Chapter 10
I pulled into the parking lot of Stone Bridge Golf Course, situated on the outskirts of North Charleston. Mid-November in the South was the best golf weather, in my opinion. The temperature hovered in the mid-to-high sixties during the day, so it wasn’t sweltering hot, but it wasn’t cold.
It was perfect.
I slid into the spot beside the white Hummer, shaking my head as I threw my car into park. When I slipped out, the front door of the oversized vehicle next to me flung open, and I stiffened, watching a hand catch it before it smacked the side of my Audi.
Chad chuckled as he slid from the front seat. “Relax.”
“You almost hit my car.”
He waved me off. “Almost doesn’t count.”
I walked to my trunk, popping it open. “Maybe you should get a real car instead of this oversized piece of shit you’re using to overcompensate with.” He didn’t just have a Hummer. He had a Hummer Pickup, which somehow made it fucking worse.
“Jealous?”
“Don’t make me laugh. You bought a Hummer, hoping it would get you a hummer. How’s that working out for you?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he flipped me off before opening his trunk, earning a laugh from me.
Chad Chamberlain was a friend of mine from college.
We attended the University of South Carolina for pre-law and law school, were roommates on campus, and had an apartment together off campus.
We had a friendly rivalry, always trying to one-up the other.
We both had the same affinity for partying and hanging out with girls without tying ourselves down, and our constant competition made it so we pushed one another in school.
We both graduated with honors at the top of our class—I was ranked four spots ahead of him, though.
After graduation, I came back to Bayport to work at Pierson I wanted to be successful because I was good at my job.
And I damn well was.
I reached into my trunk and grabbed my golf bag before closing it just as Chad stepped up and smirked. “Ready to get your ass kicked?”
“When are you going to learn, Chainz?” I smirked at the name, and he glowered; I found out that was his nickname in high school during our freshman year of college, and I haven’t let him live it down since.
“You say stuff like that to people you’ve beaten before, not someone who’s never lost to you. ”
“One of these days, I will beat you. And I’ll never let you forget it when it happens, only because you’re so certain it never will.”
“We’ve been golfing together for, what…nearly a decade?” I chuckled. “Your confidence is inspiring, though. Truly.”
Even now, in our late twenties, our friendly rivalry that started in college waged on. It didn’t matter what it was—women, cases and wins in court, a friendly game of golf—we made it into a competition.
We walked into Stone Bridge and headed to the back, where our cart was waiting outside. The club director, who knew our faces well by that point, was speaking to one of the employees when he spotted us walking toward the door. He dipped his head with a grin of acknowledgment. “Albatross. Mulligan.”
I snorted. “See, Mulligan, even Larry here knows.”
Chad rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”
After arguing over who was driving—I won—we made it through the first few holes. I walked up to the tee box of hole four, setting my tee and ball up before taking a few practice swings.
“Your backswing is shit.”
“Your face is shit.”
“That’s not what your sis–”
My sharp glare cut him off. “You even think about finishing that statement, and I’ll knock every one of your fucking veneers right down your throat.”
“Calm down.” Chad laughed, holding up his hands defensively. “Also, I don’t have veneers. The big man himself blessed me with this amazing and natural smile.”
I snorted as I stepped up to the tee. “Yeah? Is that why I saw a veneer pamphlet in the door of your car six months back when we went to that conference in Orlando?” I swung, sending the ball sailing through the air until it dropped down on the fairway and rolled just short of the edge of the green.
I turned, giving Chad a smug grin for both my astute observation and my shot. “Nothing to say?”
“Shut up,” he grumbled as he stepped into the tee box.
“There’s nothing wrong with them. Just own it.”
We made it through the front nine, busting each other’s balls like usual, talking about work and the various cases we had, and mundane details of our personal lives.
By hole thirteen, I was four strokes ahead.
“When’s the next poker night at Luke’s?” Chad asked.
“Not sure. He’s got girl stuff going on.”
Chad often tagged along with me to Lucas’s house once a month or so when he hosted poker nights, but Lucas had been a tad preoccupied lately.
A few weeks ago, he and Callie actually talked, and now that they were on decent terms again, he was working toward getting back into more than just her good graces.
“Girl stuff, huh?” Chad snorted.
“Yeah. I know that’s a hard department for you to understand.”
“Please, I had three dates just last week.”
“We’ve been over this, Chad. Dinner with your mom and grandma doesn’t count as dates.”
“Fuck off,” he said with a chuckle. “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“You haven’t made one comment about your conquests in order to rub them in my face, which is a bit unusual for you. Is the great Wesley Callahan lacking in that arena?”
“I’m not lacking for anything, thank you very much.” The lie rolled effortlessly off my tongue.
The truth was, my sex life was absolute shit.
It had been a month since my two nights of quickies with Morgan.
She said it wouldn’t happen again, and while I joked about it at the time, I wholeheartedly agreed.
And we’d stuck to that. We went back to our usual bickering and pissing each other off.
You wouldn’t even know something untoward happened between us.
Which was fine. It was nothing more than two random and impulsive quick fixes that, like she said, shouldn’t have happened in the first place.
Afterward, however, I fell right back into my damn slump.
I’d go out. I’d flirt. I’d make conversation.
And that’s exactly where it would end. I didn’t know what the hell was wrong with me.
Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough, that a part of me had become a little too conditioned and comfortable in my abilities, and I just needed to put in a bit more effort.
Or perhaps Blake was right, and I’d simply lost my touch.
No. I refused to believe that. I was Wes Callahan. It was impossible for me to lose my touch.
I just…hit a rough patch. I’d snap back. I’d be back on my game soon enough. I needed to be. Because since Morgan was my last, it was her I thought about every single fucking time I went home alone.
It was her rose scent that I could still smell.
It was the feel of her skin beneath my hands that I remembered.
It was the image of her coming undone that I envisioned.
It was the sound of her breathy whimpers and moans that I heard.
And that was simply unacceptable.