Page 38 of Beg Me

I narrow my eyes, amusing him.

“I take it there’s trouble in pickleball paradise,” he says, lying back against the couch cushions. His abs are distracting, and the way he casually grips the top of the couch behind him, flexing his biceps, is frustrating.

He knows what he’s doing, and it’s wholly unfair.

“You could say that.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “To cut to the chase, Adam bailed on me.”

Jory’s eyes widen. It’s clear he’s as surprised by this as I was, but he says nothing as the air in the room shifts.

“I’ve burned another week, have no partner, and I had to watch Jasper and his new girlfriend practicing while I waited on Adam. Let’s just say that if they wind up winning, I’ll burn the pickleball courts down myself.”

“Then it’s a good thing that you look great in orange.”

I try not to smile but fail miserably. He grins, sitting upright and setting his mug onto a coaster.

“You’re telling me this because …” he says, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You know why I’m telling you this.”

He winks at me. “You’re right. I do.”

“So …”

“So, what?”

I groan. “Come on, Jory. Will you do it?”

“You haven’t asked me to do anything,” he says, his smirk growing deeper. “Besides, I think I remember predicting that this would happen and telling you that you’d have to beg.”

A cramp builds between my shoulder blades, and my head feels too heavy on my neck. Fucking men. They're the bane of my existence.

“Let’s start here,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “Why is this so important to you?”

I don’t want to get into this—it’s actually the last thing I want to do—but I have no cards to play, not an ounce of leverage to work with. He’s in the proverbial driver’s seat, and we both know it.

“Fine,” I say, sighing. “This is important to me because it’s the only thing that’s ever really been mine. I win every year. And this year, my ex-boyfriend, who I taught how to play pickleball to start with, entered the tournament with his new girlfriend with whom, may I add, he cheated on me with.”

Jory’s jaw twitches. “I see your point. Jasper? That’s his name?”

I nod. Hearing it come from Jory’s mouth is so weird. It’s awkward as hell. Jory seems to think so, too, because a look of disgust briefly crosses his features.

“Are you still in love with him?” he asks.

The question comes without missing a beat. His gaze is steady as he watches me, as if the idea that I might not answer has never entered his mind.

“What’s that have to do with anything?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Is that a yes?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I was never in love with him. I could’ve been, if things had gone well, but they didn’t.”

“It must’ve bothered you to some degree if you’re this determined to beat him.”

“Of course, it bothers me,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Wouldn’t you be bothered if you were cheated on? And they try to take the one thing that’s yours—the one thing you’re good at? The one thing that lets you relive, for just a few days, a time in your life before everything got all fucked up?”

A lump settles in my throat. I’ve never verbalized this to anyone, and I’m not entirely sure if I’ve ever even admitted that to myself. Realizing the truth, that this competition during a festival that my parents, specifically my mother, loved so much makes me feel connected to them again. It brings back the nostalgia. It brings back those precious memories.

Beating Jasper isn’t just about maintaining my winning streak, and it’s not only about punishing him for challenging me … and cheating on me. It’s really about holding on to something I love and refusing to let it be taken away from me.