Chapter Two
Wren
“ G et in, baby,” Sella said, opening the door to her Cabrio convertible.
It was her mom’s car in the early nineties, and in mint condition. She’d had the engine restored. It was a “cherry of a car,” as her mom declared. But it was still devoid of modern amenities…which forced us to talk on the ride. With our hair blowing in our faces, Sella went on and on about me getting lucky while wearing my shamrock panties. I started to think she was cursing me, and maybe I would actually hook up tonight. I hadn’t been with a guy in a while. The possibility felt ominous, which had me all kinds of mad over insisting on staying in the underwear. I mean, what if this was my night?
“Aren’t you going to say something?”
I shook my head. “I’m too smart. It will only egg you on. So no, I’m not giving in to the temptation to answer you.”
She howled and commented, “Well, it should be me in those granny panties. I’m Irish and you’re most certainly not.”
This made me laugh out loud. “That’s for sure.”
With my Jewish mom and my biracial dad, I was a whole lot of everything but Irish. I think a quarter Italian and a quarter Spanish mixed with my half Jewish qualified me to be the most stubborn woman in America.
“Your skin is better, so you got that,” Sella declared as she pulled into the parking lot for the golf place.
“It is,” I agreed and stepped out of the car, finger-combing my curls which were now a wreck. I could’ve worn a silk scarf over them, but I’d left my purse at home, sticking my ID, phone, money, and lipstick in my pockets.
As we entered the air-conditioned building, the Alpha schmucks were checking teams in and assigning them “bays,” which were essentially bowling alleys set up like a golf tee, to play their make-believe golf game. Several levels of bays all looked over a ginormous green, where the balls dropped into various holes or onto the surface and collected points via technology. It was all very video-game-esque.
Sella must have heard my thoughts because she pinched my side and whispered, “It’s for a good cause. Think about the puppies being rescued.”
I eye-rolled and kept walking.
“I’m here for Team Aerial Pilates, Sella O’Toole,” she said as she quickly transformed into the peppy, happy-go-lucky, anything-goes version of herself. A dutiful frat pledge started checking the list. “She’s filling in for Mandy Warner,” Sella added, with her head knocked my way.
I only nodded.
“What’s your name? I don’t know if we can have fill-ins.”
“Then it’s Mandy. Mandy Warner.”
He shrugged and told us to head to bay two hundred.
“Shelby and Tracy are running late,” Sella said about her other Pilates teammates, looking at her phone, rock music playing in the background.
We followed the bay numbers along the perimeter. Small golfing areas were set up in front of each number, all of them overlooking a vast netted driving range area.
“This is fun, right? It’s not a frat house, so it’s better.” Sella and her eternal optimism.
I nodded and kept it moving. Sella and I were both “independents,” but she got into the fraternity scene when it came time to party. One out of every twelve times, she dragged me with her. The Alphas were the most popular guys on campus—even I knew this—and when they announced they were having a fundraiser, everyone got involved.
“…the golf team agreed to come. That’s big, you know?” Sella rambled as we walked toward our section.
Topmost wasn’t a new fad, but the Alphas somehow managed to rent out all three levels of it for their event, which had never been done. The frat sold bays to practically every business in or around campus, plus every sorority. I’d been hearing about it for weeks.
“I heard that Scottish dude was the one who forced it. He’s friends with the Alphas but never goes to their parties. He’s some big deal,” she droned on about the golf team.
“Here we are,” I breathed out on a sigh of relief. “I’m only here for the puppies, and you know that.”
She winked at me as she pinched my butt. “And maybe to get lucky…”
“Yeah, when I win at this game.”
I’d been to Topmost once before—on a date gone wrong. A guy Sella tried to fix me up with from her theater class. He could be the yin to your yang , she’d said. I’d argued, That’s you , but she wouldn’t back down. The guy was more of a pain to my already pained ass. I was prepping for a bio test, and he was droning on about a Chicago accent he was attempting to perfect for a school play.
“We’ll see about that. Maybe the golf guys will come over and give you a lesson,” Sella said, bringing me back to the present moment and my threat to win. She spoke with a twinkle in her eye, watching the entrance from a distance until a bunch of fit guys in polos and white shorts entered the building, causing a ruckus among the Alphas.
“The games can officially begin,” rang through the PA system. “Please remember to enter your names into the console and keep accurate track of balls hit and score, and— Whoa, Arizona’s finest just entered the building, looking ready to school all of you. But remember half of all the money raised tonight goes to Desert Doggie Rescue. That includes half of all drink and food orders, so drink and eat up! And if you want to see how the pros do it, check the golf team out on bay two hundred and one.”
It was only then I realized the section next to us had been outfitted with two couches, unlike our high-top table and chairs. It was also empty, but it seemed as though we were going to be hitting our golf balls next to campus celebrities. I shouldn’t care, but the I’m not enough voice echoed in my head. It was why I hated these events. I was socially awkward, nerdy, too forward with my opinions and, in general, not cool. My mom being a radical feminist and my dad’s insatiable career drive were great separately, but had combined into me. And it was lethal to being normal.
Sella got busy trying out clubs and looking at the drink menu. “Let’s have some prosecco,” she muttered, “while waiting for the others.”
“Or we could start and finish,” I quickly noted.
“We are not rushing out of here,” Sella said through gritted teeth as four very tan, extremely in-shape, hot-as-fuck golfers strode by to the couches next to us.
“Ladies,” a dark-haired one said, taking off his Titleist ball cap and nodding.
They went to their area, where I noticed their clubs were set up in fancy golf bags and not in the plastic dispenser like us. We were regular folk, playing a game, and these dudes needed specialty clubs in exclusive bags to play. Apparently.
The guys got busy, yanking a few clubs out and swinging over the green below.
Sella ordered two glasses of prosecco and then, as predicted, went in for the kill. “Heyyy, do you think you can show me how to swing this?” She stood there, looking sexy in a sundress and Puma sneakers, holding a lone club in front of her, her cleavage bunched up.
Her phone pinged on the table in front of me and I caught the alert. It said the others were stuck at work and were not going to make it. Shit.
I looked up to tell Sella, but she was already getting a golf lesson from Mr. Tall & Dark in the Titleist hat.
“What about you? You know how to play?” A deep, yet melodic, accented voice came at me from the side.
I was grateful for the cascade of curls twirling across my cheek, hiding my emotions at being spoken to first…for once…instead of Sella. I loved her, but she willfully commanded a room, and most of the time I was happy with the arrangement. But at the end of the day I was still just a girl, wanting attention. From a guy? I didn’t know what.
Looking up, I found myself staring at a head full of messy blondish waves, deep green eyes dewy like the wet forest, and a very nice chest (at least I imagined so) behind a white polo. He held his hat in his hand and leaned his other palm on my table.
“I don’t know. I’ve been here once before and hit the ball one hundred and forty yards.”
He nodded and smiled. “Beginner’s luck,” he noted.
By his smirk, I understood that wasn’t very good at all. “I take it that’s not so great?” Realizing my awful date from that ill-matched evening had lied to me, I tilted my head away from Mr. Green Eyes.
“I could show you.” He didn’t get the clue and persisted. I’d give him that.
“I’m only here for the dogs.” Despite being book smart, no one ever said I was witty.
“Me too.”
I happened to turn my head at the most perfect moment and catch this golfer guy winking at me.
“Daniel,” he said with authority, holding out his hand for me to shake. “Daniel Campbell. My friends call me Danny, so that works too.”
“Wren,” I said while slipping my hand inside his.
“Like the bird?”
“Yes.”
“I know, probably not an original question, but an original name for sure,” he followed with.
“Dad’s Latin and Italian, Mom’s Jewish. She wanted Rebecca. He wanted Angelina. Somehow they decided on Wren because they met on…wait for it…Wren Way. Now neither culture overshadows the other. I’m as American as apple pie until you get to my last name. Bianchi. Then you know you’re dealing with firepower.” I gave my spiel effortlessly. Anyone getting involved with me should know who they were dealing with. Sarcastic, sometimes caustic, and often too snarky for my own good—Wren. My name certainly didn’t match my demeanor.
My neck got hot, and I felt Sella’s eyes on me. She might have been pretending to swing clubs, but she was waiting for me to bat my eyelashes or give some sort of innate mating signal to the cute guy. Wasn’t going to happen though. I stood and made my way to the area with the clubs—grabbing a three wood or whatever they called it—and went to the putting platform and cracked the ball.
It barely fell off the platform and landed on the green just below our bay area.
“So much for a hundred and forty. Here, let me help. Are you mairrit to this club?” asked Daniel, Danny, or whatever he wanted to be called.
“I have no idea what you just asked me.”
“Mairrit, you know committed, like a wedding?”
“Oh, married.”
“That’s what I said,” he said while winking.
“While your accent is new, I am kind of partial to this club,” I said, allowing my stubborn nature to show.
He stood behind me, his hard parts braced against my soft ones, his hands coming over mine. “Feel that. The tautness coupled with a slight bend in the knee?”
I nodded, this time I understood his words but had no idea what he was saying.
He let go of my hand and poked at my back elbow before bringing his hands to mine. In a slow stroke he showed me how to swing. “Like that. With precision…”
He rambled on with some other tips, none of which I caught because he smelled really good. A combination of mint and tea tree swirled the tiny hairs in my nose, and it twitched. I resisted the urge to rub it because it would mean losing contact with Daniel.
“Hey guys, I’m going to join this team,” he was shouting all of a sudden, half twisting but not letting go of me.
“We want to win,” his teammates argued.
“I’ll come over in a bit and hit some balls,” was all he said.
His back still to my front, I was paralyzed until Sella spoke.
“Can I get a turn?”
“Of course,” he said, stepping away from me and holding out his hand again with a solid, “Daniel.” No Danny explanation with it.
“Sella, and I don’t need any help. Dad plays golf. Dragged me out all my life to hit balls. Wanted a son. Got me.”
With his hands in the air, Daniel backed away toward the table. “Tell me, Wren, what do you do when you’re not golfing?”
We stood around the table and he eyed me like I was prey. Surprisingly, I wasn’t mad. “ Pretend golfing. I don’t really golf.” I put my foot in my mouth again. I should’ve just twisted my leg up and shoved the other one down my throat…
“Right. Pretend golf. What is it you do otherwise?”
His accent rumbled off his tongue and found mysterious nooks and crannies in my body swooning. Nooks I didn’t know existed. “I go to school.”
He raised an eyebrow, making sure I knew he wasn’t letting me off the hook so easily.
“Pre-med. I study a lot. I’m in the advocacy group against animal testing. Yoga.”
He nodded. “A true animal lover and type B?” He said the last part like a question…
“Regrettably, no. Type A, but I try to instill some B in myself.”
“I have a dog,” he said, bypassing my vitriol. “Cutest guy…Brutus is his name.” When he looked at me his eyes were bright and optimistic, like he found the Willy Wonka golden ticket in my sarcasm.
“I bet you do have the cutest dog. Does that work with all the ladies?”
Not going to lie, it was working with me—but I wasn’t telling him that piece of information.
“You’re up, golfer boy,” Sella hollered over our conversation, and I sauntered behind him as he got up.
We went on to watch him hit the ball flawlessly again and again. His balls all sailed to the far end of the green, his points soaring on the computer screen. It was real golf. This place was a live-action video game to him, and not meant for a dork like me.
He was back and holding out his hand to help me with my turn, and even I couldn’t resist a little jumping up and down when my ball sailed over the green.
“Must be your lucky panties,” Sella whispered to me as I passed by her near the club exchange.
I couldn’t resist the smile forming on my face, which was pretty much how the evening went from then on—a striking combination of my reluctance to allow myself to have fun, my sarcasm making an appearance, and me actually enjoying myself.
Daniel would chat with me while Sella shot, then take his own turn. I watched in awe before he would make an attempt at helping me. Rinse and repeat. A few times he went over and shot with his guys, who all hooted and hollered when he wandered their way, slapping him on the back.
“Nachos?” Daniel looked toward me, holding a menu in the air. “They’re not as American as pie, but they’re good.”
“They are an American favorite. By the way, where’s the accent from?” The question flowed so easily from my mouth. Although I probably should have asked earlier.
“Scotland,” he answered too quickly, and I imagined a juicy story he’d only tell me in the days to come. It would be our secret…
But then I saw him smile at the server and knew his flirting was exactly that—flirting.
Sella stood behind me and said, “I think I feel a headache coming on. I’ll see you at home,” just as the nachos arrived.
Of course the wench didn’t even give me a chance to argue. She’d gone and hurried out of there before I could turn around.
“Looks like it’s up to us to finish the nachos and win this game.” He stood and held out his arm, waiting for me to take another turn. “How about trying this one?” He pulled out a smaller club.
I didn’t know which one it was, but he guided me to the tee area and positioned himself behind me. And it might as well have been a hockey stick—as long as he stayed where he was, I would swing anything.
My ball soared across the green and Daniel mumbled, “There you go,” in my ear.
“What do I win?” I spun around, catching a broad smile on his face.
“A nacho!” He strode to the table and plucked a cheese-covered chip. “Open up,” he said, and I did.
He fed me the chip and it was the single most erotic moment of my life. Pathetic that it was happening at pretend golf, in a pair of jeans and granny panties, but it was. “Mmm,” I heard myself humming.
“They are pretty good.” He swiped his thumb under my lip and then proceeded to suck on it.
For a brief moment I forgot we were in public as my hormones went haywire. The urge to get close and—I didn’t know, dry hump this guy?—fizzled up my spine. Luckily, by the time it hit my brain, my intelligence sank in and prevented the act.
“Scotland? This place had to be a change for you.” I quickly moved the chatter back to the mundane.
He nodded. “The summer was like torture in the beginning, but now I miss the heat if I go home. Brutus stays inside in the air-conditioning in the summer though, and he doesn’t like when I go to Scotland. Kennel, ya know?”
“Aw, poor guy.”
“He’ll survive…”
Our next few turns passed in this type of easy banter and without any more illicit thumb sucking. I found myself unusually drawn to Daniel, who was far from my type, or my league.
I was caught in my self-loathing right up until the Alphas came onto the loudspeaker declaring the golf team the winners—which they did without Daniel—and yelling about how much money they raised. The event was declared a huge success, and everyone was instructed to eat and drink some more.
Looking at our empty plate and glasses, Daniel turned his gaze to me. “Want to come meet Brutus?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is that the best you can do?” This was less confident than it sounded and more about self-preservation.
He laughed. It was deep and guttural and hit me in the core. “I usually wait until the third date to introduce him…”
This had me laughing. The sparkle in his eye was a dead giveaway when he was joking.
Still chuckling, he gathered me close, his arm around my waist, and whispered, “I promise to be a gentleman, but as for Brutus, I can’t make any promises.”
“He’s excused,” I whispered, wanting Daniel to be less of a gentleman, but I couldn’t even believe I wanted to leave with him. I never got to leave with the hot, cool guy. Not smart Wren. For whatever reason, I needed this experience.
“Come on,” he said. “Hey guys, see you in the morning,” he hollered to his teammates.
A rash of whistles and “Danny-boys” trailed behind us as Daniel led me out, his hand on my lower back. Only his fingertips grazed the area, but I could feel tingles everywhere.
“Do this often?” I couldn’t help myself.
“Never.”
I wasn’t sure if I believed him, but the butterflies in my stomach did.
“Hey Danny, thanks,” one of the Alphas called after us.
“One sec,” he told me, and then spoke to the frat boy. “No problem, it was fun. Hey Eric, do you know Wren?”
Eric shook his head and said, “Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming. I’m sure this dude was part of the attraction.”
“Remember what I told you about calling me dude?” Daniel side-eyed the Eric guy.
“This guy.” Eric inserted a weird, almost evil laugh while slapping Daniel on the back.
“Actually, never heard of him before tonight. This dude, I mean.” I jabbed my thumb toward Daniel for emphasis.
I hadn’t heard of him. I mean, clearly he was on the golf team and damn good at it, but I didn’t follow the sport. What I did know was that he was the first guy to make me laugh with his wit in a long time.
“Well, you’ll hear of him when he’s on the tour.”
“See you in class, Eric.” Daniel snatched my hand and spoke while leading me to the door.
“What’s with the tour?” I asked outside. “By the way, do you have a car?” Sometimes my lack of common sense and stupidity astounded me, and I worried how I would manage life. I just assumed he had a car, but what if he expected me to drive?
“I have a car. Drove separately.” He cocked his head toward a vintage BMW convertible, older than the Cabrio.
“I take it that thing doesn’t have airbags?”
He shook his head. “It has seat belts.”
I didn’t have a chance to reply as he swung the door open, and my body slid inside of its own volition.