Page 28

Thursday, May 18

“DRINKS WITH THE competition. Are you sure your teammate is cool with this?”

Freddie swirls the whiskey in his glass, clinking the lone square cube back and forth before taking a slow pull of the murky brown liquid.

Niko relies on pure, icy focus and strength against his opponent to win. I’ve gotten used to being around this energy, enjoy it even. But Freddie’s offensive strategy is all charm, oozed all over whoever is in his orbit, and right now that happens to be me.

I’ve carried the heavy stress of the last few weeks and, frankly, the last few years just underneath the surface of my skin. But after Travis bailed on the job, I could feel it erupting, hot lava spilling out in every movement of my body, every word that comes out of my mouth.

“Niko doesn’t care what I do,” I say with a confident smile. The truth is that I’m pretty sure he does care, and I care that he cares. But there is a layer of confusion on top of all the real feelings that have bloomed between the two of us. “And if he did, I’d put him in his place. Anyway, I’m not here to talk about Niko. I’d actually love to talk business.”

I pinch the orange peel in my glass and bring it to my lips, nibbling on the alcohol-soaked fruit, enjoying the immediate effect of it relaxing my shoulders and tamping down my nerves.

Freddie shifts in his chair, recrossing his legs before he settles in a little closer to me. His shirt is the palest of pinks, and his sleeves are cuffed in precise rolls, showing off a different, glitzier watch this time. He’s one of those men who’s just a little too comfortable taking up space, and even though I’ve never seen him on an airplane, I know instinctively that he spreads his legs wide and hogs the shared armrest. “Okay, now I’m curious.”

I take a deep breath.

“The Sunset Springs Racquet Club is my family’s legacy.” I’ve practiced this little prepared speech all afternoon, but that doesn’t make it any easier to say. “First, it was my parents’ together, then my mom’s on her own, and now it’s mine. And it’s struggling. I’m struggling.”

He nods, giving me a sympathetic look. “You’re looking for someone to buy the place?”

“No.” I place my palms flat on the table in front of me, steadying myself. “I’m looking for an investor.”

A flicker of something passes across his face, and I race to identify it. Is it intrigue? Amusement? Before I can get a good read on him, it’s gone, and he’s back to that easygoing, steady gaze.

“Pickleball is expanding rapidly. You know this better than anyone,” I say, and though I can feel my heart thumping through my chest, my voice is calm and even, the projection of a professional, which is desperately what I want Freddie to see. “Well, anyone else besides me. The demand is there, but the club needs work in order to catch up and be competitive.”

“So you want a silent partner.” He says each word slowly, like he’s processing the idea. I take this as a good sign and continue.

“Yes. A co-owner, though I’d keep the majority share of the place.”

“And what does your boyfriend think of you approaching me about this?” His eyes are warm and unassuming, but his words grate. They’re infantilizing and insulting. I’m here to talk about business, not Niko.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” I say this plainly, and the words feel strange coming out of my mouth, probably because I have not confessed this to anyone else. But also, maybe, because he really had come to feel a lot like a boyfriend. A very, very real one.

“Did I miss something?” Freddie squints in confused thought. “When did you break up?”

I brace my hands on the edge of the table, trying to figure out the next right thing to say to keep our story going. But all I can come up with is the truth. “Cone of silence?”

He nods. “Of course. We’re friends.”

I restrain the urge to roll my eyes and continue.

“Niko and I have a deal. He’s being profiled by Angela Rakkas for the LA Times . He wanted to get some good press before this qualifier. She’s been covering him for the last few weeks. So we exaggerated our relationship a bit to make the story better and get the club featured in the piece, too.”

Freddie’s mouth drops open slightly. “Wow,” he says finally. “I have to hand it to the two of you. That’s a brilliant little scheme you’ve concocted.”

He tilts his tumbler toward me, a toast, a gesture of respect, and we clink glasses, the liquor burning its way down my throat. “And quite a business arrangement.”

I know I should feel guilty for sharing our secret, much less with someone Niko loathes. But it feels so good to speak the truth, like a stack of bricks has just been lifted off my back. I can’t save the club without first being honest about what I need and what I want to do.

“That’s exactly what it is.” I start to fidget with my hair and then stick my hands in my lap. “You can probably tell that the racquet club is my life. At this point, I’d do anything to save it.”

“Like partner up with me,” he says, cocking his brow ever so slightly, like he’s enjoying this discovery.

“We’re underwater financially, and I need something to change. Obviously being featured in the LA Times could get us some buzz, help bring people in. Paying customers. Which I need, especially if I don’t win the prize money in the tournament or the exhibition match.”

“I thought you were going to kick my ass,” Freddie says conspiratorially.

“Well, obviously, I’m planning on doing that.” It’s a joke, of course, but also it is the plan. “But, you know, I’m trying to cover all my bases.”

Freddie crosses and recrosses his legs, and then tents his fingers, tapping them against his chin in thought. “Maybe you don’t need a partner, though.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, slightly caught off guard.

“I don’t know,” he says, but he sounds anything but uncertain. “It sure does seem like selling the club could be the kindest thing you can do for yourself.”

“Trust me, I’ve thought about it,” I sputter. “The club is work. Just me, doing everything, all by myself.”

I don’t think I’d realized how lonely and hard the last couple of years have been until I’m saying it out loud to Freddie.

“The only thing stopping me from selling it, throwing in the towel, is that I truly love it more than anything else in the world. And not because of my parents or mom, or even the members, though they’re everything to me. It’s because it’s a part of me, above all. I really want to do this myself.”

“Jesus,” Freddie chuckles, giving me an admiring look. “If you’re this determined about saving the club, then you really are going to kick my ass in this exhibition match.”

Finally, it feels like he’s getting my point, and I scoot forward in my seat, trying to land this pitch confidently.

“I know I can pull it off. I know this place better than anyone. I just need the financial support to make it happen. And with an investment that makes improvements to the club, you get to be the hero who saves the day. If, of course, you’re interested.”

He considers this for a moment, tapping his index finger on the rim of his glass in thought.

“Well, I appreciate you telling me all this,” he says finally, and his blue eyes are angelic, almost translucent, his face genuine and kind. “And frankly, I’m flattered that you’d want to go into business with me, of all people. I mean, it’s no secret your— Niko doesn’t like me.”

“Well, just because the two of you have history doesn’t mean we can’t get along,” I say diplomatically.

This morning, I dug up YouTube clips of Niko’s last match, and sure enough, there was Freddie on the opposite side of the court. These days, they both look a touch older, broader, stiffer even. Niko’s hair was shaggier three years ago, but his obsession with white sweatbands was evident then, too. Freddie’s now-trimmed blond hair was also longer during that last match, tucked under a white cap. It’s not an especially extraordinary match, from what I can tell. They’re both close in score and skill. But there’s a moment when Freddie says something, and Niko grows more and more agitated until that final second when he slams his racquet and stumbles and the course of his tennis career changes in a quick, brutal instant.

“He was always my favorite person to play against,” Freddie says. “Like oil and water, the two of us, but sometimes we actually mix together well.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” I admit, and my body does that hot, flushed thing it always does when I think about Niko.

“Well, he’s lucky to have you.” Freddie shifts in his chair, dragging a finger along the rim of the crystal tumbler in front of him. “As…” He waves a hand like he’s a magician casting a spell. “His pretend girlfriend and sort-of-real doubles partner?” he says, crinkling one eye at me in the quickest of winks.

I laugh at the absurdity of it all. “Yeah, sure, that works. But it’s just for the Paddle Battle. He’s determined to get back to tennis, I think.”

“Yeah.” Freddie considers this for a second. “But when you’re injured like he was, it’s hard to bounce back.”

I feel immediately defensive of Niko, protective even. “Well, he’s definitely put in the work.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t matter.” Freddie shrugs. “There’s always going to be someone younger, better, waiting in the wings for you to literally fall.”

He takes a gulp of his drink and continues. “I’m just glad I figured it out before I hurt myself to the point where I couldn’t play. I’m way happier playing pickleball. And the money, the growth, it’s so much bigger and better than tennis.”

“Exactly.” I try to steer the conversation back to my original goal. “I hope this means you’ll consider discussing my offer further?”

“Let me think on it,” he says, and his face is friendly but utterly unreadable. His poker game must be impeccable. “But I hope, after all of this, we can stay friends.” It’s a strange thing to say, but before I can question it, Freddie lifts his glass toward me again.

“Cheers,” he says, and when our glasses connect, he winks before throwing back the rest of his drink.