Page 19 of Pick Me

“Okay, this book is dark as hell,” Meredith leaned over and whispered to me. “I’m only a couple of paragraphs in and the witches

are already doing blood rituals on catcallers.”

“That’s Nia, fighting the patriarchy the old-fashioned way.”

We were in the front row at Dog Eared Books for Nia’s Speak Softly book launch, and Meredith’s quick skim of it was clearly turning up gems. I’d read an ARC and knew exactly how psychopath-adjacent

my friend came across on the page. What the world didn’t realize was that the author who knew her way around creative murder

weapons, morgues, and mausoleums took notes in a Lisa Frank notebook with a Hello Kitty pen.

I turned to glance at the rows filling up behind us. We’d arrived in Brooklyn early so we could get seats up front because

the ticketed event had sold out almost immediately. Based on the crowd size and stacks of books at her signing table, Nia

was probably on her way to bestseller status.

Meredith closed the book in her lap primly and turned to me. “So when’s your book party?”

“Stop.” I rolled my eyes at her.

“I’m serious. The only thing holding you back from all of this is you.”

“Um, no, trust me, there are many, many, many roadblocks before this destination.”

“But you’re still working on the romantasy idea, right?”

I frowned and hunched my shoulders. “Yeah, and it feels like I’m cheating on Austin.”

She frowned at me. “Oof. So The Rancher’s Backdoor Baby is breech?”

“Stop it; that’s gross.” I laughed as I bumped against her. “And yes, I’m suffering for every word I write.”

It felt like voodoo to keep pinning my hopes on some magical connection with Kai, but I was getting desperate. The words were

not coming, and the clock was ticking. Piper had gotten back to me about the pages I’d sent her with less than encouraging feedback

along the lines of “sorry, not feeling this” and “I can’t tell where you’re going in this chapter.”

I’d never, ever reneged on a contract, but at the rate I was going, it felt possible.

Although Owen had all but promised a save in the form of a Kai connection on the horizon, I tried to envision how everything

would fall into place once it happened.

We’d meet at CPA for a game or two, which, terrifying .

I’d serve like a pro and dink the hell out of every shot. I’d be in the zone enough to not just play well, but also strategize

my moves.

Kai would be frustrated by my prowess at first since we’d be on opposing teams, then impressed, then enamored.

We’d finish and Kai would be drawn to chat with me about my killer backhand. Another team would come to claim our court, and

we’d make plans to continue our conversation over drinks.

Drinks would turn into dinner, then nightcaps, and the eve ning would end with a toe-curling kiss, a promise of more to come.

The next morning I’d wake up with a renewed belief in happily ever afters, thanks to the world’s best date the night before,

and when I sat down at my laptop, I wouldn’t stop until I’d added four thousand or so flawless words.

At least that was how I hoped it would go. There were quite a few variables that I couldn’t control, as well as one I could—my

performance—and they all made the scenario that much more challenging.

“ Great crowd,” Meredith said as the quaint shop filled between the bookshelves.

“That’s Nia. She’s a force.”

“Getting close to standing room only.” Meredith turned around and craned her neck. “Hey, is that Bucket Hat sans bucket hat?”

Owen and I hadn’t spoken in the few days since the inexplicable kiss. I still needed to pick a date for open play on a public

court.

I turned around, and sure enough, Owen was standing in the back, bareheaded and chatting with a petite, gray-haired woman.

I gasped at the sight of him in a white linen button-down with his dark baby mullet tamed. Despite the omnipresent hat and

slobby clothing at CPA, he clearly knew how to dress in the real world.

“That’s weird. Why is he here?” Meredith asked.

For an instant, I considered that it was because he knew I’d be at the signing, but we’d never discussed my connection to

Nia.

“He’s a big reader. Maybe he likes her stuff?”

I could see how he’d be into the haunted house vibes of Formido , but Speak Softly was about a different kind of terror. Nia had told me her publisher had pushed back because of the tonal difference between

her first and second books, forcing her to go to battle for the dark feminist horror novel. Given the prerelease reviews for

Speak Softly , Nia had been right to fight.

“I’m sorry”—Meredith leaned closer to me, still torqued around in her chair and staring—“but he looks good .”

I ignored her and watched Owen chat with the woman, hoping to catch his eye so I could wave at him, but he was too engrossed

to glance away from her.

The store’s marketing manager came out to introduce a yellow-jumpsuited Nia to the crowd, and Nia proceeded to charm her audience

for an hour straight. When it came time for questions, everyone seemed too starstruck to speak first, so I raised my hand

to ask about her writing process even though I had a front-row seat to it.

I could almost feel Owen’s eyes on the back of my head after I’d asked the question.

Once Nia finished, everyone lined up to get books signed. I was well acquainted with the process, so we managed to maneuver

our way to the front of the very long line. A quick congratulatory hug and photo later, Meredith and I were munching on book

cover cookies—creepy because the cover featured a phallic-looking mushroom—plotting where we wanted to have dinner.

“Bucket Hat incoming,” Meredith said behind her hand because her mouth was full. “Hope it’s not too awkward for you post-make-out

sesh.”

“It was a split-second kiss, not a make-out,” I hissed. I squared my shoulders, fixed a smile on my face, and turned to greet Owen. “Hey there!”

“Well, this is a surprise.” He grinned at me, then turned to Meredith. “Good to see you again. How’s the foot?”

“Hiya.” She bobbed her head and pointed at her boot. “Home stretch. Thanks again for all of your help when it happened.”

“Of course, glad you’re doing better. Colton really misses playing with you.”

The sweet-faced older woman appeared at Owen’s side, clutching Speak Softly against her chest.

“Oh, hey, you’re done already,” he said to her. He refocused on us. “This is my mom, Cynthia. Mom, this is my pickleball student

Brooke and her friend Meredith.”

“So nice to meet you both,” Cynthia said warmly as she shook each of our hands.

Cynthia had sparkling eyes and a smile that didn’t quit, and I liked her immediately.

I nodded toward her book. “Did you read Formido as well?”

“I did, and it was terrifying.” She shivered her shoulders. “I can’t wait for this one.”

“I read an early copy; you’re going to love it,” I assured her. “What about you?” I asked Owen.

“I did. I read anything my mom tells me to read. She has impeccable taste.”

Cynthia chuckled at him.

“You guys, I have a great idea! We were just talking about grabbing dinner,” Meredith said. “Why don’t you join us and we

can keep the book talk going?”

I shot her a look for being an instigator.

“Oh, I would love to, but I need to catch the train back to Jersey. I know this guy is hungry, though,” Cynthia said as she

glanced up at Owen. “He’s always hungry.”

I felt something spark in my chest when his eyes landed on me, like he was looking for some sort of approval from me before inserting himself in our evening.

“Yeah, join us,” I said quickly, because a meal with Meredith could smooth over any residual kissing weirdness with Owen.

“That’d be great, thanks.” He bobbed his head. “I’m going to walk my mom to the station, so text me where you’re going and

I’ll meet you there.”

“Oh, stop,” Cynthia tutted as she flapped her hand at Owen. “You don’t have to walk me.”

“Mom, I’m walking you,” Owen insisted. “It’s five minutes away; it’s fine.”

We said our goodbyes, and Meredith decided on a restaurant with an outdoor patio since the heat of the day had mellowed to

tolerable. The sax-heavy sex music and dim lighting in the place clued me in that we were making a mistake as we followed

the hostess outside.

“Mere, this is a first-date restaurant,” I complained in a low voice. “Look around—it’s all couples.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged. “The drinks are supposed to be amazing. And tonight we’re a throuple.”

The hostess seated us at a table in the middle of the patio, and it felt like we were under a spotlight despite the romantic

lighting on the rest of it. I glanced around hoping to find a more secluded option, but every table was filled with moony-eyed

couples.

“There he is.” Meredith waved her hand over her head. “Over here!”

I followed her gaze and once again felt something spark to life inside of me as Owen threaded through the tables, while every

woman and a few men turned to watch him. He lit up when he spotted us.

“Hey.” He plopped down in the chair next to me. “Thanks for letting me crash your meal. I’m actually starving.”

“Um, I’m sorry to report that it’s tapas.” Meredith held up the menu. “Are you okay with small plates?”

“Half a dozen small plates equals one normal one. Yeah, I’ll make it work.” He chuckled.

Before long, our table was crowded with deliciousness that was more than enough to fill all of us.

“So how’s our student doing on the court these days?” Meredith asked as she struggled with a shrimp tail. “She’s way too modest

about her game.”

I slid my eyes to Owen right as he did the same. Perfectly in sync, on and off the court.

“Brooke is someone who thought that she was an underdog,” he mused, watching me. “We had to take care of some faulty wiring,

and now she’s basically unstoppable. I’m seriously impressed.”

“So you are good.” Meredith fake-glared at me. She glanced back at Owen. “She’s always like, ‘I’m not ready to play a real game; I need

more sessions with Owen.’” Her voice went whiny as she impersonated me. “But now I know the truth. She’s having fun with you.”

His expression softened as he turned to me. “So you really are enjoying the lessons, huh?”

I shifted in my seat. “Well, yeah. Of course I am.”

We shared a flicker of a moment as we both seemed to consider how far we’d come in just a few weeks.

Meredith pushed on, oblivious. “Every time she gets back from the club, she goes on and on about what a great coach you are.”

She looked over and winked at me.

Okay, so not totally oblivious. I felt my face go hot.

“Well, thank you, that’s nice to hear,” he replied softly, looking down at the tiny, empty plate in front of him.

“A good coach can make or break you,” Meredith continued. “I did gymnastics in high school and my coach was the worst . She’s the reason I quit.”

“I feel that.” He sighed. “Been there with my college tennis coach.”

Once again, I wished that I could dig deeper into Owen’s backstory, but he kept his life zipped up. I guess I was used to

having guys spew their autobiography at me without any prompting. Maybe I was enjoying the foreign feeling of being the center

of attention during our sessions?

Then again, maybe I was as pathetic as a guy at a strip club, convinced the dancer was into him instead of realizing that

he was paying for the pleasure of her company?

“Right, Brooke?”

I’d been so in my head about what I was to Owen that I didn’t hear what he’d said.

“Sorry, what was that?”

Meredith leaned closer to me, wearing the world’s biggest shit-eating grin. “He said you’re going to sign up for the New York

Parks Pickleball Tournament!”