Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Jaxon
“We’re so glad you could join,” the woman at the check-in for the childcare center’s fundraiser says to me, her voice wavering between excitement and trepidation.
Her excitement at my arrival and promised donation has gone down quickly since I told her I was taking Carter Mitchell’s place.
My guess is it has something to do with the uncomfortable way in which she asked, “You’re going to be Izzy’s partner? ”
When I’d called Carter to get some insight into winning Izzy over after my declaration this morning, he’d offered me his place at the fundraiser golf tournament at Wild Bluffs Country Club this afternoon. It’s short, just nine holes, and I’d get to be Izzy’s partner.
I’m ninety percent sure he gave me his spot because he’s nursing a slight hangover from yesterday and it’s supposed to be almost a hundred degrees out this afternoon, but I will take what I can get.
I head into the clubhouse where I’m just in time to hear the final instructions for the day from a man in a WBCC visor and polo.
He starts reading out the teams and which hole they’ll start on, and I catch a glimpse of Izzy toward the front in a pink version of the man’s outfit.
Her long hair is pulled up into a ponytail that snakes out the hole at the back of her cap and down to the middle of her back.
I’ve stopped paying attention to the man, which is why I’m just as shocked as Izzy is when he says my name.
She looks up, darting her gaze around until she sees me. She scowls slightly, and I can’t decide if not telling her I was taking Carter’s place was a good idea or an absolutely terrible one. At least this way she can’t back out on me.
When the man upfront finishes, reminding us yet again to tee off from our respective holes at exactly one thirty, Izzy walks over to me, the fakest-looking smile I’ve ever seen plastered on her face.
She grabs my upper arm, shoving me out the side door of the building with her.
“What are you doing here, Jaxon Reid?”
“Supporting the childcare center,” I say casually, as if I’m both a big golfer and a regular donor.
Izzy closes her eyes, clearly trying to keep her temper leashed. “Great. The childcare center always needs more support. So, I guess my question is, why are you golfing with me?”
“Carter let me have his spot.”
“But why?”
“Because I asked him if he had any ideas for winning you over. He suggested this.”
Izzy turns and paces away a few steps. “I’m going to murder that man.”
“I did ask him very nicely, if it helps,” I say. “And I’m pretty sure he would’ve been a shit time anyway. He’s a bit hungover.”
“So are you! So am I!” Izzy whisper-yells. “We all made a lot of bad decisions last night that we now have to live with.”
I nod. Couldn’t agree more.
“Well,” I say, “we’d better get headed to our tee. We were hole seventeen, right? That sounds like quite a trek.”
“You don’t even golf,” Izzy says, resigned.
“Not true,” I say. “Didn’t you read the article Golfers’ Magazine did on me? I dabble.”
“No,” Izzy says. “I have actively avoided any articles about you.”
She pauses before looking me squarely in the eyes. “This event is important to me. I set it all up since I’m a member out there. Please don’t fuck this up.”
After she finishes, she turns and walks to the front of the clubhouse, swinging a pink golf bag over her shoulder.
“Come on, Jaxon. They have a golf cart that will give us a ride to our tee box,” she calls, not even looking behind her to see if I’m coming.
I grab the rental bag of clubs and hurry to catch up with her. “I thought they didn’t allow golf carts out here?” I ask.
Izzy caddied at this golf course in high school, carrying members’ bags eighteen-plus holes a day all summer long, so I know a thing or two about the Wild Bluffs Country Club.
“They don’t,” she says, strapping her golf bag into the back of the cart.
“But they can drive us on the maintenance roads. Only those of us going to the holes far away get a ride out. I hope you’re ready for a lot of walking,” she says, the biggest smile I’ve seen from her all day lighting up her face as if she’s enjoying the idea of me not being able to keep up.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I say, strapping mine in as well.
The teenage girl in the front seat catches our attention then, saying, “You’ll have to smoosh in up here. They used all the four-person carts on the groups going farther away.”
Izzy shakes her head. “That’s okay, I’ll just hold on to the back.”
“I’m sorry. They specifically said I can’t let anyone do that. I could lose my job if I let you,” the girl says timidly, her eyes wide.
“Okay, but we’re both very large people. Don’t you think they could make an exception?” Izzy asks sweetly.
“Maybe you could sit on his lap?” the girl says, and I have to physically bite my lips together to keep from laughing.
“No,” Izzy says, crossing her arms and shooting daggers at me. I didn’t think I was a fan of collared tank tops on women, but the pose is doing good things for Izzy.
“I can sit on your lap,” I offer, trying to rein in the shit-eating grin spreading across my face.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Izzy says on a huff. “Just sit your ass down.”
I slide into the seat beside the high schooler before turning to Izzy and patting my knee. “Your chariot awaits, madam.”
“I’m going to murder Carter,” Izzy says as she carefully climbs into the cart and sits on my right leg. She’s barely touching me.
“Are you squatting?” I ask.
“No—” Izzy starts but is thrown forward when the girl starts reversing out of the spot.
I reach out, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back into me.
“I got you,” I say.
Izzy scoots forward so she isn’t quite as close, the movement bringing her ass in direct contact with my dick. The one that got a bit excited by the close proximity.
I let out a small grunt just as Izzy releases an “eep!” sound.
Our driver looks over at us as she starts to navigate the two-track dirt road that will take us to our tee box, and Izzy waves a hand in a shooing motion. “Did that bee sting you, Jaxon?”
I almost burst out laughing, but instead, follow her lead. “Yeah. Not too bad though.”
Wait. Can beestings be in varying degrees of badness? Is it just stung or not stung? Izzy is apparently thinking something along those same lines because her face is pulling in a frown.
“I mean, it’s probably just that I have such big…” I trail off suggestively. “…muscles.”
Izzy whacks my chest, and I laugh.
“You’re a menace, Jaxon Reid.”
“Pots and kettles and all that, Izzy,” I respond, tightening my arm around her waist just slightly. She huffs before shoving me away.
We get to the tee box and meet the two men who will be rounding out our foursome, something I hadn’t realized before asking if we were at the wrong hole. Turns out, I should’ve listened to the guy giving instructions instead of staring at Izzy.
“Hey,” I say, as we walk up to the two men.
“Holy shit,” one of them replies. “You’re Jaxon Steele.”
Izzy snickers, but I give her a playful shove and nod. “Guilty.”
“Oh man, I’m a huge fan. I was at your final concert last year.”
I should’ve guessed they were from New York from the finance-bro vibes they’re both giving off.
We chat briefly about what brought them to Wild Bluffs—really wanted to play the course, and the charity thing was the only way they could figure out how to—before Izzy looks at her watch and declares it time to start.
“Can we get a quick picture first, Jaxon?” the blonder of the two men, Keith, asks.
“Jessica, can you take it?” the other guy, Marty, asks, extending his phone to Izzy.
“I’ve got it,” I say, stretching my arm in front of us and snapping the photo, not even caring if they were ready or not. “And her name is Isabel.”
Marty chuckles. “Right, Isabel. I dated a girl named Isabel once. She was…well, probably about ten years younger than you.”
“How…special,” Izzy says, and it takes all my control not to laugh.
Marty has to be in his mid-forties, so here’s hoping his twenty-something Isabel was a part of his very distant past.
The other two men and I hit our drives from the blue tees before walking up with Izzy to the women’s tee box. Keith and Marty hang back, chatting quietly while Izzy sets up, but I follow her, watching as she bends at the waist, her exposed thighs flexing athletically, her ass sticking out slightly.
She looks…good.
From a golf perspective. Real nice form.
“Nice shot,” I say, watching her ball fly down the fairway, outdriving both Keith and me.
“Thanks,” Izzy says, offering me a tight grin.
“I’ve never understood why they even have women’s tees,” Keith says, clearly annoyed about Izzy outdriving him. “If women want to compete against men, they should play from the same tees. Women’s rights and all.”
I chuckle, pretending I’m in on the joke, instead of punching him directly in the face like I want to. “I don’t think the tees are the problem, man. Pretty sure she’d beat us no matter where we start.”
Keith and Marty scoff, but Izzy sends me a shy smile as she pulls her bag back onto her shoulder.
We fall into step behind the two men, both Izzy and I making our way to her ball since apparently this is a two-person scramble format tournament. It works in my favor because we just play from the best shot—or in other words, it’s just going to be Izzy versus the two of them.
Maybe she should be annoyed I’m her partner for the day.
Our conversations stay limited to golf strategy and the occasional sarcastic remark whispered under our breath whenever Keith or Marty choose to make a comment about Izzy’s game or mine. Or Wild Bluffs.
I may have avoided this town like the plague for the last fifteen years, but that’s because of my own shit. Nobody else gets to come here and badmouth this place or the people who live here.