Page 43 of Beg Me

“I try.”

“Do you?”

I shrug. “Sometimes.”

She gets to her feet and picks up her paddle. “Well, I don’t want to see a gentleman on the court. I want you to be smart. Aggressive. Alert.” She looks at me over her shoulder. “Got it?”

Just like that, the boss lady is back.

“I got it,” I say.

“Good. Now let’s go practice our core shot consistency. Deep serves are something good to master. I love to target the opponent’s backhand and keep them pinned deep.”

She turns, facing me, just as her words seem to register.

I smirk. “Don’t worry. I’m great at pinning them deep.”

She smacks the ball at me, and I hit it back, laughing the whole time.

This is going to be fun.

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

Markie

“Why does it feel like I’ve not seen you in a month?” I ask, sliding into a booth across the table from Nettie with a lychee martini in hand.

Patsy’s, the only place open in Sugar Creek on a Friday night after seven o’clock, is hopping. A group of people hangs out by the television broadcasting a baseball game, and another is huddled around the old jukebox that hasn’t worked in ten years. A few tables and the dance floor are still empty, but that will all change in the next couple of hours.

“Because it has been a week. I can’t think of the last time we went a whole week without seeing each other.”

I frown. “Getting old and having responsibilities suck.”

Nettie takes a drink of her martini, her perfectly manicured nails showcased against the glass.

“What color is that?” I ask. “You never do blue.”

“I know. But I found this one in my stash and took it to the salon with me. It’s an old winter edition from Iyala Polishes. I think it’s called Blue My Budget or something.” She sets the glass down. “They used to have such cute names and packaging, but the brand has really taken a turn for the worse over the last couple of years.”

“I read somewhere that they got rid of their head color designer or something like that.”

She laughs. “How in the world do you know that?”

“Exposé Magazine online. I think.”

Nettie brushes her long, dark hair off her shoulder.

My best friend is downright beautiful. And despite receiving more compliments about her looks than any person I know, she doesn’t have a clue. Her skin looks like it’s never seen the sun, and her blue eyes sparkle, framed by her perfect brows and silky hair.

“Did you get the dress finished for Ginny?” I ask, sipping my drink. I’ve never met a martini that I didn’t like, but the lychee ones are my favorite. I had my first one in Nashville at a swanky bar with Gianna and was obsessed. The only way I could get Patsy to carry the syrup was to buy the first bottle myself. When it sold out in the first week, she realized that I was onto something.

“I did, and it turned out great. She was happy, my bank account was happy, and the only one unhappy was my mother because I used all her thread. But, hey, that’s what moms are for, right?”

I laugh.

She sighs. “So, I have a bit of drama that I’ve been wanting to tell you about.”