Chapter 3 #2
My father looked over at Wyndi. “I see you have your own clubs. You a serious golfer, Wyndi?”
She grinned. “I can hold my own, Mr. Israel. I’ve been golfing since I started high school. I do okay.”
He smiled at her. “Good. Good. Because like I said, I want to make some noise today.”
After registration, a continental breakfast (which Wyndi and I skipped), and some quick practice putts and strokes, my dad and I loaded up the golf bags. We climbed into the golf cart and headed for the 10th hole.
There were eighteen teams of four people each in the tournament.
Each team started at their own hole, then made their way around the golf course, making sure to hit all eighteen holes.
Once we heard the shotgun blast that indicated the start of the tournament, Shiloh, who was up first, selected her club.
We put Wyndi in second, since we weren’t sure of her skills. But it was obvious by the 12th hole that we could’ve made her the anchor. She was cleaning up.
As we walked from the golf cart to the 13th hole, I grabbed her hand to slow her down.
“Say, I’m trying real hard to be a gentleman and shit. Like, not to see for myself exactly how soft the skin on your thigh is. Why you keep bending over in front of me like that?”
She rolled her eyes playfully. “Oh my goodness, Kaynaan. That’s the game, sir. I have to bend over to line up the shot, . . . to pick up my ball . . .” She let her thoughts trail off.
“Yeah, but why you always gotta toot your ass in my face to do it?”
She shoved my shoulder. “Stop talking to me.” She started to walk away, her ass making the skirt that covered the shorts underneath sway.
“Daddy, I think Kaynaan’s being fresh with his friend,” Shiloh sung in a tattling voice.
“Is it gonna mess with her game? Because otherwise, I don’t care. I just want her to keep playing like she’s playing.”
“Wow, Mr. Israel.” Wyndi laughed.
He laughed, too.
We finished the round, headed for the clubhouse, and tallied everything up before handing our scorecards over to the officials. Of our foursome, Wyndi shot the best on eight of the eighteen holes. I shot the best on four. My father shot the best on six, and Shiloh was just there for the vibes.
My father and Shiloh drifted away from Wyndi and me to network.
I would’ve done the same if she wasn’t with me.
But after watching her in her athletic bag all day, all I really wanted to do was be pressed up on her.
She was so fucking fine and so damn sexy.
I liked that she had a softness about her but that she was tough as nails with a competitive spirit.
We grabbed a few hors d’oeuvres and some bottled water, then headed to a high-top table that was situated sort of away from the crowd. There weren’t any chairs at that particular table, so we stood—eating and people watching.
“This was so fun,” she commented before taking a bite of the mini turkey and cheese hoagie she’d selected from the platter. “It was cool to see the way the sponsors decorated their holes and represented their businesses.”
“You just liked beating us.” I took a sip of cold water.
She batted her pretty brown eyes. “That was actually an added bonus.”
We laughed together.
“You think we won any of the holes?” she questioned.
Every hole at the tournament came with a prize attached to it, for the golfer who’d played it the best. Some prizes were bigger and more luxurious than others, but none of the prizes were slouches.
“The way you played? Especially with that hole in one on the 7th? I’m pretty sure you won a hole. And if you didn’t, there’s a silent auction, too. If you see something you like, we can bid on it.”
“We? You talkin’ French now?”
I cracked up. This woman was hilarious. I liked her sassiness. I held my hands up in surrender. “I’m not trying to infringe, Brown Eyes. I was just saying, you’re my guest, and this is a date. Whatever it is you want this weekend, just point. It’s on me.”
She eyed me suspiciously.
I eyed her back. “Not on no creep shit, Brown Eyes. I’m not trying to buy the pussy or anything like that. Like I said, this is a date. I invited you, and you graciously agreed to come. I’m paying, . . . unless you say otherwise.”
Her facial muscles relaxed, and a genuine smile bloomed on her face. “Thanks, Kaynaan. That’s very . . . 1990s of you. This is like an old school date, where a guy invites you out and knows that the expectation is for him to pay.”
I nodded in agreement. “This is exactly like that.”
She moved around the table toward me. When she was close enough, she wrapped her arms around my waist with her head landing just in my chest. I brought my arms around her and hugged her back. She felt . . . right in my arms. Good in my arms. “Thank you for this.”
“You thanked me already,” I reminded her.
“I know. When I set out this summer to have fun with . . . to have fun.” She corrected herself, and I was glad.
I didn’t want to hear nothing she had to say about her time with Wilcox.
“When I set out to have fun, I imagined having fun. I didn’t have a lot of fun.
This is fun. I’m having a good time. I can’t wait for the parade tomorrow.
” She looked up at me, from where she was still pressed up against me.
“I get to ride on the float with you, right?”
Clearly, I had been choosing the wrong women since I’d been in the league.
It seemed like the women before Wyndi would never have wanted to ride on a float at my college’s homecoming.
That would’ve been beneath them. The women I dated before liked high-end shopping, fine dining, luxurious photo ops.
They didn’t like mixing and mingling with regular people.
My status was supposed to upgrade them, not give them more in-depth access to things they could experience without me.
Homecomings weren’t a flex. MET galas, the ESPYs, the Oscars .
. . now those were flexes. Then there was Wyndi, smiling up at me with stars in her eyes over having the opportunity to ride on a homecoming float with me.
If I wasn’t careful, this woman was gonna catch me slipping and end up owning me.
“Yeah, you get to ride on the float with me.”
“Cool, because I’ve been practicing my Miss America wave.” She gave me a quick demonstration of the wave, and I barked out a laugh.
Yeah, I would fuck around and buy this woman a ring before the weekend was over if I wasn’t careful.