Page 75 of Not That Into You

“She didn’t say whether her friend has experience, but it doesn’t matter. It’s all just for fun.”

Right. “Have you played a lot of pickleball?”

“I wouldn’t say a lot.”

“Do you play in the city?”

“Nah. I’ve only played in the Hamptons.”

“Because you usually play squash?” I smirk. “Or golf?”

He smiles. “Because it’s not really my scene.”

I pick some lint off my skirt. “I didn’t realize pickleball had a scene. Is this the kind of scene where people wear headbands and tube socks pulled up to their knees?”

He snorts. “A lot of retirees play pickleball, so maybe.”

“Oh, I see.” I nod. “It’s not your scene because it’s not a rich hunting ground.” I lift a brow. “No women below the age of twenty-two?”

“You know me better than that, Monica.” He sends me a wicked grin, making my stomach dip. “I’ve always appreciated experience. And besides, older women tend to be more...”

“Discerning?”

“Enthusiastic.”

I snort.

As Cameron parks the Jeep and we get out, I survey the courts. They look similar to tennis courts but smaller.

“Why didn’t we play at your parents’ house? The courts look similar enough that it probably would’ve been easy to do.”

The Stanhopes have two tennis courts, of course, to the left of the pool.

“My mother would kill me if we dared play pickleball on her precious courts.”

“Does she play tennis?”

“Not anymore.” We walk onto the courts and set our stuff down on the side. “But she thinks pickleball is an abomination that threatens tennis. She even started a petition to rid the Hamptons of the ‘invasive sport.’ Her words, not mine. I may like provoking her from time to time, but even I wouldn’t go so far as to play pickleball on her courts.”

I take a few practice swings with my paddle. “I didn’t realize pickleball was so divisive.”

He smacks his paddle against the palm of his hand. “Anything that challenges the status quo will get a reaction.”

We claim one of the courts, and I watch another doubles team on the court next to us.

“See how she serves?” Cameron asks. “You can either drop the ball or toss it.”

He hands me a ball before leading me to a spot behind the baseline. Stepping behind me, he places his hands on my hips and positions my body diagonal to the net. My skin warms under his touch, and I take a deep breath, willing my body to get itself under control. When his hands linger on my waist, I fight the urge to swat him away. There really is no need for this much touching.

Clearing my throat, I clench my paddle. “So, this is the correct stance to serve?”

“Yes,” he says in a gruff voice before removing his hands from my hips. “Try dropping and tossing the ball to see which you like better.”

I nod before doing as he suggested while he jogs to the other side of the court.

“Okay, let’s practice your serve.”

I serve the ball a few times until I develop a rhythm and my serves become more consistent.

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