Chapter 8
DREW
Maisie and I are late to meet Sophie and her daughter, but it isn’t my fault like usual. In fact, I arrived early to collect Maisie from Chris and Gen’s to atone for last time – showered and freshly shaved.
This is on Maisie, but only because she was panicked about what to wear, the poor kid.
When I arrived, she was upstairs with Gen, in tears and wailing that she didn’t want to go any more.
Only if Maisie didn’t go, I couldn’t go either.
This was a playdate – or whatever you call it when the kids are a bit older – and in no universe would it be okay for me to show up alone.
It was either convince Maisie to go or cancel.
And I didn’t want to cancel. Despite all my synapses screaming that Sophie Reid is way the hell off-limits, I’ve been looking forward to seeing her again outside of work. So, uncle-mode activated, I subbed in for Gen who flashed me the ‘eek’ face as we passed in the doorway.
‘Hey, Mais, what’s going on?’ I asked.
‘I look like a baby,’ she whined, throwing her arms out wide. ‘Mum says I don’t, but Harlow’s really cool and she’s older than me. I don’t want her to think I’m a little kid.’
I appraised Maisie’s outfit thoughtfully as if I knew what I was doing.
‘Well, those boots are definitely cool. And I like the little jacket thingie over your dress.’
‘It’s a bolero,’ she said, a little crease forming between her eyebrows.
‘Well, the bolero is extremely cool,’ I declared. ‘Really makes the outfit.’
She turned and looked in the mirror, then down at her outfit, and back at me. ‘Are you sure, Uncle Drew? I don’t look like a baby?’
‘No, honey. You look great.’
She stared at me for a long beat, then broke into a grin.
‘Does that smile mean we’re good to go?’ I asked, hooking a thumb over my shoulder. ‘Because we’ve got a train to catch and…’
She nodded vigorously. ‘Thank you, Uncle Drew.’
She crossed the room and threw herself into my arms, giving me a tight hug. I returned it, congratulating myself for my next-level uncleing, a role that came on when I was just a kid myself – only twenty – and seems to evolve every time I see my niece.
Hugging complete, I hurried Maisie out of her room. Gen mouthed, ‘Thank you,’ then offered to drive us to the station to make our train. Only there was construction on the main street near their house and the detour took forever, so we missed it and had to wait twenty minutes for the next one.
So now we’re jogging hand in hand through the mall on our way to Puttshack. When it comes into view at 11.57 a.m., I slow to a fast walk and Maisie falls into step beside me.
‘Are you excited, Uncle Drew?’ she asks.
I glance down at her, then back to the entrance of Puttshack, seeing Sophie and Harlow waiting outside. Sophie looks incredible in her tight faded jeans, suede jacket, and sneakers.
‘Uh, yeah, totally,’ I reply, a little distracted.
‘Well, you look great and you smell really good too,’ she says.
‘Thanks, Mais,’ I say with a sliver of wariness.
‘I bet Harlow’s mum will think so too.’
‘Hold up.’ I stop, tugging on Maisie’s hand until she comes back. Only now she won’t look me in the eye, and the sliver becomes a wedge. ‘Maisie, what did you mean by that?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Mais, look at me.’
Her eyes lift for a micro-second then she becomes fascinated by her boots, her mouth pursed. Right, so Maisie and Harlow have colluded.
And how do you feel about that? Think, doofus.
Maisie starts shuffling her feet and I look towards Puttshack again. Harlow sees us and starts waving. I wave back, smiling despite the rising trepidation.
‘So, whatever this is,’ I say to Maisie through gritted teeth, my eyes still on Sophie and her daughter, ‘we’re gonna have a good time and talk about it later, okay?’
‘Okay. Sorry, Uncle Drew.’
I look at back Maisie and she seems genuinely contrite.
‘Oh hey, kiddo, it’s cool. I’m not mad, okay?’
She peers up at me with puppy-dog eyes and my heart twangs. Maisie doesn’t know this – maybe someday she’ll understand the power she wields over me – but when she looks at me like that, I swear I’d give her anything she wants. A pony. A trip to Disneyland. A frigging kidney.
I go to ruffle her hair but then I remember that she’s her mother’s daughter and she will kill me if I mess with her look, so instead I pat her on the shoulder.
‘So, you ready to play the coolest mini golf course on the planet?’ I ask.
She breaks into a grin. ‘Absolutely.’
Sophie
Okay, I’ll admit it, seeing Drew with Maisie… their little heart to heart, whatever it’s about… it does something to me. And it’s not rated PG.
‘Mum!’
I tear my eyes from Drew and Maisie. ‘Yes, Harlow?’
‘Why are you acting weird?’
‘I’m not—’
Harlow’s expression is like looking in a mirror sometimes – as it is now with ‘you know I’m right’ plastered across her face.
‘Hey, guys,’ says Drew. ‘Hope we’re not too late.’
They join us, both looking a bit harried, and I silently will my daughter not to bring up the being-weird thing.
‘Right on time, P—’ I cut myself off. It doesn’t seem right calling him Parker in this context. ‘Drew,’ I finish and he grins at me like he just won a point in this game of ours.
‘Hey, Maisie,’ says Harlow, and I can tell she wants to give Maisie a hug. She doesn’t though – playing it cool perhaps.
‘Hiya.’
They stare at each other for a good five seconds and I consider stepping in when Harlow says, ‘I like your outfit,’ and Maisie lights up.
‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘My mum helped me choose it.’
Harlow laughs. ‘I never let Mum choose my outfits. She’s too much of a dag.’
‘What’s a dag?’ asks Maisie right as I fire an indignant, ‘Hey!’ at Harlow.
‘It’s Australian,’ Harlow replies matter-of-factly, as if that says it all. It doesn’t, but Maisie nods along as if she understands while Drew sniggers softly at my expense.
‘Right, should we go and buy tickets?’ I ask brightly.
Drew ushers us inside and we queue up, the girls standing in front of us and chatting about a drawing game they’ve been playing online. The initial awkwardness between them seems to have fallen away and I watch on, mystified by how easily children make friends.
‘So, you any good at this, Reid?’ asks Drew, his voice low in my ear.
I ignore the shiver that shoots down my spine. ‘I assume you mean mini golf, and maybe today you could call me Sophie, Drew?’ I toss back.
‘Wow, I guess that means we’re taking the next step,’ he retorts.
Only, the next step in my mind has nothing to do with names or mini golf and everything to do with his fingers stroking the sweet spot between my thighs.
‘Something like that,’ I mutter.
‘They’re cute together, don’t you think?’ he asks quietly and I glance up at him. He’s smiling at the girls and just like seeing him earlier with Maisie, it does something to me – something far more dangerous than sexual fantasies.
‘They are,’ I reply evenly.
‘I can’t remember if I was like that as a kid.’
‘Like what?’
He turns and his eyes meet mine. I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to Drew before and I hadn’t realised his bright blue irises are rimmed with dark grey. I look away – those eyes are far too potent for me – and swallow. Hard.
‘Making friends so easily,’ he replies.
It takes me a second to catch up, then I chuckle. ‘I was thinking that too. Kids are like, “What’s your favourite colour? – Blue – Hey, mine too!” Then they’re best friends for life.’
‘Hah! True. That’s how Max and I became friends – we were both into Pokémon.’
‘Wait, are you talking about Max Stirling? You guys are friends?’
‘Yep. Best friends from, like, second or third grade – all through junior high and high school…’
‘So that’s how you got him onboard the Hargreaves campaign,’ I say, the pieces slotting into place.
‘Uh… kinda,’ he replies, scrunching his nose. He rubs the back of his neck with one hand as if he’s suddenly self-conscious. It makes his bicep bulge, which would ordinarily be distracting, but I’m still stuck on how he got one of the biggest movie stars in the world to agree to do a TV advert.
‘Kinda?’ I prod.
He drops his hand. ‘I mean, sure, knowing Max got me the meeting but I still had to sell him on the idea. And Hargreaves has to pay him a butt-tonne of money.’
‘Right,’ I say, unsure how to take this. Did Drew’s concept win solely because he delivered Max Stirling or is it truly something special? I suppose I’ll find out on Monday.
We edge forward in the queue, both silent, and soon it’s our turn.
‘Two adults and two children,’ Drew tells the young woman behind the counter.
‘Oh no, you don’t have to—’ I say as he pulls his wallet from his front jeans pocket.
‘You can get the next one,’ he replies with a smile.
‘Okay, sure.’ And now I’ve agreed to a next time.
I’m a bit distracted as we select our clubs and choose different coloured golf balls – first the Max Stirling thing, now the promise of a future get-together…
Harlow chooses her ball first – green, her favourite – Maisie chooses pink, and Drew grabs a blue ball. He rummages in the large bucket and holds up a red one. ‘Reid?’ he asks. I don’t bother correcting him that I told him to call me Sophie. I simply nod.
‘Cool – it matches that dress of yours,’ he says with a slight smirk. Then he tosses it to me.
I miss the catch. I’ve always been rubbish at catching, but that’s three times in as many minutes that Drew has said something to rattle me. If he’s doing it deliberately. Maybe it’s just that he’s under my skin, something I cannot let on about. Ever.
I bend down and pick up the golf ball while Drew leads the girls towards the first hole.
Maisie hasn’t played before, so Drew coaches her on how to putt, giving her a few practice goes on the floor beside the hole.
She’s concentrating so hard, her tongue is poking out – adorable.
So is seeing Drew and Maisie together, adding to the conflicted thoughts pinging around my brain.
He’s so sweet with Maisie.
Did he deserve to win the Hargreaves account, or did he simply dazzle them with a Hollywood star?
God, he looks hot in those jeans.
‘You okay?’
Drew’s voice jolts me back to the present – and I’m positive he’s caught me perving on his bum.
‘All good,’ I say with a smile, inwardly cringing. ‘So, who’s going first?’
‘I will,’ says my fearless daughter.
She steps up to the first hole, which is designed like a miniature skate park, surveying it like a pro.
The key is to launch the ball up one of the curved ramps.
Hit it too softly, it’ll roll back towards you; too hard, it’ll bounce out; just right and gravity will guide it into one of three pipes, each leading to a different outcome on the green. And this is only the first hole.
Harlow hits her ball and we all watch as it rises up one side of the ramp, pauses at the top, then rolls back down where it syphons into the middle pipe. We collectively crane our necks to see where it comes out on the green, about six inches from the hole.
‘Nicely done, Lo!’ I say.
‘Yes, good job, Harlow,’ says Maisie.
I can tell she’s one of those kids who applauds others’ successes – like Harlow. I may not want to spend any more ‘extracurricular’ time with Drew Parker, but I’m all for the girls becoming friends. I’ll just have to make that happen without Uncle Drew.
Next up is Maisie and her first putt sends the ball flying off the top of the ramp into the next hole.
Drew jogs over to retrieve it and before Maisie can succumb to self-doubt, he quietly offers her some advice on how to correct her putting.
She nods, that ‘tongue of concentration’ appearing again, and makes her second putt.
It’s not great but it does the job and her ball goes into the closest tube and comes out about three feet from the hole.
She’s thrilled with the outcome, and she hasn’t even sunk the ball yet.
Drew goes next and it’s obvious from how he adopts his stance – knees bent, that glorious bum of his sticking out a bit – that he’s golfed before. It’s a skilful putt and it follows Harlow’s down the middle pipe, gently knocking her ball out of the way when it lands on the green.
‘Sorry, Harlow,’ he says.
She shrugs. ‘It’s okay. It’s just a game,’ she says, a side of her I rarely see. Poor Harlow inherited a double dose of the competitive gene – and Daniel was worse than me.
‘You’re up, Sophie,’ says Drew.
He called me Sophie. And I like it way too much, the way his Minnesotan accent lingered on the O. Maybe he should go back to calling me Reid.
I step up to the tee and place my ball, then take a deep breath and hit it.
As we did with everyone else’s shots, we all watch the ball rise up the curve of the wall, roll back down, then disappear into the pipe – the rear one this time.
When it pops out the other end, the ball rolls seamlessly into the hole.
‘You got a hole in one!’ Harlow exclaims.
‘Oh my god.’ I burst out laughing.
‘Well done, Sophie,’ says Maisie, giving me credit for the fluke shot.
‘Thanks,’ I reply.
‘Yeah, good job,’ says Drew, holding up his palm for a high five. I slap it and we exchange grins. ‘Okay, let’s see who can come second on this hole,’ he says, leading the girls to the green.
I watch them – the excited chatter between Maisie and Harlow, how Drew rests his hand on Maisie’s shoulder and she looks at him adoringly.
He glances back. ‘You coming? You gotta cheer the rest of us on, you know.’
‘Coming!’ I say as I mark a ‘1’ on the scorecard next to my name. I join the others right as Harlow’s ball skirts the rim of the hole then rolls away.
‘Robbed!’ declares Drew, making Harlow laugh. ‘I swear, Harlow, that hole moved.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Uncle Drew,’ chides Maisie, rolling her eyes, one hand on her hip.
Drew looks over and winks at me, which does unexpected things to my insides – namely my heart, which flutters treacherously. Stupid, stupid heart. Or is that stupid, stupid Sophie?
Because when it comes to Drew Parker, I’m fine with sex dreams and fantasy-fuelled orgasms, but I am absolutely not fine with heart flutters. Heart flutters can bugger right off.