11. Beau
BEAU
“Iwas hoping to find you here.”
My body stiffens as I feel Courtney run her hand over my back.
It’s nothing overtly flirty. She’s a reporter and I’m an athlete.
It’s bad optics for both of us if the entire bar can tell we’ve had sex before.
The way she’s acting is typical of how she’s approached me on prior occasions, all of them leading to me leaving her house well before the sun came up.
So why is my body tensing like I’m about to be given a prostate exam?
That’s not how I react to Courtney—especially when she’s wearing a dress like this.
Tight in all the right places. Highlighting the curves I’m biblically familiar with.
I shouldn’t be rejecting her touch. My brain shouldn’t be telling me to finish my drink and get the hell out of the hotel bar.
But it is. And I have no fucking clue why.
“Are you okay?” Courtney asks as she pulls up the barstool next to me.
“Yeah. Everything’s good,” I lie. It’s easier than saying, “I’m pissed off about things I shouldn’t care about.”
A.k.a, Shelby LeBlanc.
When she stormed away earlier today, my first instinct was to go after her.
But then I stopped and thought about it.
This is Shelby. The woman who—rightfully so, on many occasions—has been angry her whole life.
Me going after her, trying to help, trying to ‘play the hero’ as she calls it, likely wouldn’t have gone over well.
So I didn’t go after her right away. Gave her space to cool off. I figured I’d find her after a few hours went by and then figure out what the hell happened today.
The only problem with that plan? I couldn’t find her.
She wasn’t at the driving range or anywhere on the course. She wasn’t at our hotel—I checked her room, the gym, and now, the bar. I tried to text her, but I’m blocked. Again.
So you know what? Fuck it. If she doesn’t want to talk to me, or anyone, that’s on her. I’m tired of trying to help. She’ll never have to worry about me trying to be the hero again. I just won’t care. I shouldn’t care.
And if I keep telling myself that, eventually I’ll believe it.
But I can’t stop going back to the presser.
When I saw her react to Mike today, I had this sudden and overwhelming urge to both hold her back from committing a crime and wanting to be her accomplice.
Or option three, kick his ass myself. If there’s one thing I know about Shelby, though, she’d rather die than let me defend her honor.
But seeing the fire in her eyes today? It made me want to be her partner in crime.
Even though I know that would never—or couldn’t ever—happen.
No matter what’s transpired between us the last few weeks, she still hates me.
At the end of the day, in her eyes, I’m still the cheater.
It doesn’t matter that we grew up together, or that I’m a peer of hers, or that she’s my sister’s best friend, or that I’ve seen her at the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.
Or that we almost kissed. Or that I wanted to throw Michael fucking Stevens through a wall simply because I know he did something to her.
When it comes down to it, the hard-headed woman won’t let me in to help her in the slightest.
And you know what? I’m done fucking trying. If she wants to be a stubborn mule about these things, then let her.
Oh! That gives me an idea for her new contact name. It’s been a minute since she’s gotten a new one.
Bring up Alien…
Change to Stubborn Mule.
There. Perfect.
“Something important on that phone?”
Shit. I forgot Courtney was here.
“Sorry. Just had to send a message before I forgot.” Another lie. I wave down the bartender. “Whatever she’s drinking. On my tab.”
Courtney orders an Old Fashioned before turning slightly to face me.
She looks good. Really good. Her long brown hair is sporting loose curls, giving her a softer look than the slicked buns she wears when she’s in reporter mode.
She’s traded in the smart white blouse and black slacks she had on earlier for a tight red dress that might not show a ton of skin, but it leaves nothing to the imagination.
Especially when my imagination doesn’t need to make up anything to remember what’s under there.
Knowing Courtney as I do, her bra and thong are going to be red lace to match the dress.
And I couldn’t be more uninterested in sleeping with her tonight.
Great. Another thing to be pissed off about.
“I was surprised when I saw you added to the tournament lineup,” she says, because I guess I’m incapable of starting a conversation tonight.
“Yeah, it was a last minute thing.”
Typically, I’m the guy who doesn’t shut up. Or will at least elaborate on an answer. Courtney’s looking at me because she’s had enough conversations with me, professionally and personally, to know I’m going to keep talking.
But I don’t. Because that’s how fucked in the head I am tonight.
“And playing with Shelby? Who’s PR decision was that?”
I’m not sure if she’s interviewing me, or just making conversation, but I don’t think I’m speaking out of turn by telling her this.
“My agent. Well, our agent. You know what I did last year. Shelby’s coming back from an injury.
He figured it was a good place for both of us to get our first round in before our tours really get underway. ”
“Makes sense,” she agrees as she accepts her drink from the bartender. “The growing up together angle is a good one. Whoever Ethan has on his PR team were geniuses for playing that angle.”
“Yeah,” I say, only because I don’t know what else to say. Also, kudos to her for knowing my agent’s name.
“So what’s up with you two?”
“Two who?”
“You and Shelby.”
That gets my attention.
“Why are you asking?”
She shrugs as she sits back in her chair, taking a sip of her drink. “Call it a reporter’s curiosity.”
I lift an eyebrow. She might be a reporter, but everything about her relaxed demeanor is telling me this has nothing to do with a story she’s working on. “Is this on or off the record?”
She gives me a coy smile and sets her drink back on the bar. “A little bit of both.”
“What does that mean?”
She doesn’t say anything else, just stares at me like I should be able to read between the lines of her questions. Well, newsflash to her, I’m five IPAs and three shots of Crown Royal deep. I can’t read shit.
After ten seconds of silence, Courtney’s face goes from inquisitive to complete shock. “Oh shit. You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?” Now I’m getting angry. “Just spit it out, Court.”
She laughs, adding a few claps. Like she’s thinking of the funniest joke in the world. “You’re in love with Shelby.”
Growing up, when I’d see people spit out their drink in shock on television, I always wondered what could cause me to do that in real life. I didn’t think anything could shock me that much.
I was wrong.
“Hilarous, Courtney. Fucking hilarious.” I grab some cocktail napkins and wipe off the bar and my face. “I don’t know where you came up with that, but if that’s the story you’re running with, your next job should be with a tabloid. Or The Onion.”
“No fake news here, Devereaux,” she says, back to her relaxed state, that now looks a little smug. “I watched you today. I saw your eyes now. You’re in love with her.”
I flag the bartender down, needing to sign my tab and get the hell out of here. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but you couldn’t be more wrong. We hate each other. Have since we were kids. Today we played nice. That’s it.”
“You think you do,” she says as I stand up, not looking at her as I tip way too much because I don’t feel like doing math.
“I went back and watched the video. The way you look at her, that’s not someone who hates another person.
How you jumped in to take a question when you knew she was struggling with her answer.
The true smile when you two were talking about each other. That’s not hate, Beau. Not even close.”
I keep my mouth shut, not wanting to provide any more ammunition to her ridiculous theory. But before I walk away, she says one more thing.
“They dated.”
That stops me in my tracks. “Who?”
“Shelby and Mike. Worst kept secret in the pressroom.”
Well, at least I was right about one thing today. “Isn’t he married?”
Courtney nods her head. “Yep. And he’s a dick. Has hit on me more times than I can count. Never wears his wedding ring. So much so there isn’t even a tan line where it should be. I don’t know how it ended between him and Shelby, but I know it did. And I think it was right before she moved.”
I wanted to kill him before. Take him out with a sand wedge, maybe a vehicle.
Something impersonal that wouldn’t get my khakis dirty.
Now I want to murder him with my bare hands.
Men who cheat are the lowest form of the species.
And cheating with Shelby? The woman who hates cheating more than anything else?
I can only imagine the rage she took out on him.
Honestly, I kind of wish I was there to see it.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask. “Whatever Shelby does on her personal time is none of my business.”
“Because again, I have eyes,” she says. “The way you reacted when she and Mike finally had to acknowledge each other. How you jumped into action and you didn’t even know the story. Think about it, Beau. And if I’m right, don’t fight it.”
I’m completely speechless as Courtney rises on her toes and presses a kiss to my cheek. I’m still standing there, speechless and frozen, when she’s long gone from the bar. But I can’t get one thought out of my head.
Love Shelby? No. Absolutely not. Do I wish we could have a friendship again? Okay, we were never really friends. Buddies at best. We were friendly rivals. Emphasis on rivals. We wanted to beat each other, but we never wanted each other to fail. We pushed each other. We made each other better.