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“Whoops!” Georgia calls. “I’m sooo sorry.”
I’ll bet she is.
“Are you OK?” Dash comes over, looking concerned.
“I will be, once we beat her,” I say through gritted teeth, my shin stinging. No way was that an accident. I should be getting hazard pay.
We have another match point, so I line up to serve, narrowing my eyes at Georgia across the net.
If she wants to play dirty…
Whack.
The yellow projectile whizzes across the net, striking Georgia directly in the right boob. Her ear-piercing shriek stops nearby play. Heads whip our way. She drops her racquet, doubling over and clutching her chest. “Owww!”
“Oh, no, I’m sooo sorry!” I call, mimicking her syrupy voice. Ha! But just as I’m celebrating our win—and my personal victory—I realize Zelda is watching from the sidelines.
Shit.
We pack up and leave the court—Georgia whimpering over her bruised boob—but just as I’m braced for Zelda’s disapproval, she gives me an appraising look. “Congratulations,” she says.
I wince. “I might have let my competitive side get the better of me,” I say, but she just smiles.
“I like a bit of fighting spirit,” she says, and then gives me a wink.
Huh!
My victory is cemented when we head into lunch. “You don’t mind if it’s just family, do you Georgia?” Zelda says, stopping her at the door. “I’d love some time with just for us.”
Georgia’s face falls. “Of course,” she manages to cover. “I’ll see you tonight at the gala. You owe me a dance,” she adds to Dash, fluttering a wave on her way out.
I breathe a sigh of relief. One down… I’m going to need all my charms to keep up with Zelda and her third degree, but instead, she turns to me with a smile.
“Sit by me, Callie. I want to hear how you came by that killer backhand.”
* * *
To my surprise, my cutthroat performance on the court seems to have won Zelda over. Or at least thawed her by a couple of degrees. She spends the meal chatting to me about her own sporting adventures, and asking me questions about my makeup ambitions, and working at the store.
“It sounds like the time I had in my hostess days,” she remarks, after I tell some stories about my regular clients. “The people we’d meet! Of course, you’re probably not fending off drunk bachelors getting handsy after dark.”
“You’d be surprised,” I smile, relaxed now. “Plenty of men drop by wanting a gift for their wives… And then wind up asking for our numbers.”
“That’s terrible!” Piper exclaims.
“Lorelei gives them the number of a male sexual health clinic,” I say with a grin. “I just add a gift bag to their purchase. Because she deserves it.”
Zelda chuckles along, then tuts. “Put that phone away, Dash.”
“Huh?” He looks up. He’s been checking it all through lunch.
“Manners, please.”
“Who are you texting, anyway?” Piper asks.
“My other girlfriend,” Dash answers with a wink.
“Oh, how is she?” I ask, playing along, even as I feel an unwelcome flicker of jealousy.
