Quinn:I accidentally kept your cloak
Logan:Keep it. Or you could bring it by the shop tonight if you have time. I’ll have a break around six
My paper-thin self-control flutters. My parents would understand if I needed to return something—it would be an easy excuse to see him again. But each time we’re alone together, it only amps up the temptation to act on things we agreed to forget.
Quinn:I’ll bring it to the game next Saturday
My phone buzzes with a new text, but this one isn’t from Logan.
Grandma:One of my usual pickleball opponents broke her hip. Can I count on you to fill in for her tomorrow after school?
I’m not entirely sure what pickleball is, but isn’t it something physical? Why is Grandma playing any type of physical game at all? That sounds dangerous.
Quinn:Maybe this is a sign to take a rest from it. It sounds intense
Grandma:Absolutely not. She didn’t break her hip while playing
She sends another text with an address for the same sports complex where Andrew plays indoor soccer.
Logan:Your grandma just invited me to play pickleball
I cuss under my breath. I’ll give her this—Grandma has impeccable timing.
Quinn:I’m sorry. You don’t have to go
Logan:If you havent noticed, your grandma doesnt understand the word no
Quinn:She texted me too. I guess we’re supposed to fill in for someone who broke her hip??
Logan:I don’t even know what pickleball is. Do we throw pickles at each other?
Quinn:That sounds like a real waste of pickles.
Logan:I hate the things so I’m happy to throw them at you.
I shake my head, the image making me laugh.
Logan:I’m in if you are.But I need to get my truck into the shop this week, so I doubt I can drive myself
My breath catches. He’s really willing to do this? What boy wouldeverbe interested in playing sports with elderly women, even if it also means hanging out with someone his own age?
Quinn:You really don’t have to. I’ll make an excuse for you
Logan:I don’t want an excuse. Unless you don’t want me to come
Quinn:I didn’t say that. Though maybe it’s safest if you don’t?
A text bubble hovers on my screen for too long, as if he’s debating what to say. Finally another message pops up.
Logan:Playing geriatric sports is the safest thing we can possibly do together. It’s like putting in volunteer hours. I should add it to my college applications.
I snort with laughter, feeling more relieved and excited than I probably should. It would be a bald-faced lie to say I don’t want to hang out with Logan again.
Quinn:Pickleball it is then. Grandma’s going to be thrilled
I’ll be fine. Logan’s right—there can’t be sexual tension when we’re playing geriatric sports. It’ll just be fun. And a college app padder.
Chapter Nineteen