Page 30 of The Great Dating Fake Off
“No, it’s okay. Go play until I’m done.” When I start to follow her anyway, she twists her wrist to mime turn around. “Go! You live for this shit.”
She jogs back to the steep sidewalk, phone pressed to her ear.
Despite her command, I still debate following her. Not a soul on these courts would miss me.
But I’m already down here. Frankly, pickleball on a nice summer morning sounds better than anything else I could be doing right now, even with the risk of Vinny and Giuseppe paddle-slapping each other to death before we even begin.
I head over to the containers and pluck a musty blue vest from the collection, then shuffle sideways and settle within earshot of Nora and Benji.
She pulls a red vest over the generous swell of her chest. Benji’s vest is too short. He tries to pinch the fabric and pull it lower, but it doesn’t budge.
“Why do I need to wear this?” Benji asks. “Wait, better question: do you want to go back to the room and order room service instead of playing a sport neither of us cares about?”
“The vests are fun!” Nora smooths her hands down her stomach. “We’ll play and then we’ll get room service later. Or we’ll go down to The Malted Moose and socialize.”
They titter back and forth, but his storm cloud demeanor does nothing to dim her brightness. She’s like a little sunbeam, especially in that yellow shirt.
She does a double take and catches me staring.
Busted.
I move closer and lift a hand. “Hey there.”
The green of her eyes is washed light in the sun. Her lips lift in a tiny smile. “Good morning, Sebastian. Ready to rumble?”She hooks her thumbs through two of her belt loops, drawing my eye down. With a jolt that feels like waking up from a deep sleep, I discover that I’m a huge fan of cut-off denim. And tied-up T-shirts.
And those damn strings.
My hands find my pockets. “I was born ready.”
She grabs Benji’s hand and once again does not lace their fingers together. Even still, the easy contact makes the hair on my arms prickle. “Good luck. We’re off to pick court assignments.”
Benji massages his cheek with his free hand. “We aren’t even playing on the same team, Nora. What’s the point of staying here?”
“The point is we love exercise, and your sister is right over there. Buck up, buttercup. Wait, what’s wrong with your face?”
“I forgot my allergy meds and my sinuses hurt,” Benji grouses. “The Adirondacks are lethal in June. It’ll be death by grass if I stay out here too long.”
She tugs him along like a tired kid at Disney World.“There are worse ways to go than grass. C’mon, let’s get our blood pumping.”
I absently rub my chest as the coordinator explains the rules. Grunts and we got this, they’re-going-down-style trash talk ripple through the thirty or so of us scattered over the courts.When she finishes her spiel, she fills out court one with four players—Rosalina and Enzo, playing against their cranky dads. The dads look like they are turning blue from the restraint of not clobbering each other, despite being on the same team. Carnage in the making.
Benji and Nora gather at the edge of court two.
“I need two blue players over here!” the coordinator yells. When she looks up from her clipboard, her eyes meet mine. “You ready, Mets hat?”
I swallow down my knee-jerk panic. There is no good reason to say no, even though something in me screams bad idea at the idea of spending prolonged time with her. Not when that’s all I currently want to do. “Sure.”
Still, those two can’t play on the same team in their matching red jerseys. I’ll have to pick a partner. I’m halfway to Benji’s side when Alessia’s grandmother strides forth in a crisp white tennis dress and blue vest. “I’ll play on the shaggy-haired gentleman’s team. Benjamino, was it?”
Benji adjusts his sunglasses as he shifts into position on his court. “That’s me. Sebastian can play with Nora.”
Gloria looks my way. “Where’s my granddaughter?”
Unease churns in my gut. I check my phone for a text from Alessia before discarding my stuff on a bench. If Alessia is truly dealing with an emergency, I’ll just have to uphold the duties of an imitation boyfriend without her.
I point over my shoulder, nerves spiking. “Oh, uh…needed to take a work call.”
Her thin lips pull in a line. “I thought she was on vacation.”
