Page 31 of The Great Dating Fake Off
“Audiology never sleeps.” I scratch the back of my neck as I toss the coordinator a desperate sort of look. “Are we okay to start?”
“Yes, court two is good to go.” The coordinator holds her clipboard aloft. “Report your scores at the end of the match and we’ll rotate so new duos can compete until we have an ultimate winner.”
“Whoever has fun is the ultimate winner,” Rosalina calls from court one, eyes trained on her father and future father-in-law. “Even a morsel of fun.”
I yank a paddle from the box and cross my court.
Fun. I can do that.
Nora files into player one position. “I’ll serve first.”
“You got it, partner.”
The sun plays off her shiny chestnut hair. “Have you played before?”
“Not much.” Never, really. “Are you any good?”
She lets out a noncommittal noise and sets up her serve. If my research is to be trusted, her legs and arms perfectly positioned. “I guess we’ll see.”
The first few minutes of play, we feel each other out, both our partners and our opponents. With long legs and a great sprint, Benji is surprisingly athletic, though he keeps rubbing his face like he’s in pain. Death by sinuses, indeed.
Meanwhile, Gloria is spry, holding her own next to him. She has a natural ease on the court, like this may not be her first pickleball rodeo. It could very well be something she does with her friends or coworkers back in Great River. Those two are a strangely good team; she tells him what to do, and he follows orders. If anyone is a ringer on this court, it’s her.
Nora and I struggle to find a rhythm through our first few plays. After a lifetime of playing sports, I recognize performance nerves.She’s as stiff as a board.
When Gloria sends the ball sailing between us, Nora lets out a frustrated huff. It hits just inside the back line of our court, scoring them a point.
“Dang it,” she says in dismay. “We can’t both stay forward. Someone has to run the back of the court. Think you can handle it?”
“Sure.”
I drop back on our court, getting in position.
We settle into our new roles quickly; from back court, I easily thwart Benji’s and Gloria’s attempts to score. Nora chants yes or nice under her breath whenever I successfully block or volley the ball over the net. Her celebratory sounds are going to burrow into my brain before long, because I can just as easily imagine her saying them under…different circumstances. But they continue to bring the heat, and I swear Gloria has an extra set of eyes trained on me at all times.She’s got the surveillance skills of a Ring camera in the suburbs.
Nora loosens up the longer we play and watching her… It’s addicting. Her bright smile, her enthusiasm, her competitive spirit are like air to my fire. Then there’s how, every time she hinges at the waist or plucks the ball off the ground, her already short shorts ride up a little more. I force myself to keep my sights set high. I am successful about 98 percent of the time.
Two percent is all it takes to memorize the perfect shape of her ass, though.
I take a deep, slow breath. Nora D’Amato is an occupational hazard to fake dating.
With a nice, easy swing, Nora scores her first point.
“Finally!” She beams at me, her now messy hair flying in the breeze.
“Atta girl.” I pump a fist in the air, but then the impulse to gather her hair in my fist to get it out of her face hits me.
I catch a look at Gloria and Benji from the corner of my eye and guilt floods me in a rush. I need to turn my excess adrenaline into fuel so we can win this thing and be done.
Miraculously, we take the first of three games. The sheen of sweat on her skin matches my own as she claps in celebration.
I salute her. “Well played.”
She salutes back. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
There was nothing bad about it. Her fun-loving attitude makes her a great teammate. “Not at all.”
Gloria’s voice floats through the air. “Good work, you two.”
