Page 59 of Neighbors With Benefits

“I wish I had known the assignment,” I replied. “I feel like a loser wearing Lululemon workout clothes.”

“You look great. Sexy, but functional.” He gestured. “I already checked us in. Our court is ready.”

The courts were similar, maybe even identical, to tennis courts. It was a busy evening; all of the courts, except ours, were occupied. The hollowPLONKsound of paddles hitting wiffleballs echoed through the tent constantly.

Bash taught me the rules and we began hitting back and forth for fun. Most matches were doubles, he explained, but it was fine playing singles for practice. Especially to show a beginner like me how to play.

I was bad at first. Eight of the first nine shots I made either hit the net, or sailed out of bounds. “You’ll get the hang of it!” Bash called encouragingly. “It takes some time.”

He was right: after ten minutes I was hitting the ball back to his side almost every time. As my confidence grew, I even started hitting the ball harder, and aiming my shots around the court.

“Look at that!” Bash said, beaming like a proud instructor. “You’re good!”

“I actually played a few years of tennis when I was a teenager,” I replied. “I wasn’t good enough to be a starter on the varsity team, but I guess I have more muscle memory than I thought.”

“I’m glad we’re not playing for money,” Bash teased. “You’re a shark, hiding your secret Pickleball skill from me. I think we’re ready to play an actual game and keep score.”

Bash won the first game 11-3, but the second game was closer: 11-9. As I got into a good groove and started hitting the ball harder, Bash also cranked up his skill. In the third game, we were hitting the ball as hard as anyone on the other courts.

“Don’t youdarelet me win,” I warned him after scoring a point at the net. “If you’re going easy on me…”

“I’m not!” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “That was a killer shot.”

The game went longer than normal: the first person to 11 points won, but you had to win by 2 points. We alternated points for a while, neither of us able to finish the other person off. Eventually I was up 15-14.

“Match point,” Bash teased. “No pressure, Jasper Barnes.”

“Using my full name isn’t going to rattle me,” I taunted back. “I’m going to end the game right here.”

Bash widened his stance and leaned forward, holding the paddle with both hands. “Bring it on.”

I served the ball, and Bash hit a laser back at me. I got to it just in time, somehow returning it across the net. I scrambled to get back into position, expecting another hard shot, but Bash did something sneaky: he sliced the ball, putting a lot of backspin on it.

I sprinted forward, rushing to get to the ball. I leaned forward and stuck out my paddle, returning the ball just before it hit the ground. But my momentum carried me forward, and I didn’t have enough room to stop. My shoes skidded on the court and I crashed into the net.

“OOF!”

The net was at waist height, and I was falling forward. But Bash was there in a flash, dropping his paddle and catching me before I could hit the ground. In his strong arms I felt safe, especially after I was prepared to smash into the ground.

But that wasn’t what I was focused on.

“I win!” I said. “You didn’t return the ball.”

Bash smiled down at me. “You hit the net. Which means I win the point. We’re tied, fifteen to fifteen.”

“You didn’t tell me that rule!”

“I didn’t think I needed to. You said you played tennis.”

I stuck out my tongue at him. “If you want to win by exploiting a beginner’s lack of knowledge, then I guess that’s fine.”

He glared at me. “Now hold on a second—”

“Hey, lovebirds?” a guy called at the entrance to the court. “We’ve got the court now. Your time’s up.”

Lovebirds?I realized I was still leaning horizontally across the net, held upright in Bash’s arms. He raised me back up and let go, then picked up the paddle where he had dropped it.

“Sorry, bud,” he called. “I didn’t realize it was six o’clock.”

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