Page 8 of Pick Me

His suspicious expression made me regret my blurt.

Suddenly, the club felt airless, and the hum of the overhead lights had the same annoying, barely audible whine as bug zappers.

I stood motionless with my paddle hanging limply at my side, trying to come up with a reason why I needed to fast-track my

lessons. Making up stories was what I did for a living, so why couldn’t I spin a convincing juke that would keep Owen from

thinking I was an obsessed stalker?

But he was also my conduit. If I was honest with Owen, maybe he’d figure out a way to broker a game with Kai?

My desperation must’ve telegraphed across my face, because he softened as he studied me. “Is it a work thing? You need to

brush up on your skills so you can play with clients or something?”

I bit the inside of my cheek as I considered how much to tell him. He looked worried, like he was as invested in my quest

to master the sport as I was, no matter the reason. In the past hour, I’d experienced a couple different versions of Owen:

a supportive, you-can-do-it coach and a hard-driving taskmaster. I liked this new side of him, the one reassuring me that

we’re a team and we’ve got this.

“I’m a writer,” I began slowly. “I’ve been writing romances for a few years now. Cowboy romances.”

Owen bobbed his head. “Very cool. I’m a big reader. Where can I check out your work?”

My heart melted a little at his question. Most guys made jokes about “mommy porn” when I mentioned what I did for a living.

Even Leo had asked to read “just the dirty parts” of my books. I’d quickly schooled him about the clean/dirty debate in the

romance world, making sure that he understood that “spicy” was a much better descriptor, since sex wasn’t inherently dirty.

Although sometimes it was, in the best possible way.

“Online mostly. They’re ebooks,” I explained, without mentioning that I wrote under a pen name. “Anyway, I’ve been in a rut

lately. I had a bad breakup, and getting into the right headspace to create happily ever afters has basically been impossible

for me.”

The corners of his mouth turned down. “Oh, wow. Sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks. I have a deadline coming up fast, so I’m sort of desperate to find some inspiration.”

Owen eyed me suspiciously. “And pickleball is going to inspire your writing? Kind of a stretch, but okay. I’m down to help you get where you need to be.”

Part of me didn’t want to admit that I was only into the game for the vibes and not the love of the sport. It seemed shallow,

and as much as I never wanted to be that girl, it felt very pick me. I was pretending to be into pickleball to attract a guy’s attention. Still... desperate times.

A deadline. Bills. I forced myself to keep going.

“You know that guy you teach on Thursdays? Kai?”

Owen took off his hat and smoothed his hair back.

I tried not to stare, because it was the first time I’d seen him without his ubiquitous hat, and I was shocked by how good he looked naked headed.

The mullet-esque section that looked a little scrubby peeking out the back was actually luxurious in its full glory.

Thick, wavy chestnut hair that was so healthy I wanted to ask what kind of shampoo he used.

“Kai Dorset? What about him?” Owen asked warily as he pulled the hat back on.

His last name—another piece of the puzzle.

I cleared my throat. “It turns out he’s sort of like...” I steeled myself to admit it out loud. “My muse. Or he’s going

to help me find my muse. Or a combination of both. I hope.”

It came out sounding even weirder than I’d imagined.

Owen shook his head like he couldn’t process what I was saying. “ How? Do you even know him?”

“I don’t actually, and that’s where all of this comes in.” I gestured around us with my paddle. “I figured if I could get

good at pickleball, it would be an easy in with him. A meet-cute. And once we’re hanging out, hello inspiration.”

A beat while Owen furrowed deeper and considered what I’d just revealed to him.

“So you’re only learning how to play pickleball to meet a guy you have a crush on? A stranger. And that’s going to fix your

writer’s block?”

Yeah, it definitely sounded worse spoken out loud. My face went hot at getting called out by him.

“It’s hard to explain,” I said slowly, gathering the nerve to reveal myself. “Have you ever met someone, and you feel this

immediate bam reaction to that person? It’s a connection you can’t explain, like everything around you is fuzzy and they’re the only thing in focus.

It doesn’t make sense, but all you want to do is stare at them.

Be close to them. You’re intoxicated with the very idea of that person. In book world, it’s called insta-love.”

Owen’s expression went even more skeptical.

“Hold on—you’re in love with Kai?”

“Oh no, not at all.” I laughed, hoping to dial down the strangeness of the conversation. “In this scenario, it’s more like

insta-attraction, not love. Trust me, I’m not ready for anything heavier than that. Ever since my breakup, I’ve felt like

my heart is in hibernation.”

Owen’s jaw flexed as he stared down at the paddle in his hand. “Got it.”

As awkward as it felt revealing myself to him, I pushed on to finish, hoping that I might be able to tidy up the mess I was

making on court thirteen.

“When I ran into Kai, it was this, like, full-body-sparks kind of sensation. This indescribable pull to get to know him. Totally

weird, I know.” I paused. “Has that ever happened to you?”

Owen flipped his paddle around a couple of times, still not looking at me. “Yeah. I’m familiar with the sensation.”

“Okay, then you get it,” I exclaimed, relieved that he understood the free-falling feeling. “It doesn’t make sense when you

try to put it into words, but when it comes to the heart, what does?”

“Have you had an actual conversation with Kai?” He shuffled in place as he seemed to digest my strangeness.

I wrinkled my nose, feeling very called out. Somehow, Owen managed to zero in on fault lines in my fantasy.

“Sort of? You were there for the extent of both of them.”

“Do you want me to just introduce you to him? Might be easier that way, since you don’t seem to be enjoying the lesson,” Owen said gruffly.

My face went hot, because I didn’t want him to feel bad about his instruction. Sure, I could tell that Owen was a little frustrated

with me since I wasn’t the easiest student, but he’d kept finding ways to switch things up, to make the best of what little

I had to offer skills-wise. He was a great teacher; it was the student side of the equation that was the problem.

“Oh my gosh, I hope I didn’t come across that way!” I replied quickly. “It’s not you; it’s me. I’m a mess when it comes to

sports, as you’re well aware of by now.”

“No, I disagree.” Owen narrowed his eyes at me for a moment, and I felt even more exposed, because the guy seemed to notice

everything. “You’re overthinking everything— that’s your problem. It’s not an abilities issue. Your head game is off.”

He was being way too kind.

“Oh, come on, it’s more than that.” I chuckled.

“So do you want me to just introduce you to Kai or not?”

Owen sounded peevish, like he now thought that I was wasting his time with my dating drama. Maybe I didn’t make it clear enough

to him that my career was hinging on my heart status?

“I mean... yeah, that would be great. If we can do it in a way that’s not too obvious. Could we arrange a game this week?

Like, you and me on one team and him and someone else on the other team?”

Owen threw back his head and let out a throaty laugh that didn’t sound at all joyful. “Yeah, no . Kai takes his game very seriously; he only plays with people who have a skill rating over 4.0.”

The number meant nothing to me so I pushed on.

“Okay, how about a casual, accidental hang here, then? Like, I could swing by when you have a lesson with him, and we could all grab smoothies afterward.”

“Sure, I could try to arrange that,” Owen said. “But he did tell me that he’s got no time for dating right now. His work is

intense, plus he’s training for a tournament out west in the fall. He’s pretty focused on that.”

“So you’re telling me it’s hopeless.” I felt my shoulders sag.

“Not necessarily,” Owen replied flatly. “You’re right; the best way in is definitely through pickleball. If you commit to

practicing, I can help you get to a point where you could hold your own, and then I could engineer a game with him.”

“In four weeks?” I asked. “What are you, a miracle worker?”

He spun his paddle like he was a Wild West gunslinger. “Sort of. But you’d have to come twice a week at least.”

“But I’m not a member, and I’m maxed out with these four lessons,” I reminded him.

He glanced around the space, then back at me. “If you can be here before we open, Tuesdays and Thursdays are yours for the

next four weeks.”

“You mean three weeks, since my first lesson is already over.”

He waved his hand through the air dismissively. “It’s fine. I can do four. I guess the question is, can you ?”

I straightened my back. “Whatever it takes.”

Owen frowned at me. “You’re really into Kai, huh?”

“As of now, I’m into the idea of him,” I replied quickly. “I’m assuming he’ll live up to my hype. You’d know that better than me at this point. Is he a

good guy?”

“He’s fine, I guess,” Owen said with a shrug. “Great player. Always on time. Obviously very good-looking.”

A shrill bark echoed around us, and Owen glanced over his shoulder to the offices.

“That’s Marti. She needs to take a walk. Gimme a sec and we’ll head out with you.”

“You’re dog friendly here?” I asked as he jogged away.

He turned around and jogged backward, something he’d told me during the lesson was a pickleball no-no. “Not really, but Martina

doesn’t care about the rules.”

I tried to envision what sort of dog Owen could have and settled on something big and goofy, like a Rottie or pit bull. The

scruffy little purse dog that skittered across the courts to check me out was the last breed I expected to meet.

“Well, hello, you!” I dropped to my knees to try to pet the pup as she barked and spun in circles. “She’s so cute! What’s

her mix?”

Owen watched her proudly. “A chihuahua-terrier combo, rescued from a hoarder. Best dog in the world.”

Marti was chihuahua-sized, with brown-and-white wiry fur and the most impressive muttonchops and mustache combo I’d ever seen.

She had the sort of crazed expression that suggested she had a lot of opinions about everything and needed to express them

all, right this minute.

The little dog finally stopped barking and spinning and allowed me to rub her shoulders. She panted up at me, leaning against

my hand.

“If you don’t stop petting her, she’s never going to let you leave,” Owen cautioned. “Hey, Marti, suit up. Let’s walk.”

Owen pulled a leash from the pocket in his shorts and clicked the clasp a couple of times, which woke Marti from her trance.

She ran over to him and danced on her back legs.

He scooped her up, clipped the leash onto her navy harness, and gave her a quick kiss on top of the head before setting her on the ground again.

They were adorable together. Tall, solid Owen and sassy, little Marti, who walked in front of him like she was a protection

dog and not actually appetizer-sized.

“Ready?” Owen asked me. “I want you to take a paddle and a couple of balls home with you. Work on those forehand and backhand

drills.”

“Pickleball homework ?” I laughed as I put the paddle I’d been using in my bag. “I thought this was supposed to be fun.”

Owen either didn’t hear me or he pretended that he didn’t. I joined them on the way to the lobby, where the morning shift

employees were just filing in.

“Morning, Grip; hey, Marti.” A couple of them saluted the pair with their coffee cups as they passed by.

Owen turned to me once we were out on the sidewalk, pausing to let Marti sniff the base of an overfull garbage can.

“If you’re serious about getting good, I can help you,” he said, fixing me with a stare that felt sharper than the way he’d

been watching me during the rest of our lesson. “But you need to commit. And you need to stop going on and on about how you’re

not athletic.”

I snorted lightly. “But it’s the truth . I’m a realist.”

“Nope.” Owen fixed his dark eyes on me. “What we tell ourselves forms our reality. You keep saying you’re clumsy and hopeless,

and you will be—I promise you that. From now on, your new mantra is ‘I’m a work in progress.’”

I smiled at his accidental symmetry. “I’m a WIP, huh? That’s what writers call our unfinished books. I like it.”

He ignored my attempt at levity. Now that he knew I had a goal and a deadline, his entire persona seemed to have shifted to all business. “I know it’s short notice, but can you meet this Sunday morning?”

“Is that going to count as one of my four actual lessons or...?”

Owen frowned at me. “I told you not to worry about it. If you can be flexible, I’ll slot you in wherever.” He paused. “As

long as you’re enjoying the lessons. The second it’s not fun, you need to rethink this whole plan.”

I didn’t let on that our first lesson hadn’t exactly been a party. But there’d been moments when Owen had praised me for managing

to get the ball over the net that made me feel a little glowy inside. I’d been frustrated enough to contemplate giving up

a couple of times, only to get an obscure Owen compliment for something like my foot placement or ball focus, and it was enough

to keep me going.

“I’m in it to win it,” I replied. “We’re going to have a blast.”

Owen watched me for a beat longer like he was a police interrogator waiting for me to crack. I nodded hard, smiling so wide

that my cheeks hurt.

It was my most harebrained scheme yet, and he’d been roped in as my unwilling accomplice. He finally nodded back at me.

I was on my way.