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She had no words except. “Shit.” She froze.
“Hey.” He shook her a little to get her attention. “Breathe. See. This is why I didn’t tell you.”
“Sorry. Now I’m uncomfortable because I’m with a big shot’s son.” She tried her best to make light of being here with him, but she felt suddenly inadequate.
“Technically not his son, his nephew. But don’t feel that way. You know me. Anyway, It’s not a big deal. We aren’t gonna talk to anyone. It’s just you and me and the Pickleball court.” He kissed her lightly and gave her that smile she couldn’t resist.
She smiled back and wobbled her head. “Okay. Let’s do this.” She placed a peck on his cheek and let him lead her to the court.
They stood on a court that reminded her of a tennis court only smaller. In her hand she held a racket that was like a ping pong paddle, just a little bit bigger. She swung it back and forth. “Okay, so what’s this Prickly Ball, thing?”
Tristan laughed. “It’s not Prickly ball. It’s Pickleball. It’s a combination of tennis, ping pong, and badminton.”
“Okay. I’m good at Badminton. We used to play it in the backyard all the time with Mom and Dad.” She was swinging the racket, getting the feel of it. “This racket is light. What’s the rules?”
He gave a quick description of the parts of the court and some basic rules.
Stacey held her hands up, gesturing around her side of the court, and bounced on her toes, ready for action.
Tristan chuckled and got ready. “Okay, why don’t we just make it simple and hit the ball back and forth to get used to it. Then we’ll add a rule or two as we go.”
“Sounds good.” She gave him a thumbs up.
They played, and she caught on quickly. It was fun. Much easier than tennis, but harder than it looked. They played for a while before they kept score.
She didn’t have all the rules down, and it took her a bit to understand she had to stay out of the kitchen—the front part of the court—unless she was chasing a ball that bounced in there, but soon she had it down. Tristan won the first two games. Of course, she thought he cheated, but she came back and won game three.
They were taking a break, and Stacey was enjoying herself. “Now that we’re tied…”
Tristan grabbed her water bottle. “Tied? Who’s tied? I won two games to your one.”
She snatched back her water bottle. “No. Game one was practice. We’ve each won one. We’re tied.”
He lifted a brow. “Okay. Since you want to be tied, we’ll have to break the tie with a wager.”
She swallowed the water she just poured in her mouth and looked at him. She liked the idea of a wager. She could think of some interesting things they could bet on. A smile grew on her face. “What kind of wager?”
She hoped he would come up with something interesting—something they could do in bed or somewhere creative. The kitchen counter came to mind, and a smile met her eyes.
Tristan shot her that smoldering look that melted her every time. “Are you game for anything?”
The counter, maybe the shower. She looked around. Here? “Oh yeah.”
“Loser must service the winner any way they want for thirty minutes. Tonight.”
Stacey shivered. She already had some ideas. That’s an easy bet. If she wins or loses, it’ll be fun. But she doesn’t like to lose.
She shot her hand out. “You’re on.”
He winked at her. “Let’s do this gorgeous.” He kissed her cheek. “You serve.” and walked to his side of the court.
“Hey, Tristan,” Stacey yelled across the court.
He stopped and turned. His brows lifted. “I like pickles. Large dill pickles. I like to suck all the juice off. Mmm.” She licked her lips and served the ball.
He wasn’t ready. Point Stacey.
She served again. He volleyed it back. She stepped in the area of the court called the kitchen. It’s his serve.
