11. Gideon
GIDEON
The course designer’s pink flower budget at Azalea Bay Club must have been astronomical.
Branches laden with flamingo-hued flowers lined the pathway and draped over the gazebo of the clubhouse’s bag drop.
Even for me, a plant guy, it was a bit much.
A well-dressed staff member, a kid who couldn’t have been older than sixteen, paused from sweeping up mountains of pink petals to take our bags from the cart.
I got out of the cart, groaning as I stretched my arms to the sky.
Riley came over and patted my back a little too aggressively. “Good game, Bailman.” I bristled but let it go. Then he continued patting my back like I was in line at TSA.
“What are you doing?” I shrugged away from him.
“I’m looking for the shark fin that you’re hiding under there.” I relaxed. His grin was genuine, and the shark line was kind of endearing. And I did have a pocket full of hundred-dollar bills that were mostly his.
“Talk to Jameson. He was the one who suggested playing for money.” I shoved him playfully. “It’s actually a barracuda fin.”
“Do they even have fins?” Owens’ forehead furrowed. It was a good question. Everyone shrugged. The fish was on our damn logo. How could none of us know whether or not they had dorsal fins?
Loaded up with four bags of clubs, the kid paused. “They have two dorsal fins, and they’re kinda spiny.”
We all turned to look at him. The kid’s face went the same shade as the petals hanging above his head.
Small talk wasn’t encouraged between staff and players, unless it was about golf or member initiated.
I thought that it was a stupid rule and felt for the guy.
“Good to know.” I smiled and raised my hand for a high five.
His shoulders relaxed as he returned it. “Did you have a good game?” he asked.
“Do yourself a favor, and don’t ever play Giddy for money.” Owens laughed. “I lost my shirt.”
The kid’s eyes tracked over us. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that he recognized us and that we made him nervous. His name tag glinted in the sunlight, and I squinted to make out his name, Matt. “I’ll bet you that Matty could outdrive us all. What’s your longest drive?” I asked
Matt shifted in his Sperry Top-siders. “I’ve hit two-eighty.”
“See?” I clapped the kid on the shoulder.
“This is the real shark.” It was a very reputable drive length.
“Give Matty a couple of years, and he will be on the PGA tour.” Matt looked up at me with a lopsided grin and stood a little taller.
When he finished loading our cars, I slipped him a hundred-dollar bill.
Growing up, I didn’t get much praise from my dad, so I chose to dole it out to deserving kids when I could.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Bailey. Have a nice day, Mr. Jameson, Mr. Riley, and Mr. Owens.”
We weren’t the biggest celebrities at the Azalea Bay Club or the richest, but I was a teenage boy once, and if I’d met my hockey idol, Alexander Ovechkin, I’d have been starstruck too.
“Are you going to buy us a round of drinks? Shark man? I mean, Spiny Fin Man?” Riles asked.
I chuckled. “That’s even worse than Giddy.
” I winced as I rubbed my lower back. Whether it was bending Piper into a pretzel all night or the golfing, neither activity had been good for my back.
Who was I kidding? Tossing Piper around took way more energy than the four-hour round of golf.
I was spent. “My brother is coming into town. I don’t have time. ”
Owens blinked. “Ace?”
“Yeah. I’ve only got one brother.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Riley crossed his arms.
“What’s he going to do?” Jameson laughed.
“Tell him all of our top secret plays? If there’s anything I’ve learned about Gideon Bailey, it’s that the man likes to win.
” Another smack on the back. This one also felt like it had an intention.
Jameson was right. I loved my brother, but I also loved winning.
Riley’s shoulders relaxed. “Your brother is a good player, but he’s got to have a weakness. Let’s have a drink, and you can tell us how to beat him.”
Sure, I wanted to win at all costs, but exposing Ace’s weak backhand when he did wraparound shots felt like a betrayal. If the tables were turned, would Ace disclose my tendency to go high with my slapshots if I wasn’t focused? Probably not.
We didn’t need this information to win. Teamwork and camaraderie were more important. I cursed as my teamwork mantra floated through my mind. “I’ll stay for one, but only if Jameson stays too.”
The look Jameson cast could melt ice. “Just one.”
The guys grinned.
Water misters worked overtime on the ABC outdoor patio. The hostess welcomed us with a smile.
“Hey, Sarah. Can you give us a table near the courts?” Riley was apparently on a first-name basis with the hostess.
“Are you sure, Landon?” The pretty girl clutched the menus to her chest. “Most people find it a little too… loud.”
“I’m sure.” Riley cast her a smile, and she blushed in return.
“Follow me.” Two long brown braids swayed down the back of her golf shirt as she led us across the patio.
Decorative boulders flanked the edge of the restaurant, partly camouflaging the green court fencing.
Bright green balls flew through the air as calls of “yours” and “mine” echoed off the playing surface.
“Now you can see what it’s all about.” Riley gazed over the courts. “There are some good players out there today,” he mused.
“Mabel and Herbert?” Owens said. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Ha. Ha.” Riley settled into his chair. “No, Britt and Janie Myers are here. They’re on court three.” He pointed past the kids on the nearest court. “They’re world-class players.”
We turned our attention to court three. “And they’re fucking hot.” Owens rubbed his eyes as though witnessing a mirage. “Holy shit.”
Sarah left with our order. I took a minute to clean the lenses of my sunglasses to get a better look.
The women on court three were serious. For the first time in my life, I watched a few rounds of pickleball.
It was a hell of a lot faster than I’d ever imagined.
The Myers sisters had reflexes like tigers.
I was impressed but, after all my shit-talking, wasn’t about to admit it.
Sarah with the Heidi braids delivered the pitchers of beer to our table. She started to pour our first round, but Owens took the jug from her. “I can see that you’re busy. I’ve got this.” He winked at her.
“Thanks.” She brushed her hands on her apron. “I’ll be by in a few minutes to check on you.”
“She’s cute,” Owens said. As he poured, his gaze tracked her ass across the patio.
“Don’t you dare,” Riley said. “She’s way too innocent for any of us.”
Owens shrugged. “Nothing wrong with innocent. You can teach ’em.” He held up his beer. “To destroying the Tigers tomorrow.” The toast was directed at me.
How could I reassure them that I wasn’t going to go easy on Ace? If anything, being on the ice with my brother amped up my competitive spirit. “There will be tiger blood in the water tomorrow.”
“Hell yeah.” Jameson grinned. “Spiny fins gotta be sharp.” We chuckled as we clinked our glasses together.
Owens’ eyes drifted over the top of my head. “Cougars, five o’clock,” he whispered into the foam on his beer. “I’m going in.” He stood.
Jameson rolled his eyes. “You’re playing with fire, Owens. Remember what happened to Stevens?”
Owens swatted away the warning like a mosquito and headed toward the table of gorgeous forty- or fifty-something women.
Subtle primping spread amongst the ladies with the realization that Riley was approaching them.
They all sat taller, pressed their chests forward, and a couple of them even stroked their long ponytails.
It was like watching a nature film. I could almost hear the soothing voiceover.
Here in its natural habitat, a young Miami Barracuda beelines for its prey. He knows what he wants and is going for it. But, unbeknownst to the cocky razor-toothed fish, the prey is ready for him, and they are a lot more powerful than the fish realizes.
“He’s going to regret this.” Jameson shook his head.
Owens pulled up a chair in between long black ponytail and long blonde braid. He must have said something mildly witty as a titter of laughter broke out from the women. He turned and waved for us to come over. Jameson and I simultaneously shook our heads; he muttered, “Hard no,” under his breath.
To my surprise, Riley shrugged. “They look like fun.”
“Oh, not you too.” Jameson groaned. “Remember, we have a game tomorrow.”
While the two defensemen flirted with the ABC socialites, Jameson and I did a hole-by-hole recap of our game. By the time Owens and Riles returned, we had almost finished the beer.
“How did you do?” Jameson raised his eyebrows as they sat down.
Owens shook his phone. “I got a couple of phone numbers.”
“Just a couple?” I joked.
“Sandi and Jennifer are looking for a third for a golf game next week.”
Either Owens was completely clueless or a total player. My money was on the latter. “I’m sure that’s exactly what they want to do with you… golf.”
Owens shrugged. “Either way, it’s all in the hips.” He gyrated in his seat.
Jameson rolled his eyes.
“What about you, Riley? You not going to join them? I asked. “Make it a four-way?”
Riley shrugged. “Not into that scene. That girl is more my type.” He pointed to the pickleball courts. “The one that just walked in, at the end, with the pink top.”
Curiosity got the best of me. If hot socialites or the cute hostess weren’t his type, who was? I craned my neck to see the woman. Shading my eyes, I sucked in a breath. She was far away, but I’d recognize the silky blonde ponytail anywhere.
Piper.
“That’s a pretty impressive rack, but I’m more of an ass guy myself.” Owens slid his sunglasses down his nose.