Dating and Dragons (Dungeons and Drama, #2) (49)

“In your dreams, Andrew.”

He only grins wider. “You don’t want to know what’s in my dreams.”

“Oh my god, get out of here, you perv!” I pick up a rock from the driveway and throw it at him.

He easily dodges, shoves the bag into the trash can, and jogs back into the house. I know I only have moments until he announces to my parents that I’m home, but my fingers hover over the phone screen as I reread Logan’s text.

Quinn: I accidentally kept your cloak

Logan: Keep it. Or you could bring it by the shop tonight if you have time. I’ll have a break around six

My paper-thin self-control flutters. My parents would understand if I needed to return something—it would be an easy excuse to see him again. But each time we’re alone together, it only amps up the temptation to act on things we agreed to forget.

Quinn: I’ll bring it to the game next Saturday

My phone buzzes with a new text, but this one isn’t from Logan.

Grandma: One of my usual pickleball opponents broke her hip. Can I count on you to fill in for her tomorrow after school?

I’m not entirely sure what pickleball is, but isn’t it something physical? Why is Grandma playing any type of physical game at all? That sounds dangerous.

Quinn: Maybe this is a sign to take a rest from it. It sounds intense

Grandma: Absolutely not. She didn’t break her hip while playing

She sends another text with an address for the same sports complex where Andrew plays indoor soccer.

Logan: Your grandma just invited me to play pickleball

I cuss under my breath. I’ll give her this—Grandma has impeccable timing.

Quinn: I’m sorry. You don’t have to go

Logan: If you havent noticed, your grandma doesnt understand the word no

Quinn: She texted me too. I guess we’re supposed to fill in for someone who broke her hip??

Logan: I don’t even know what pickleball is. Do we throw pickles at each other?

Quinn: That sounds like a real waste of pickles.

Logan: I hate the things so I’m happy to throw them at you.

I shake my head, the image making me laugh.

Logan: I’m in if you are. But I need to get my truck into the shop this week, so I doubt I can drive myself

My breath catches. He’s really willing to do this? What boy would ever be interested in playing sports with elderly women, even if it also means hanging out with someone his own age?

Quinn: You really don’t have to. I’ll make an excuse for you

Logan: I don’t want an excuse. Unless you don’t want me to come

Quinn: I didn’t say that. Though maybe it’s safest if you don’t?

A text bubble hovers on my screen for too long, as if he’s debating what to say. Finally another message pops up.

Logan: Playing geriatric sports is the safest thing we can possibly do together. It’s like putting in volunteer hours. I should add it to my college applications.

I snort with laughter, feeling more relieved and excited than I probably should. It would be a bald-faced lie to say I don’t want to hang out with Logan again.

Quinn: Pickleball it is then. Grandma’s going to be thrilled

I’ll be fine. Logan’s right—there can’t be sexual tension when we’re playing geriatric sports. It’ll just be fun. And a college app padder.





Chapter Nineteen





Logan strides through the parking lot after school Monday and comes around to the passenger side of my car. It’s quite the reversal to be driving someone else around, but my parents were so thrilled when they heard we were playing with Grandma that they readily agreed to carpool and let me take the second car.

“Are you ready for this?” I ask, and try to ignore how heat floods my veins as he sits down.

Logan grins. “You mean, am I ready to have my life changed forever?”

“You betcha.” I put the car in reverse. I’m not sure how this afternoon is going to go, but if the way my body is jangling from his mere presence is any indication, I’ll be tripping over my own feet and crashing into the net.

“Did you Google this weird game to figure out what we’re in for?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t have time. I figure it can’t be too intense if Grandma does it. I’m sure we can pick it up.”

“I have pretty good hand-eye coordination, so I’m giving her a run for her money.” He winks. “I can’t let her off too easy.”

A short while later, we pull into the parking lot of the sports complex where the indoor pickleball courts are located. Grandma is standing by the entrance next to a man who must be ten years her senior. He’s wearing a Marines Veteran baseball cap and a tight white shirt with a gold chain. Logan and I quickly glance at each other in concern. This really does not seem like a good idea, but they certainly look serious. Grandma is even wearing workout clothes—lavender joggers, a long-sleeved black shirt, and tennis shoes—which is wild when I’m used to seeing her in vibrant dress clothes and pearls. I traded out my usual sweaters and skirts for a pair of embroidered jeans and a long-sleeved shirt covered with constellations, but that’s as close as I’ve gotten to workout clothes. Logan’s wearing the same things he always does. That’s a relief because he’s distracting enough when he’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. I couldn’t keep my eyes to myself if he was wearing tight athletic gear.