Page 45 of The Pickleball Girl Finds Her Match

They headed toward Sebastian’s car, but he stopped short and dug his phone from his pocket as it buzzed with an incoming text. When he lifted the screen to read it, Endy saw the name SHORTY across the front.

“Plans?” Endy pulled away from Sebastian and asked, her voice guarded. “Are you going out to dinner with Sloane?”

“Well, yeah,” Sebastian said. “There’s a group of us, but yeah.”

Sebastian saw Endy’s face fall, and then she nodded and looked away. “Huh. Well, have a good time.”

“Sorry about tonight. It’s just that you haven’t been available after work,” he said, reaching for her hand. “So, I went ahead and—”

Instead of offering her hand, she crossed one arm to the other and rubbed up and down, as if to keep off the cold. “Don’t worry about it, Sebastian. I’m fine,” she replied with a small frown.

Sebastian squinted at her, pretty sure she was lying to him, especially when she reached her hand to her mouth and started gnawing at her thumbnail.

“Are you sure, Endy?”

“I’m sure. I wouldn’t be good company tonight anyway… . I have a lot on my mind.”

Sebastian studied her while an owl hooted above them, hiding among the jacaranda trees surrounding the dark parking lot. A Toyota truck passed by, and a girl’s thin arm waved out the window. “Hiiii, Ennnndddyyyy!”

Endy pulled out her phone and checked the time. “I gotta go,” she said, smoothing her skirt over her hips. “Picklers starts in a few minutes.”

Sebastian leaned close, lowered his head, and softly touched his lips to hers. “I’m sorry about tonight, but you’re needed for Picklers, and that’s way more important.” He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You’re the pickleball girl.”

Endy tensed. Her eyebrows furrowed and she tilted her head as she stared at Sebastian. “What did you say?”

“That I’m sorry about tonight?”

“No, after that.” Endy frowned. “You called me pickleball girl.”

“And …?”

“Well, there’s only one person who calls me that … and she’s about to ruin my life,” said Endy.

“I’m not following. What are you even talking about?” asked Sebastian.

“The only person who calls me pickleball girl is Barbara Tennyson, and she—”

“Bibi?” asked Sebastian. “What’s up with you and my grandmother?”

Endy’s jaw dropped. “Your grandmother is Barbara Tennyson?”

“Uh, she was last time I checked,” replied Sebastian.

Endy’s shoulders slumped; she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. And then she said, “Fuck.”

29

The ambulance siren wailed as it sped past the clubhouse, headed for the back pickleball courts. A fire truck followed closely with lights flashing. Endy and Maria ran to the large window overlooking the grounds, and when they couldn’t see what was going on, Endy made for the door.

“This doesn’t look good,” she said, already on her way out. “Try to find Joel and have him meet—”

“He was on court eight teaching a lesson, so I bet he’s already there,” replied Maria, her eyes wide. “Get over there! Go!”

Endy turned away and took the stairs two at a time, landing at a run. The players on the tennis courts had gathered at the low fences, craning to get a view of the back, where the emergency vehicles had gathered. With all play stopped, the quiet was eerie, ominous.

A crowd of pickleballers huddled in a circle around the EMTs, so Endy had to push her way through.

On the ground, in the middle of the court, lay Paul Rothman.

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