9. Fairway Feelings #2
He crouches to set another ball on the tee, the sun slipping out from behind the building and catching in his dusty blonde hair, turning it into a halo that almost makes him glow.
He squints against the sudden burst of sunlight, narrowing his eyes as he lines up his shot.
“You know, we’ve been good friends for years.
So, you’ll understand if…” He delivers a forceful drive that hits the sweet spot, sending the ball soaring.
“My greatness is awe-inspiring,” he says, his grin stretching much too wide for my liking.
“I’ll understand if what, Mason?” I ask, bringing him back to earth.
“If I call another bullshit,” he says with a light laugh. “Second bullshit of the day. You’re on a roll, pal.”
“This time I’m actually being honest with you.” Sort of .
Golf is forgotten for the moment as he steps closer, standing next to me. His usual jerky attitude seems dialed down a notch.
“Maybe, but only a little. Just enough to keep me from pushing,” he says, studying my face like I’m going to give something away. Fat chance.
“You’re full of it.” I brush him off, tossing the golf club between my hands, to have something to occupy myself.
“Another maybe,” he concedes. “But I’m willing to bet this ‘something’ has a name. Hot or cold?”
I meet his gaze, steeling myself against the weight of it. “Ice cold.”
This earns another round of laughter from him as he shakes his head and turns away.
“Do you mind?” He pulls another ball from his pocket, preparing for another shot.
But I’ve had enough of his annoying interrogation tactics. I’ll be damned if he robs me of my turn too.
“I mind a lot, thanks.” I snatch the ball from his hands and step up to the tee. “I gave you what you wanted. Now it’s my turn.”
To my surprise, he steps aside without protest. That’s a first. I can feel his eyes on me as I get ready for the shot. It’s like I can actually hear the wheels turning in his head. If this were a cartoon, there’d be smoke coming out of his ears.
“Nothing’s changed over the past few days to account for this weird mood you’re in,” he says, relentless as ever. If persistence were an Olympic sport, he'd take gold.
I line up my shot, ready to kill this topic with a swing. Maybe I can smack the conversation right into the lake .
He continues, “Except… there is the case of a certain woman in Bluepeak who’s been all up in your face.”
Oh, come on. Really? My swing falters and my arms stiffen, resulting in an even bigger fumble than his. Grass and dirt go flying, and my club? Straight out of my hands. It bounces comically, kicking up sprays of sand as it tumbles along.
“Well, that’s embarrassing,” Mason announces with a dramatic round of applause. I swear, if he claps any louder, birds will start migrating early.
“Shut the fuck up.” I line up for another shot, seconds away from shoving this club down his throat. “You’re acting like a child, and it’s distracting.”
“A child who, as evidence shows, seems to be right about the hot activist who’s got your panties in a twist.”
I grab another club from his golf bag and swing it casually, trying to appear unbothered. Inside, my stomach is turning.
“You’re wrong. About all of it.” I mutter, not looking at him. I can’t. Instead, I focus entirely on getting my stance and grip perfect.
“Nice try dodging the question; I’ll quit giving you a hard time about it,” Mason says, his usual playful tone gone. “But I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t give you a warning.”
This stops me in my tracks, and I lower my club, resting it on the grass like a staff as I turn to face him.
“A warning?” I ask, not sure I want to hear it.
He nods, his expression serious. “She’s a feisty one. It’s only been a few days, but from what I hear, she’s already giving you a run for your money. My advice? Don’t get too attached. She’s got ‘This is bound to get messy’ written all over her.”
A boulder drops in my stomach, knocking the wind out of the excitement I’d been feeling about our upcoming dinner. I didn’t come to Bluepeak for connections; I’m here for business. But the way he says it, as if it’s a foregone conclusion I’ll crash and burn, makes something twist inside me.
I brush it off. “Yeah, well, it’s not like that. It’s business. Strictly business.”
“Really?”
“Really.” I lock eyes with him, keeping my tone steady and resolute.
“I’m not here to make friends, or anything more than that.
My focus is on giving back to my parents and making something of this project.
That’s it. This is my way of thanking them for everything they did for me.
You know how it was, college, constant trouble, flagrant violations.
Hell, I needed discipline, and they gave it to me. They turned my shit around.”
“You mean how you spent most of college begging not to get kicked out because of your… creative interpretations of the code of conduct, or…?”
“Kiss my ass,” I snap, putting my frustration into a brutal swing that sends the ball soaring.
“You sure about that lake?” he laughs, watching the ball arc, then splash into the water like the rest. “It’s looking more like a golf ball graveyard. Some dark romance to it, if you ask me.”
I stop him as he reaches for another ball. “It’s a passing thing, a fascination. Nothing more.”
I'm not sure if I'm saying it for him or for me, but it feels good to say out loud. A reminder, I’m here for my parents and this project. Not for a girl with perfect eyes and a defiant attitude.
Mason simply nods, letting it go. We fall back to regular programming.
A passing thing, I repeat to myself. A distraction . I can’t afford to let Chloe get in the way of my project.