyn set the cast-iron skillet on the wooden bench. The bubbling blackberries dripped from the crumble crust.

Maybe a piece of pie first; piece of her mind later.

“How ’bout you two hit a bit while it cools,” Marilyn suggested. To Meg she said, “Ethan’s a natural. He played badminton on the US national team.”

A professional net athlete? She would not play with him. Not in a million years, she thought as her gaze skated along the tendons powering his calves. Those were picklecalves, all right. Go figure. Not just a pickleballer, but a champion athlete. Somehow this made things worse. If he had been just an average, run-of-the mill jock, it would have been easier to stomach his vendetta against Lakeview’s courts. But a guy like that? He should know better than to take away the training ground for the up-and-coming players.

“That’s all right. I have plans to play later today with my friend ,” Meg said, emphasizing the last word to clarify where her allegiances lay. “Anyhow, you’re probably out of my league.” She narrowed her eyes at him coolly.

“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” he said. “But I hope not.”

Meg gulped. How infuriating it was, the way his voice instigated a melty feeling in her belly. And when he extended a pickleball—never looking at it but only at her—she took it, promising herself to chew him out after the game. And after the pie.

Fine. She would play, albeit recognizing that she had held off just shy of a millisecond. And anyhow, she couldn’t lay into him with Marilyn standing right there. That would be rude! But she would show him—she would refuse to enjoy it.

And then they were warming up. While they dinked, somehow she managed to get the ball back to him. His stylish shots appeared effortless while hitting their mark consistently. She had played with and against plenty of people who boasted that they were lifelong racket sport enthusiasts and retired tennis pros, but badminton’s technique transferred perfectly to pickleball. Ethan’s hits were accurate and relaxed. She watched him command the court, admiring-not-admiring his athleticism and grace.

Marilyn waved from the sidelines. “All righty. Now, who wants pie?” These Bainbridge folks were so darn likable, it was hard to be mad. Perhaps, she began to think, Ethan was right to padlock the Lakeview courts. Who knew what crazy stunt Jeannie might pull next; something to jeopardize the rest of the school’s expensive remodel? Obviously, his consulting company couldn’t take that risk.

Besides, Meg’s fortuitous discoveries were beginning to blur the edges of her ire. Look at where she was! Playing on the original courts. Ethan in shorts. Blackberry pie for breakfast. It was barely nine in the morning, she realized as they broke for pie, and there was already cause to celebrate.

The blackberries tasted divine—the ideal blend of citrus and sweetness with a kick of vitamin C that tingled Meg’s cheeks and set her salivary glands humming. She scraped her fork along the plate, capturing the last slivers of berry juice, and stopped short of licking the plate only after a cautionary glance from Marilyn when she lifted it to do so.

“Delicious,” Meg declared, and leapt up to help clear.

“Leave it,” Marilyn commanded. “I’ll get it later.” She was already sorting through her bag of pickleballs and choosing the greenest, bounciest one. Marilyn marched to the service side of the court and assumed a ready stance. “Let’s try something. The two of you against me. I’ll play this side. Cutthroat style.”

“Marilyn…” Ethan started. “The two of us against one of you? No offense, but…”

“Tch.” Marilyn’s fingers snapped together. “Zip it.”

Meg joined Ethan on the opposite side of the court. “Do you want me to…”

“Zero–zero,” Marilyn said, announcing the score and closing any arguments. Immediately, she served a zinger that whipped right past Ethan.

“Oh. It’s on.” Ethan nodded, accepting the challenge.

“1–zero.” Marilyn pulled a new ball from the hip of her stretchy leggings and powered off another serve. This one, Meg returned to corner court.

Marilyn was spry and had no difficulty covering the full court. And while Meg played with enthusiasm, Ethan’s talent was his patience and technique. In between points, he shared strategies, using his paddle as a screen to hide his lips.

“She’s a power player,” he whispered. “Let her beat herself. All we have to do is hit soft. Dink. Place our shots and let her whale on it right into the net.”

And it worked. As a team, they complemented each other. Where Meg had speed and strength, Ethan had finesse. Marilyn, however, continued to pepper Meg with rocket shots.

“Slow it down,” Ethan encouraged. And the next time Marilyn sent a bullet across the net, Meg dampened it and dropped it into the kitchen. Marilyn was still at the baseline, and although she ran toward the net, by the time she got there, she popped the ball and it flew right into the woods.

“I got it,” Marilyn said, and slipped between the bordering trees to scrounge around in the underbrush.

When she was out of earshot, Ethan commented, “See? If you return force with force, the bangers will beat you every time. But if you take off the power, they can’t get to it.”

“I’ll have to remember that.”

“I knew you two would play well together.” Marilyn returned, waving the plastic ball overhead like a prize. Handing the ball to Meg, she said, “Ethan is playing in the tournament, but we are working on finding a solid partner for him. Ethan, dear, I’m trying to get Meg to jump ship from Lakeview. You ought to convince her to play in Picklesmash on our beginner team with you.”

Hold on. What? “ You’re playing in the beginner slot for Bainbridge?”

“Oh yes.” Marilyn nodded. “He’s never played in a pickleball tournament before. You two would make a good pairing. Mind you, he already has a partner, but I think you might be a better fit. And you said yourself last night at the winery: your Seattle team may be going with a different beginners’ matchup. Seems like when opportunity knocks,” she said, rapping on an invisible door, “you should answer the doorbell.”

Meg could hardly believe what she was hearing.

A surge of indignation built from her nylon laces to her elastic hair tie. Now it made sense. This must have been his sadistic plan all along. Close their courts. Lock up the gate. Pit the players against one another. Then crush them in Picklesmash and take the spoils for Bainbridge. Now, wasn’t that a bag of pickles!

And how dare Marilyn suggest that Meg consider dumping Lakeview to throw herself in with their chief competition. Besides, playing for her Seattle team wasn’t only about proving that she could succeed, or that she could take down Vance in a pickle-off. She wanted to contribute to Lakeview’s opportunity to earn the funds to build new courts. And even though Jeannie had treated her like doggy doody and threatened to replace her with her nemesis, Lakeview was still her community. They were like family. And didn’t all families have a dysfunctional relative like Jeannie, anyway? Someone who would get super wasted at Cousin Caroline’s wedding and loudly proclaim that the groom looked like Mr. Potato Head? She was losing the thread, but the point was that even though she was clearly attracted to Ethan—because he was undeniably the hottest thing since the surface of the sun—he had methodically machinated a malicious scheme against her peeps, and she was not about to let him get away with it for one second longer.

Her rib cage heaved and she glared at him. Meg was a teakettle on the verge of a boil. A lit firecracker. “Can I speak with you for a second?” she asked, sounding more together than she felt.

Ethan exchanged a wary glance with Marilyn.

“I’ll just”—Marilyn looked around for a prop—“take this spoon inside,” and she ambled through the screen door.

Alone with Ethan now, Meg glowered. Dammit, she had really liked kissing him, and now it was her job, nay, her duty, to tear him a new one.

“What the hell, Ethan?” She felt her nostrils expand with her ire, and even though she knew it was not a good look on her, she flared away. “You act like you’re all sympathetic about us losing our courts because your company is shutting them down, but really, you can’t wait to slap a Plan It Earth padlock on them and keep us from practicing so that your Bainbridge buddies can leap up and take Picklesmash from us. And what’s with the save-our-wetlands crap, huh? Was that just some cover story so you could take down our league? I mean, do you even like birds?”

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Slow down. I—”

“Don’t ‘whoa’ me. You play pickleball and you never mentioned it? And then you lock up our courts so Lakeview can’t practice? You’ve been plotting this all along, haven’t you? You and your…pie-baking, pickleball-starting, planet-saving, jerky Bainbridge friends.” That had not come out as venomously as she had intended.

“Hold on.” Ethan’s tone was calmer than she wanted it to be. Go ahead , she thought, just try and defend yourself . She was itching to do a dramatic stalk-away. “You’re talking about the padlock I put on the Lakeview gate?” he asked.

“Yes. That’s the one. Why? Are you padlocking multiple courts?” She did not hide the snark.

“Okay. Yeah. That was me. I put the lock on ’cause the courts were soaked from all the rain, and they were in such bad condition that you had moss growing. The surface was so slick I was worried you guys would get hurt. I just locked them up for a few days so my crew could pressure-wash the surface. It was kind of a peace offering. I left a note, but it must have blown off. Anyhow, they’re open again, and not so slippery…”

Her mouth worked pointlessly. “Oh.”

So he’d locked the courts out of kindness. That put a damper on her indignation.

“And I’m sorry I didn’t let you know that I played pickleball. I wanted to, but then that Jeannie woman…” He grimaced. “I hate to think what she’s like when she’s really angry.”

It was true: Jeannie’s methods of showing her loyalty to her league were unconventional. Meg could hardly blame Ethan for withholding when the alternative was to face Jeannie’s wrath.

“But, as for Marilyn’s suggestion that you consider playing on Bainbridge’s beginner team—I mean, I already do have a beginner partner. But he’s on the fence about playing in a tournament. And you just seem like a solid player. So if Lakeview is already set on their roster for the tournament—”

“Lakeview is not yet set on their roster.”

The screen door creaked. Then stilled. Then squeaked again. Then Marilyn swung it fully open, no longer hiding behind any pretense that she hadn’t been eavesdropping the whole time. “Meg, dear.” She gave Meg a mollifying, close-lipped smile. “Give it a try. How ’bout you come out and practice with him a few times? See where it goes.”

Ethan tilted his head and gave her a baleful, puppy-dog plea. It was annoyingly persuasive.

Meg’s throat let out a frustrated growl. She wanted so badly to beat the pants off Vance for that spot. She wanted to crush him beneath her pickleball shoes with her treads, which were especially conducive to lateral movements. And here she was, standing not two feet away from the one guy who could bring up her game.

“Fine. I’ll practice with you,” she said. A grin split his cheeks. “But only so that I can earn my spot on Lakeview’s roster. You’re going to have to keep looking for a partner of your own, and then you better be ready, ’cause my partner Rooster and I are gonna bring it!”

“Deal.” They shook on it, and the heat in his eye contact scorched her eyelashes. She let down her guard and allowed her lip to creep up her cheek. He’d padlocked the courts so he could clean the moss! What a relief to know that he was not a total asshole. And that was a good thing, because with the way he looked in those shorts, it would be a shame to hate him.

From the doorway, Marilyn feigned disinterest in their private conversation. “Anyone up for another piece?”

“More pie, Meg?” Ethan asked, his voice low. “I know I would like another piece. Once I had a taste, I knew I wanted more.”

And both of them knew they were not talking about the pie.