Page 14

DEB GRIPS MY shoulders, twisting me closer to Niko until my back is flush against his chest. I shuffle back a step and bump directly into his groin, causing my entire face to sizzle with heat. Niko clears his throat, which tells me he’s just as uncomfortable. But Deb is oblivious, clucking as she instructs him to place a hand at my waist, just barely touching my exposed skin at the edge of my shirt.

Some poor soul had painstakingly hung hundreds of different-colored pickleballs with clear fishing line from the ceiling of the covered entryway, and Deb shooed away the professional photographer the second we got close enough so she could stage her own photo shoot. She’s trying to pose us “correctly”—her words—in front of the official photo spot at the entrance to the party, but it’s hard for me to focus when all my thoughts are rushing to the small spot, just above my hip, where our bodies are connected without any sort of barrier between them.

“I need you two to focus so we can get this shot,” she chides as she maneuvers our bodies like we’re mannequins, until she finally has us exactly where she wants us. “Perfect. Don’t move.”

I freeze in place as she starts snapping away, but my eyes wander, taking in our surroundings as much as possible without turning my head.

Under an awning of twinkly lights, we were offered drinks immediately upon arrival. A pathway of flickering lanterns leads partygoers toward the entrance of the building, which is flanked by two gurgling koi ponds. Even I have to begrudgingly admit that Starlight is stunning tonight, completely transformed from tennis club to nightclub.

Together, Niko and I look like something a kindergartner would have at their school desk. I’m dressed like a box of crayons in my cropped pink T-shirt and tangerine ankle pants, accented with my favorite secondhand sea-blue platform heels. He’s a piece of plain white construction paper.

We’re shockingly oppositional, but there’s also something about us that fits together. Perhaps I could add a little bit of color to him. Maybe he could help me stay in the lines.

“Come on, you two, can you cuddle or something?” Deb cajoles as she steps forward to tweak the edge of Niko’s collar, tugging it until it falls just so. “Look alive! Look happy!”

I decide to change position and turn sideways, nuzzling my cheek against his shoulder and bringing my palm flat on his chest. He’s stiff against me, and I give him a little squeeze, trying to signal that I also feel awkward and exposed doing this. It’s nothing like when we’re alone, kissing or not.

“Eyes up, please, Bex!” Deb instructs, as Loretta stands next to her, studying us with her uninjured hand resting on her chin. “Niko, look here, please.”

We’re frozen in position, balls bobbing around our heads, when I catch the shape of a man in my peripheral vision, stopping just off behind Loretta.

“Niko?” The voice that belongs to the stranger is deep, British, and undeniably sexy, and I turn my head to get a closer look.

“Bex!” Deb scolds, because I’ve ruined her photo. But I’m a red-blooded American woman, and a British accent is our kryptonite. And damn, am I glad I looked. The guy lurking there with bright, curious blue eyes is the closest thing I’ve ever seen to a cartoon prince come to life. He has one of those exquisitely proportioned faces; every feature is symmetrically aligned as if sculpted, chiseled, and placed just so by an artist. His blond hair is the color of perfectly ripe corn in August, and my mouth almost waters at the sight of him, just on instinct alone.

But he’s not looking at me. All his attention rests on Niko, whose expression lingers somewhere between surprise and irritation.

“Hey, man!” the absurdly handsome creature says as he takes a couple steps forward. “I thought that was you.”

Deb gives up on her photo and moves to the side with a disgruntled sigh as the stranger leans into Niko, offering him a half hug, half back-slap of an embrace. I’m still half attached to Niko’s arm, and so the mystery man also half hugs me by default. It’s all very awkward.

“Freddie,” Niko replies as he pulls away from both of us, his voice as cool and hard as his gaze, a stone floating at the bottom of a roaring river. “It’s been a while.”

“Deb Curran.” My friend reaches for the stranger’s hand, beaming. “I’m a massive fan.”

Unfazed, his smile turns on like a spotlight, and he flashes it back at her. “A pleasure,” he purrs.

All at once, I realize exactly who this is: Freddie Alwin, former pro tennis player and one of the highest-ranked pickleball stars playing professionally right now. Staring at this famous face, I’m both giddy and confused. Freddie is a big deal and currently rising to the top tier of the pickleball world. There’s no way Niko doesn’t know this, so how the hell has he not mentioned that they are friends?

Loretta tugs Deb toward the entrance of the club and Freddie turns back to Niko.

“Yeah, mate,” he says, casually tucking his hands into his pockets. “I made the switch over, and I haven’t looked back. I’m sponsored by Reebok now.”

“For pickleball ?” Niko asks, tilting his head like a confused dog hearing a strange sound for the first time. A quick scan of Freddie’s outfit—lightweight athletic tee in a silvery blue, sporty black slacks, just out-of-the-box sneakers—reveals that he is, indeed, sponsored from head to toe.

“Oh yeah, it’s incredible. I bloody love it. Have you played?”

“Actually, I just entered my first tournament,” Niko says curtly. “We’re training now.”

“Wow,” Freddie exclaims enthusiastically, and when he claps his hands, I notice the glimmer of the giant gold watch on his wrist. “Look at us. I’m so glad to hear you’re getting back out there, you know?”

Niko nods, signaling that he does, indeed, know , but I feel left in the dark, like they’re having some other conversation behind the one I’m hearing. I keep a pleasant smile on my face as I watch the two of them. But inside, I’m like a chain-smoking detective yanking their hair out trying to solve a complex case after pulling an all-nighter and chugging a pot of burned coffee. There is a bulletin board in my mind with photos of Niko and Freddie tacked up on it, and I’m about to pin up a red string that connects the two of them.

Before I can piece it together, Freddie turns all his attention on me, and good lord, his gleaming smile is as blinding and overpowering as his obvious confidence.

“And you’re the beautiful woman he pays to put up with him, then?” he asks, brow cocked curiously, clearly expecting me to melt like a marshmallow over a flame in his presence.

“I’m actually the beautiful owner of the Sunset Springs Racquet Club. You should come check us out sometime,” I say, offering up a big smile and strong handshake. “Bex Martin.”

“You don’t say?” His face lights up, like every word I’m saying is the most interesting thing in the world. “I’ve heard that place is special. Very authentic Sunset Springs. I’d love to visit.”

“It’s one of the original midcentury modern buildings in the area, from the 1960s. I want to try to get it designated as a historical building.” I talk about the club like it’s my child, and frankly, I feel as proud as I imagine parents do, watching their kids take their first steps or graduate from high school.

“Bex and I are playing the Paddle Battle here together,” Niko says. “She’s got a monster serve.”

I do? I mean, I do , but this is the first time I’ve heard him compliment my pickleball game, and I shoot him a skeptical look.

“Ah!” Freddie says, slapping his hands together enthusiastically. “Fantastic. I’ll be there. I’ve been training at Starlight for the last few months, but I’m technically the celebrity guest that day.”

He gives us a sheepish shrug, but the modesty feels forced. Freddie is hot shit, and he knows it better than anyone.

I can feel Niko prickle a little next to me, and I give him a quick look, trying to ascertain why. All he says is a flat “Great.”

Freddie tilts his chin back in my direction, the high beam of his eyes once again on me, leaving me feeling exposed.

“Bex.” He repeats my name back with a nod. “Smashing outfit, Bex. That shirt is perfection.”

“Oh, thanks. I made it,” I tell him, feeling a self-conscious flush of pride.

“Wait, seriously?” Freddie replies. “You made that?” He gestures down at my BIG DINK ENERGY tee, the same shirt Niko had so unceremoniously refused to match with me. “I love it.”

“I do it for fun, mostly. It’s not a big deal,” I say, and I’m immediately annoyed with myself that my initial instinct is to downplay my creative projects. “I’m going to be fundraising for the club, though, so I thought I’d try my hand at T-shirts.”

“Well, it’s fantastic,” he gushes. “Can I buy one? I love to support local spots.”

“No!” I say, and then shake my head, trying to clear out the nervous jitters. I’m used to talking about the club, but I rarely discuss my fashion creations with anyone outside of Sunset Springs. “I mean no, you can’t buy one. But I’d love to make you one, on me. I’d just need to get your size and print it up for you. I could have it ready in a day or two. Just having you wear it around would be massively helpful.”

“Wonderful,” he says, and he seems genuinely enthused. “Can I put my number in your phone?”

“Yeah, of course.” I dig my cracked iPhone out of my bag and hand it over to him.

Freddie flashes one of those wickedly handsome smiles as he taps his number in and passes it back to me. I study his perfectly white, even teeth; either he’s one of those genetically blessed dental anomalies, or he’s coughed up thousands for veneers. Either way, his mouth, like everything else about him, is movie-star caliber.

“I sent myself a text message from your number,” he says with a flirtatious quirk of his brows. “Let’s connect.”

“That would be great,” I say, beaming back at him.

“Well.” He leans in to do that half hug thing again, grasping Niko’s biceps affectionately. “I guess I’ll see you soon then, eh?”

“I can’t wait,” Niko replies flatly.

“Bex, lovely to meet you.” Freddie gives me a firm shake of his hand. “I’ll wear that shirt with pride.”

“Amazing! Thank you.” A light thrill passes through me. Freddie Alwin was a massive deal. If I could get him in one of my T-shirts, who knows who else would see it or, better yet, want one.

Freddie saunters off with a wave, and the second he’s engulfed in the crowd I smack Niko on the arm.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you knew Freddie Alwin? I don’t appreciate my boyfriend and teammate keeping secrets from me.”

“It’s public knowledge.” Niko gives me a peeved look. “You seem to know everything, so I just assumed you knew that too.”

“How the hell would I know that?” I ask, already defensive. No matter how many times I tell myself that he is strictly my on-court partner, I still always feel like I am on high alert around him. Our kiss has triggered every fight-or-flight response in my body, and I can’t shut it off. I prepare for his retort, readying myself for something salty about how I’d denied we were a couple, a failed execution of our shared plan.

“Well, I specifically recall you making fun of how I hurt my knee when we met.” His eyes narrow as he moves closer to me, and the look on his face is both menacing and playful, like a cat delighted with the mouse it’s just cornered. “So shouldn’t you also know that I was playing Freddie Alwin when that happened?”

“Okay, first of all…” I take a step back, offended by his assessment of me. “I didn’t make fun of you .”

“I have a very good memory, and I’m pretty sure the word you used was tantrum .” Niko gives the glass in his hand a small circular shake, jostling the ice.

“Well, what would you call it?” I retort. “That’s sure what I remember it looking like.”

He purses his lips together, clearly annoyed, but doesn’t offer up an alternative.

“You still could have said something!” I throw up my hands. “He’s a huge deal in professional pickleball. I literally would have been begging you to put me in touch with him had I known you were friends.”

“We are not friends,” Niko hisses, like it’s the most offensive thing anyone’s ever said about him.

“So you hate the guy because he just happened to be there when you hurt yourself,” I say.

“I didn’t just hurt myself, Bex. I ended my entire career. My life.”

There’s nothing I can say back. I can’t comprehend what it’s like to have your body not cooperate with your brain, though it dawns on me, as I stare at him, face clouded with rage, that I’ve seen it happen before, recently. It just didn’t end my mom’s career, her passion. It ended everything.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean—”

“It is fucking humiliating to lose,” he says, cutting me off. “Especially to an opportunistic asshole like Freddie Alwin. The guy’s a prick.”

“He seemed perfectly nice to me,” I protest, thinking back to how eager he was for his own BIG DINK ENERGY T-shirt.

“Trust me, spend five years living with him on the road. He’ll become very obnoxious very quickly.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you seem to hate him so much,” I say as I take a step closer to him. Everything about Niko is severe—the pitch-black of his irises, the sharp widow’s peak in the center of his hairline, and the way his muscles cut lines through his skin in directions to all the parts of his body I still desperately want to run my hands across.

He’s quiet for a minute and then takes another step closer. “Because he was there. Because he was part of what happened, whether he caused it or not, and now he’s always going to be linked to that loss, to that terrible, shitty day when my entire life changed. It doesn’t make sense, and I don’t care if it makes sense to anyone but me. He’s a part of it.”

He slowly blinks once, then twice, like he’s sending me Morse code with his eyes.

“Also he’s a fucking dick,” Niko says again, breaking the silence.

I can’t help it. I laugh, a loud guffaw that cuts through the quiet of the night. For all his moody, brooding shit, Niko somehow has the timing of a stand-up comic. He’s genuinely funny when he wants to be, though I have no idea if he realizes it.

“Well, I’m still going to give him a T-shirt,” I say diplomatically.

“Which you called ‘not a big deal,’” he says, and it takes me a second to realize he’s quoting my words from the conversation just moments ago.

“Yeah,” I reply, annoyed at how random this inquisition is. “So what?”

His eyes drift upward as if it should be obvious why this is irking him. But it’s not.

“You shouldn’t talk about the stuff you make like that.”

He pauses in thought for a moment, like he’s staring in front of two roads and deciding which one to take.

“Okay.” I look down at my outfit, perplexed, because I’m not quite sure what point he’s trying to make.

“Your clothes are special,” he says finally.

I register the kindness of his words, the way his eyes soften into something almost sweet as he stares at me. But this brief moment of affection for him is pushed aside by a lingering grievance from earlier.

“Says the guy who flat-out rejected the T-shirt I made for him!”

I throw up my hands in annoyance. Kissing or not, he constantly makes my head spin in intoxicating, infuriating twisters of frustration.

Niko glances off in the distance and then looks back at me. “It doesn’t mean I don’t like it,” he says quietly.

This still sounds like bullshit to me, and I quirk my face into a skeptical scowl to let him know.

He raises his hands defensively. “Look, I’m not as confident as you are with things like fashion.”

I blink, stunned, and almost shout Uh, that’s impossible , because, well, it is. This is a person who flaunts his arrogance like a three-piece suit. But instead I wait for a second and watch him, and the unsure look on his face tells me that maybe there’s some truth to this admission.

It takes me a beat to realize that this is Niko’s version of a confession. It’s something he doesn’t let just anyone know about him. But of all people, he told me.

“Okay, well…” My frown lines soften into something close to a smile. “Thanks, I guess. But it would have been nice if you’d worn it.”

“As if a shirt that says ‘Big Dink Energy’ will convince anyone that Freddie actually has it,” Niko scoffs, a devilish smile slowly spreading across his face.

“Well, you couldn’t pull off that shirt, even if you did wear it.”

“Oh, come on, Bex.” His lips curl into a smile that sends my stomach burning. “You don’t need a T-shirt to know what I have.”

We’re trapped in an awkward silence until Wilson comes sashaying up to us, a tumbler of brown liquor in hand. “And here I thought I was going to have to convince you to come tonight,” he says to me, planting a kiss on my check. He reeks of self-tanner and cologne, and it makes my stomach turn with nausea.

“Hi, Wilson.” The best I can muster is a tight-lipped smile.

“You got my email, I assume?” he asks, cocking his brow at me.

“Yeah, I did, but I didn’t look at it,” I lie. “Considering it’s dead on arrival.” I burn with the desire to put this man in his place, and I can’t wait to walk away with his prize money and use it to make sure he never asks about buying the racquet club again.

Wilson ignores my retort and turns to Niko with open arms.

“I almost did a double take when I saw your name on the registration.” He says everything too loudly, like he wants the whole party to hear it. “We’re going to have to give you a hero’s welcome.”

Niko nods politely. “It’s nice to meet you…”

“Wilson.” His voice booms. “Big fan. I thought you were done playing, so it’s pretty exciting to have your return be here at Starlight.”

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to it,” Niko says, and seeing him like this, all manners, makes me want to laugh. I much prefer his saltier, ornery side, as much as it also drives me nuts. “But it’s not actually my return. It’s just pickleball.”

“That’s what they all say,” Wilson cracks, and I can tell it gets under Niko’s skin.

“Listen,” Wilson continues, “I was going to try to track down your number, but while I have you, I’m just going to lay it out now, man to man.” His energy is used-car salesman, all showy and smooth, as he positions himself directly in front of Niko. “I love that you entered the tournament, but an exhibition match between you and Freddie would be an even bigger draw. Especially with you both playing pickleball. Best of two out of three games. And obviously, I’ll pay you.”

Wilson pauses, like he’s planned how this conversation was going to go and this is where he decided to take a breath.

“Freddie’s all for it,” Wilson continues. “I’ve already run it by him. The chance to be his partner is part of the silent auction we’re running leading up to the tournament. It’s all going live online tomorrow. But playing with him, and against you ? It will be an even bigger draw for people bidding on the chance to be in the game. And the press will love it. Or maybe you and Freddie could pair up, and—”

Niko cuts him off. “Bex is my partner. If I’m going up against Freddie, it’s with her.”

“Fair enough.” Wilson lifts his hands defensively, his drink sloshing. “How about this. I’ll match the tournament prize money for an exhibition, if that helps to entice you. And if you win, you get double that. We’ll make it interesting.”

This is when my eyes practically roll out of my head and fall into the champagne flute I’m clutching to my chest.

“You don’t have to tell me now,” Wilson says, leveling a look at Niko. And then with a jab to his forearm, he adds, “Just tell me tonight, before you leave.”

“We’ll do it!” I interject, practically throwing my body in the middle of the two of them. “We’re in.”