Chapter 17 James

The next morning, James had a new spring in his step as he walked onto the pickleball courts for practice with two pro-pickleball-circuit friends. James and Liana had the best casual Sunday, watching movies and cuddling. He couldn't deny his feelings toward her, nor that he was dying to take the next step with her — all of the next steps, if he were honest with himself.

They'd watched a few movies, though "watched" might be too strong of a term, since they'd spent most of the time in casual conversation, talking over the films playing in the background. Liana was particularly interested to learn how the pickleball circuit worked. She was surprised to learn that there were multiple competing national and regional leagues, each of which hosted a tournament nearly every week for the better part of the year.

"How many people play in each tournament?" she had asked.

"It depends. One of the biggest tournaments is the annual open. It's in a few weeks. I'll actually be playing. It's in Naples, a couple hours' drive from here. That one has around three thousand people, I think. But most have somewhere in the hundreds."

"That's awesome! It's a true open tournament, like anyone can register? Or do you have to have a certain ranking?"

"For that one, it's a true open. Anyone can play. But for most tournaments, you have to have at least a 5.0 ranking to join. Pickleball has a ranking system called DUPR, as in, rhymes with ‘super.' DUPR goes from 2.000 to 8.000, although nobody is close to an 8. I think the best player in the world right now is about 6.8-something. Ratings are pretty straightforward; most people can determine their own rating by looking at the checklist, at least until you get to around a 4.5."

"And you improve your DUPR rating by winning games?"

"Yes, but how many points you get depends on how tough your opponent was, and also on the tournament itself. For instance, there's a southern regional tournament next weekend here in Miami, and I'll play in it because it's local, but if it were far away I probably wouldn't go, because it's not a good enough tournament to improve my ranking that much. Oh, also, your DUPR can go down when you lose."

"That's rough."

Now, James couldn't stop thinking about Liana. He told himself to be cool, that guys his age waited a couple of days to text a girl after their second date. But he found himself unable to focus on anything other than planning to see Liana again. Worried he was wasting his valuable practice time with his mental distractions, he decided to fire off a quick text to Liana to try to get her out of his system.

James : Whatcha up to?

There. Not too forward. He threw his phone in the bottom of his gym bag and willed himself not to look at it until he was done with his practice.

After muddling through an hour of willing his mind to focus on pickleball, James picked up his phone, only to find a disheartening text from Liana: Just at home. Not feeling too well today. How bout u?

Then a second text a minute later, as if she'd felt badly about sending him the previous text: Hope you're having a good day!

James immediately hit the call button. Liana picked up the phone on the second ring. "Hey, James," she said hazily. Although she sounded pleased to talk to him, he could tell her voice didn't sound quite like it usually did.

"Hey, Liana. What's going on?" he asked gently.

"Oh, nothing outside the usual. I'm just not feeling amazing today. The perks of Crohn's disease."

"What happened? Did you eat something that didn't agree with you?" He bit his lip to keep from asking the question he really wanted to ask: had he served her something she couldn't eat when she came over on Sunday? Had she felt obligated to eat something off her diet because James had given it to her?

Liana barked out a humorless laugh. "That's what everyone always thinks. ‘Oh, you must have eaten something that triggered your flare. What did you eat?' Isn't that the million dollar question. I honestly have no fucking idea. Because guess what? There's no standard diet for Crohn's. There are a few base foods most people with Crohn's can tolerate, and then beyond that, you're supposed to introduce new foods to your diet one by one. But sometimes one person can tolerate a food and another can't. And if it turns out I can't tolerate a food? I get sick for days. So when you have Crohn's, you either have to play Russian roulette with your health each time you eat something, or just eat potatoes and white rice for every meal. Fun choice, right?"

"Shit, Liana." He felt horrible. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea it was like that. I asked you an ignorant question."

He heard her heavy sigh through the phone. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pounced on you like that. I know your question was well-intentioned."

"Don't apologize. What can I do to help?"

"Nothing. There's nothing to do but wait it out."

"Can I at least come over and keep you company?"

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. Finally, she said, "I don't think that's a great idea."

There was another long pause, during which James tried to fortify himself against what Liana would say next. Clearly, she was about to say she didn't want to see him again — not just today, but in general. She probably hadn't had as good of a time on Sunday as he did. Or she was doubling down on her original idea not to date right now. James tried to take calming breaths and willed himself to swallow his bile. He couldn't stand the thought of losing her now, not before things really got started. He knew they'd only seen each other a couple of times, but he really liked her. Please, he prayed. Please, don't break things off with me.

Finally, Liana spoke. "I want to hang out with you again soon. It's not that I don't want to see you. I really do want to see you again." James released the breath he'd been holding. "It's just… well, the truth is, I really don't want you to see me like this. If we knew each other better, maybe, but… we're still so new to seeing each other. I kind of think I want to maintain your image of me not… like this."

"Liana, I really like you. Seeing you sick won't change that. If you had the flu, I would still want to come over and take care of you. This is no different."

"I appreciate you saying that. But it is different. This is gross. I'm… constantly running to the bathroom. Yuck. Also, it's not just that I don't feel well. It's also injection day."

"Injection day?"

"Yeah, the day I take my Crohn's medication. I'm on a medicine that I take once every few weeks. It's a shot that I give myself. Today is my day to take it. In fact, that's probably why I'm sick today. I've noticed the medicine kind of wears off a couple of days before I am due for my next dose. Anyway, I have to give myself a shot today. And I don't want you to see me being a baby about it. I kind of — get a bit queasy right after I do it. And then I usually get a headache from the medication. It's just generally not a fun experience to witness."

"Well, now I definitely want to come over. No one should have to do that alone."

"Don't worry about it. The first time I did it, I had a nurse to coach me through it. Then last time my mom sat with me. I could wait for my mom to get home again to take the shot, but I kind of just want to get it over with now. I don't need anybody with me."

"I know you don't need anybody, but I'd like to keep you company. Would you be okay waiting thirty minutes? I'd really like to come over. Even if it's just to sit with you."

"I can wait thirty minutes. But — James, seriously, there's no pressure whatsoever to sit with me. For the shot, or in general. I've been dealing with Crohn's for years by myself. I know how to do it."

James' heart broke. "Liana, you're not alone anymore. I know you did this alone for a long time, and you're really strong, but you don't have to be alone now. Please. Let me come over. I truly want to."

She sighed. "Okay. Thank you."

"Nope. No thanking me. I'm doing this because I want to. For me. Okay?"

"Okay. See you soon."

James rushed home, took the world's fastest shower, and was knocking on Liana's door after twenty-eight minutes. James noticed Liana's pallid skin as soon as she opened the door, and his mind immediately filled with worry for her. She clearly looked ill. In the living room, all the blinds were drawn, and all the lights were off. She wore an oversized sweatshirt and pajama shorts. The indents in the pillows and blankets on the couch indicated Liana hadn't moved for some time before answering the door.

James kissed the top of Liana's head. "What can I get you?"

She shook her head and then walked back to lie down on the couch. "Nothing. I'm sorry you're seeing me like this. I really didn't want you to."

"Well, I'm glad I'm here. Tell me how I can support you."

"Just… don't judge me, I guess? I'm a little out of it. I may not be the best conversationalist."

"Well, then, it's good you have me. I'm told I can keep up a conversation with a wall."

She chuckled, which was the reaction he'd hoped for. Then, seeming to think, she added, "Actually, there is one thing. If you could please keep from touching my stomach, that would be helpful. It's not that I don't want you to touch me. I just need to not have anything constricting on my stomach, except my heating pad."

"I get it. All of that is easy. I'm not judging you. I promise. And I didn't come here expecting scintillating conversation, or anything physical. I'm just here to sit with you."

"Thanks. If you don't mind, I'm going to start getting ready to take my shot. I'll go in my bedroom and you can stay out here so you don't have to watch. I don't know how good you are with needles, but I know I really don't like looking at them, not even in TV shows or movies."

"Thanks for offering, but I would love it if I could sit with you while you take the shot. Don't worry," he cracked a half-smile, "I won't faint on you or anything."

She offered him a half-smile in return, and James thought, if I faint from anything, it would be from the sheer beauty of this woman . Even ill, she was stunning.

Okay, sure, he was being a little overly dramatic with the fainting part. But he was insanely attracted to her. He wouldn't do anything about it now, of course. But even though she was ill, his dick twitched at the thought of touching her soon.

Focus, he commanded himself. You're here to take care of her, not seduce her.

He followed her into the kitchen, where she took a little box off of the counter. "My syringe with the medication is in this box," she explained. "They mail it to me cold a few days in advance, and then I store it in the fridge. But I left it out on the counter for the morning, like the nurse told me to do, so it should be room temperature by the time I inject it. Last time I injected it when it was still really cold, and… ouch." She winced. "It hurt way more than it was supposed to."

James shuddered, hating to think of her in pain. Liana washed her hands in the kitchen sink and then returned to the living room with James following her. He watched as she swiped an alcohol wipe across her thigh, and then she removed the syringe and inspected it carefully. Seemingly satisfied, she pinched the area of her thigh that she'd cleaned with the alcohol, and then she hovered the syringe over it and took a deep breath.

She glanced up at James. "You really don't have to watch this."

"I want to."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself, I guess." James watched in awe as Liana carefully inserted the needle into her thigh. She pushed down on the syringe slowly, second by second, and then removed the needle, all without so much as flinching.

When she'd covered the injection area with a small bandaid and disposed of the syringe, James told her, "You're incredible."

She laughed. "You're easily impressed. It's really not that painful, just kind of a mind-over-matter thing. It's not like I had to cut off my arm or something. Plus, I only have to do this once every few weeks. Lots of people have it much worse. I think about people dealing with other things — diabetes or IVF. They have to give themselves a shot every day, sometimes multiple times a day."

"That's true," he acknowledged. "And I'd tell them that they're incredible, too."

"You're sweet." She reached for his hand and gave it a quick squeeze before lying down on the couch.

James immediately felt the desire to care for her, to nurse her back to health if he could. "You mentioned you use a heating pad," he said. "I don't see it. Should I get it for you?"

She looked surprised that he asked. "Actually, yes, thank you. That would be great. It's in the bottom drawer in my bathroom, if you wouldn't mind getting it. Up the stairs, first door on the right."

"Be right back." James bounded up the stairs and quickly found the bathroom. It smelled like her shampoo, and James barely resisted the urge to open her shower door so he could take a sniff from the bottle. Stop, creeper. Find the damn heating pad.

He found it quickly and returned downstairs, plugging the cord into the wall nearest the couch and then handing the heating pad to Liana. She accepted it gratefully and positioned it against her back. James sat down on the couch near her feet. He was desperate to touch her in order to soothe her. She'd said not to touch her stomach, but perhaps her legs would be okay? He lifted one of her legs and set it on his lap. "May I?" he asked her.

She nodded sleepily. "Sure."

He brought the other leg onto his lap and massaged it. She let out a low hum of approval that went straight to his dick.

"Do you want to watch TV?" he asked.

"No, I feel a headache coming on, and the light kind of bothers my eyes. You're welcome to watch, though."

"Nah, that's okay." He didn't want to turn the TV on if it would bother her. "How about music?" he asked.

"That sounds good. You choose the music."

"Oh, you'll regret that, Abrams. I might blast some really loud rap right now. Or, I don't know, play Creed on loop for the next two hours. You shouldn't give me so much power."

She smiled. "Do your worst."

With a warm feeling in his chest, James set about curating what he hoped would be the world's best sick-day playlist.

◆◆◆

On Friday, James walked into the Wynwood pickleball tournament feeling excited. Even though today's matches wouldn't improve his rating much, and might even hurt it if he lost early, he still enjoyed playing, and he'd get to see some of his closest pickleball buddies, including Sean "The Beast" Clune, who'd won the biggest personality award from Pickleball.com when James won best dressed.

Plus, win or lose today, James was seeing Liana tonight. She had texted earlier that she was much improved from a few days before, which made him immensely relieved. She'd agreed to come over when James was home from the tournament. Since he didn't know what time he'd be done — if he lost early, he'd be free for the whole afternoon — they'd agreed that he'd text her when he was on the way home.

He couldn't wait to see her again. Sure, he'd seen her yesterday at her lesson, but that wasn't really conducive to conversation. Besides, he couldn't get enough of her.

"Alonso," someone called, and James turned to find The Beast jogging toward him. They bro-hugged.

"Good to see you, dude," said Sean.

"Good to see you, too. Good luck out there. Who do you play first?"

"Some new kid. Swedish, I think. In last week's tournament there were people from all over. Russia, Croatia, Argentina, and Japan. Crazy how the sport is growing worldwide, huh?"

"Seriously," James agreed. "Of course, all of those people may be from different countries originally, but they all live in Florida now."

The Beast laughed. "No doubt. By the way," he leaned in conspiratorially, "don't kill me, but your girl is hot. Well done."

What the hell was he talking about? "My girl?"

"Yeah. I mean, I thought she was your girl. No offense, man, but I don't think you're really enough of a big deal in pickleball to have groupies. So I assumed you're with her. Not that I haven't seen my share of girls who come out to tournaments trying to be pickle chasers."

James laughed and smacked The Beast on the back, but he was confused. There was no way Liana was here; he hadn't even told her where in Miami the tournament was. "Pickle chasers, huh?" he asked The Beast. "Is that the official term?"

"Dude, I didn't come up with it, I swear. I mean, they may not be puck bunnies, but the pickle chasers are a hella good time, let me tell you. Anyway, gotta go. Catch you after?"

"Yeah," said James, his mind reeling. He hadn't told Liana to come to the tournament today, had he? The Beast had to have seen someone else.

But sure enough, as he headed onto the court, James saw two familiar faces in the single row of spectator bleachers. The first, to his surprise, was Kels. Kels had always been supportive of his pickleball career but, as far as he could remember, she had never attended one of his matches, and he'd never pushed, knowing how busy she was with law school. In fact, come to think of it, none of his friends had ever shown up for his pickleball tournaments, except for one time Isaac drove to Boca with him. And James' parents would certainly never deign to attend a pickleball event. But here Kels was, one of his closest and oldest friends, cheering loudly and wearing… the exact same outfit that James was wearing?

Damn Kelsey, both for being so observant and for her blatant disregard of personal boundaries. James and Kels had eaten breakfast together this morning. She must have seen what he was wearing and then raided his closet. When the polo shirt company sponsored him, he'd gotten multiple sets of the same outfits to wear during tennis tournaments. He had no doubt Kelsey had deliberately found the all-white number with little blue stripes that he wore today. She'd clearly taken great care to pop the collar.

But the even bigger shock was the woman next to Kels, looking delectable in a short white tennis dress that showcased her long legs.

What in the hell was Liana doing here?

He bounded over to her, trying to blink to make sure he wasn't imagining things. When he reached her, he said, "Hi."

"Hi," she replied shyly. "Is it okay that I'm — that we're here?"

"Are you kidding? It's more than okay. I'm floored, honestly. I'm thrilled." But then he thought about how she must have given up her day to be here, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "But don't you have better things to do?"

Kelsey snorted. "I certainly do. But this girl was relentless. She claimed that seeing you play pickleball would be more fun than my other plan, which was cramming for my civil procedure exam. I'm not sure which will actually be more fun. The jury's still out. Figuratively, since civil procedures don't have a jury. Get it? I can be just as punny as you, oh King of Puns."

James' mind was spinning. He didn't even know that Liana and Kelsey had each other's numbers. They must have exchanged numbers Sunday night, when Kelsey had joined them for dinner. James' best friend and his… his Liana were… friends? Why did it suddenly seem so pivotal that he had Kelsey's implicit approval?

"Ruh roh," Kels said after James stood stupidly silent for a good 10 seconds. "Girl, I think you broke him. His brain simply cannot compute."

"I hope it's all right that we're here," Liana said.

"It's fantastic, seriously," said James. "I'm thrilled. I'm just surprised, that's all. Can I kiss you?"

"That's a hard pass," said Kelsey without missing a beat.

"Shut up, you idiot. I meant Liana, obviously."

The most beautiful girl in the world flushed. "Yes, please." She leaned forward, and he kissed her unabashedly until Kelsey coughed loudly next to them.

Sheepishly, he stood up. And that's when he noticed the large sign Liana held. "Vamos Alonso" was written in sparkly gold letters surrounded by little drawings of pickleball paddles. Ah, so that's how The Beast had known who his girl was.

Is she your girl? He questioned himself. He had a sudden urge to claim her as his, to ask her to be his girlfriend, Gen Z dating rules be damned. But was it too soon?

"I like the sign," he said.

"Thanks," she replied. "I was hoping you speak Spanish. I couldn't remember."

"I do."

Kelsey cut in, "I still maintain that it does not rhyme. I told her to write ‘gonzo for Alonzo.'"

Liana scoffed. "And I told your roommate that it does in fact rhyme. Especially given the way most people say it, dropping the ‘s' at the end. I'm glad you like it, though. The sign is not too much?"

"Just enough. Wait until the other players see my fans' loyalty. They'll be jealous. I'm totally a shoo-in as a nominee for Pickleball.com's Fan Favorite." He winked.

"You're definitely my favorite pickleballer," said Kelsey. "Granted, the only other one I know is The Beast, and half of the things he says kind of make me want to stab him in the eye. But still, you're my favorite."

"Thanks, Kels," James replied. "And now, with that lovely mental image of you stabbing my friend in the eye, I'm going to get ready for the match."

But that wasn't the mental image he had in his mind. Not at all. Every scene in his mind involved hiking up that insanely short tennis dress Liana was wearing and burying himself inside her.

Deep breaths. Think about something else. But nothing else came to mind. Giving up, he pulled up a random video Isaac had sent him of a squirrel waterskiing. Incongruously, the accompanying text from Isaac read: "Me rn." Trying to solve that enigma gave James the mental push he needed to banish inappropriate images of Liana from his mind. He was overjoyed that she was here supporting him, but still, he'd have to keep his glances of her to a minimum if he had any chance of concentrating on pickleball.