ROMANCIN' THE DINKS!

– The Kiss-and-Tell Seriocomedy

63,776 words/248 pages

Book One is quintessentially Eleanor.

Will the heir apparent be smashed? Trashed? Beaten?

During the high-stakes pickleball cruise, champs train while losers complain. Showcasing shocking hijinks like backhands of hooch dreams, underworld schemes,

titanic hands plus enough of Ma's berry-bush smiles

to thwart any ingenue.

59,765 words/249 pages

Book Two is unabashedly the actor, Simon Boone.
As Simon hovers onstage, Olive gasps, “Romance me!” Now, going that hard or going home revives her mystery forcing big-city pickleball fundraisers like the Reverend Argus, Kloot the Loot, sexy Trixy and Mighty Andy Boone to battle a savage alter ego . . .

whose act will survive?

65,461 words/249 pages

For the trilogy finale, Eleanor and Simon Boone

suffer trysts cause the past got scary backhand!

Free spirits meat volley Eleanor and Simon Boone

while curses spook both into an out-of-bounds passion

as ghastly as their volleys of helplessness . . .

as provocative as a telenovela, can either lead

romance happy?

BOOK ONE

BONA FIDES

Eleanor Holon – the wild child on her virgin cruise

plus her first Pickleball la fin de l’exercice.

D. A. Holon – the Creator, the corona, hey Zeus,

the pickleball man, the small village’s FDR, and Dad.

The Titan Argus – former Holon flimflammer,

also the southern foothills showrunner who spreads

pickleball fever.

La Honey – Eleanor’s Ma plays easy-peasy

berry-bush squeezy.

Major Ref – the pickleball official.

Pritch – a shifty, shady employee of the

Peace O’ Boona.

1.

AND SO WHERE SKIES WERE EVER CLOUDY ALL DAY, she should have been warned. And Eleanor, whose lone crime was she never had dinked, was groomed. Flinched way back when that big shot had attacked,

“A dark conspiracy—”

“Will they know?”

Prone to propagandize her dad had glared, “It’s about

fixin’ us elites in power.”

“That’s too addictive.”

“It’s not a cult.”

“It’s noisy.”

And as usual upped his heavy racket at her full tilt.

“No, champs train. Losers complain.”

“I’m not kissable.” Despite that Eleanor side-shuffled crooked plus puckered, “Mwah . . . so never paying bills? Dinking folks for thrills?”

2.

NOW OFFICIALLY ONBOARD, pickled folks saw newbies like Eleanor beat—

“Hey there, like mother, like daughter!”

As her Ma bounced into his cabin, Eleanor cringed.

La Honey returned a laugh slow as time ever ticked.

Then spied straight at D. A. Holon’s wallet! That one had left a thick wad on his stateroom bed.

Eleanor’s sight swung like an errant pop-up. . . .

“Think you’re better?” asked La Honey, “let it go.”

Apparently without recourse, Eleanor inhaled that.

And, at last acknowledged, “Ma—”

“Clap!” Of course, La Honey gave props though she had not in what must have seemed ages and that must have been her foothills worst dark! Then exhaled, “Comprenez-vous?” At no response, answered herself, “A dash of futility?”

Turning, Eleanor seemed to have caught her own hoody shrug—due course for the unlimited luxury ship stateroom mirrors reflecting unlimited cruise entrées, so, in addition, shapelessness paralyzed her clothes.

La Honey smacked her lips, “It’s Pickleball Fever. But any off State Road 54 knows you, dear Eleanor, should win the tournament.”

At that, Eleanor jabbed for the door knob!

“D. A. preaches you gotta go hard or go home—”

Then sudden-like, the heir-apparent about-faced out. Twisting in the ship’s narrow hall, promptly slammed a wall. “Am I to blame?” Indeed, now dark flew like a fiend

to smack her America low from which she could not

spring quite.

Still volleying from back inside, “Eleanor, it’s pointless to struggle. . . .”

Unranked kin of pickleball gods were not supposed to be kiss-'n-telling—much less balling angelic floaters!

Despite, Eleanor half-sung like most stumbling

out of bounds, “My never paying bills, dinking

pickleballs ’n thrills. . . .”

3.

VAIN DAYS LIKE THESE, Ma did trendy alone—

“Like my chunky boots?”

Not too surprisingly, cruising on the luxury ship

Peace O’ Boona forever suited La Honey—Was it her

who smiled wide after what most of America would call seconds? Or thirds? And, certainly no pearly smile due

to mock berry-cheeked bravery surviving fearful odds during Pickleball Fever, but rather a big berry-cheeked

puff rising over sweet lips forcing puckers because

betting on D. A. Holon was the best score though partners

did not marry and—scant ages back—pickled relations bore legends. That said, La Honey hooched best with

D. A. Holon—

Broderick, Mark. (2026).

Romancin’ the Dinks! (pp. 4-6).