Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Unfortunately, she needs one to defend her pickleball championship title against her cheating ex-boyfriend.
Her solution comes in the form of Jory Plath, her brother’s best friend, a single dad, and a professional rugby player. He’ll help her defend her title if she helps tutor his son. It’s a simple arrangement. Everybody wins.
Until they don’t.
Somewhere between practices, late nights, and giving the town something to gossip about, Markie and Jory go from pickleball partners to fake dating. And the more time she spends with him, the more she realizes he’s exactly the kind of man she swore off.
Now she’s not sure what’s worse—losing her title, losing the man, or losing her heart.
__________
Tropes:
* Single Dad
* Fake Dating
* Small Town
* Brother's Best Friend
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PLAYLIST
Playlist
Any Man of Mine by Shania Twain
Hell at Night by BigXthaPlug and Ella Langley
Dry Spell by Kacey Musgraves
U + Ur Hand by Pink
Can’t Feel My Face by The Weeknd
When You Say Nothing At All, by Keith Whitley
CHAPTER
ONE
Markie
“Do you think anyone would notice if I shoved a bunch of napkins between my boobs?”
My best friend Nettie laughs at my question, brushing a strand of dark hair away from her eyes. “Without a doubt. But it might make your job a little easier. They’ll come for the boobs and leave with a jar of jam.”
I laugh, too, shaking my head and wiping a sheen of perspiration from my forehead.
A sea of umbrellas forms a colorful line to my left in a futile attempt at shielding the farmers’ market stalls from the unrelenting sun. The doors of the old Dairy Barn housing the year-round vendors are wide open in hopes that a little air circulation might prevent anything, or anyone, from melting.
“What are you doing tonight?” Nettie asks, swirling a straw around her lemonade.
“I’m not sure. My evening interview canceled on me.” The memory of the text I received this morning from a potential pickleball partner spikes my blood pressure. “Get this,” I say, placing a hand on my hip. “He said it was too hot and asked if we could reschedule to next week when the temperature wasn’t so … what word did he use? Obscene.”
Nettie’s hand lifts as if I’m a feral animal that she’s trying to calm. “It is ninety-three degrees today.”
“What if it’s ninety-three degrees during the pickleball tournament? What if it’s one hundred? Do you think they’re going to call off the games because it’s too hot?” I lift a brow, challenging her to debate me. “Five years ago, we played through a thunderstorm while lightning danced in the periphery. The tourney stops for no one.”
My hand slips off my hip, probably because of the sweat coating my body, and I groan.
In the decade I’ve been competing—and winning—the Sugar Days Pickleball Tournament, I’ve never had this much trouble finding a partner. My usual prospects are either out of town, dealing with a broken leg, or in a new job that prevents them from playing. Normally, I’d find a man with mediocre talent and enough ego not to want to suck and call it a day. I’m used to carrying the team on my back, after all. It happens every year. But this year, the stakes are far too important to entrust the odds to an inferior partner.
Losing is not an option.
“The tourney stops for no one,” Nettie repeats. “But neither does heatstroke.”
“Which is why I have to find someone already in decent shape, but with enough humility to listen to my instructions. I don’t have time to turn a dud into a stud.”
Nettie snorts. “Stop.”
I shrug because there’s nothing that I can say to temper that statement. I know how it sounds. But the facts speak for themselves, and I’m not in the business of shrinking my abilities to make others, namely men, feel comfortable.
“Why do they have you out here hawking jam?” Mr. Crowder asks, shuffling to the stand. He grips the edge of the table with shaky hands. Out of all the Saturday regulars, he’s my favorite. “I looked for you inside by the concessions where you usually spend your time instead of working.”
Nettie snickers as I pretend to be offended.
He grins. “I thought this was your weekend off.”
“It was,” I say. “But Brenda called this morning and said she wasn’t feeling well. So I volunteered to stand in for her today. I mean, we can’t have people going without her famous peach jam, can we? The whole town may come to a stop.”
Nettie touches me lightly on the shoulder. “I’m going to head home. Mom’s coming over this evening so I can help her plan her new husband’s birthday party.” Her eyes roll. “Yay, me.”
“Have fun.”
“I’ll call you later.” She waves at my customer. “See you soon, Mr. Crowder.”
“Perhaps at church in the morning?” he asks.
She purses her lips. “Perhaps.” Her nose wrinkles as she turns away, heading toward the parking area.