Chapter Fifteen
Golf is hard.
From under her visor, Jo shoots me a sympathetic look. It’s been almost an hour since we made it to the nine-hole golf course in Clear Lake, and I keep whiffing it.
According to Adri, that means I suck.
“It’s not too late to ask him to meet you on the soccer field,” Jo offers. “That’ll show Garrett how cutthroat you are. He’ll immediately sign you as his agent.”
“Can’t.” I stab a tee into the manicured grass. “Golf equals success as an agent. If I don’t master it today, I’m screwed.” I’m aware I sound delusional, considering professional golfers dedicate their lives to reaching the highest level.
Being invited to golf with Garrett felt like being invited to the cool kids’ table after eating alone in the library. I even let Adri convince me to wear a cute skirt today, hopeful it would give me magical golfing powers.
It isn’t working.
“I think you want it too much.” Adri swirls the pretty blue drink in her hand. “The ball can smell your desperation.”
Mallory hums. “She might be onto something. Empty your head and swing.”
“Yeah!” Adri claps. “Go ahead and give us nothing!”
Jo, the only one with golf experience, shrugs. “Why not? Doesn’t hurt to try.”
Emptying my brain, I step up to the tee and follow Jo’s instructions. Cover the red pieces of guiding tape? Check. Legs shoulder-length apart? Done. Bend the knees and push my hips back? Got it. Glare at the ball? Easy. Hitting it is the hard part.
“No thoughts,” I whisper and pull my arms back. A warm ray of sun hits my skin, and I think the golfing gods are finally shining down on me and lighting a path for the little ball to fly down the green.
Squinting, I search for the ball. “Where’d it go?”
Wheezing laughter answers my question, so ear-splitting that the silver-haired golfers around us stare, but that doesn’t deter my friends.
“Oh, sweet girl.” Adri chokes on a gasp. “It never moved.”
A scream rushes up my throat, muffled by my fist as I look down. The ball is still sitting on the damn tee.
“Maybe you should sign up for a class,” Mallory offers. “You’re heading toward Shayzilla, and although I love your feisty side, snapping a golf club over your knee may scare Garrett away.”
Shayzilla is my alter ego. She’s summoned when the words calm down leave a man’s lips or “Hips Don’t Lie” starts playing, but she’s also awakened by failure.
And I’m failing right now. Hard.
I thrust my club at them. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?”
It’s a mistake, of course. Challenging Mallory is never a good idea.
With a saccharine grin, she snatches a club.
Everything about her movement is flawless, from the simplicity in her stance to the swing of her hips.
The biggest difference between our attempts is that hers comes with that satisfying click, the sound of success.
My failure intensifies when Adri hits the ball too.
I’m the only one here who sucks at golf.
As if she can sense my frustration, Mallory’s competitive spirit shifts into concern as she hands us each a water bottle. “Let’s try again at the first hole.”
I send a silent thanks her way as we head to the gleaming white golf cart.
Jo hops into the driver’s seat with Mallory beside her, leaving Adri and I thigh to thigh in the backseat with the clubs.
The other girls aren’t height-challenged like I am, so they’re sharing Jo’s golf clubs, and I’m renting.
Jo’s eyes meet mine in the rear-view mirror as she seamlessly maneuvers around other carts. “How are things going with Cade?”
Holding the claw clip in my teeth, I take my time roping my braids into a bun to think of an appropriate answer.
“Who cares about that, JoJo!” Adri cuts in. “I want to know how you can work so closely with a guy you used to sleep with and sorta date. You literally know what his dick looks like.”
“And tastes like,” Jo adds unhelpfully.
Mallory gags. “Jeez. That’s my non-biological brother you’re talking about.”
“Not sorry. I’m expressing my respect for Shay, that’s all.” Adri beams like a proud mother. “I’m in awe of your ability to not fall back into bed with him.”
I shrug. “It’s easy. I refuse to let one man take my career down for a fun night.”
I’ve successfully kept my head down and heart on lock for nearly two years. That isn’t going to change because things are somewhat decent between us.
“According to college Shaylene, he’s one well-endowed man.” Adri lifts my chin to close my mouth when I glare at her. “Don’t be mad at me for having a good memory.”
“Well-endowed?” Mallory screams. “Did we transport back to the fifteenth century?”
TMI has never been a thing for The Quartet, and my stomach is in stitches when Jo pulls to a stop near the tee box. Mallory and Adri stay seated, but I follow Jo. From here, I can barely make out the red flag that signifies the hole. It’ll take at least thirty attempts to get there.
“I want to try something. Let’s treat this like baseball.
” The club Jo hands me looks like a high-tech sledgehammer, but she calls it a driver and grabs her own.
“I wouldn’t say they’re necessarily similar, but humor me.
Baseball’s swing plane is horizontal, but golf’s is vertical, like on a tilted circle.
Got it?” I nod, and she continues. “Rotate your hips and keep your eyes on the ball. You don’t need to be a pro to impress Garrett. You just need to make contact.”
As she demonstrates the swing in slow motion, things start to click. It’s different from baseball, yes, but maybe I can hit this damn ball. Even if it’s only a few feet.
“You’re a good coach, Jo. Thanks for taking a study break for me.”
Blue eyes roll in that endearing way. “Anytime. I’ve missed your face.”
When she steps back, an imaginary tilted circle appears around me.
The practice swing is shaky, but I mostly stay on the surrounding lines.
Aligning myself with the ball, I pull my arms back and bring them around quickly.
My weight shifts to my front leg, and when I hear the sweet click, I leap into the air.
“I told you I could do—” I start, but when I turn around, I choke on my pride. It’s hard to be a turd when my three best friends are celebrating my first successful stroke. I don’t even care how far it went.
I’m just happy to be here with them.
Nine holes of golf shouldn’t take four hours, but four chaotic women and one golf cart was enough to disturb an entire community.
Soothed by an Epsom salt bath and a bowl of dark chocolate chips, I fall onto the sectional. The thought of driving to Slim Jim Batting is too much, so I’ll work from home tonight.
I grab my phone.
Me
Waiting on Chinese food. You alive?
A bubble appears as I curl into the multicolored quilt.
Marshmallory
Barely. Caught a charley horse so Kenneth is rubbing my calves. How are you?
Not great. The silence of the house is too loud.
As a kid, I bounced between Mom’s and Dad’s.
It wasn’t until I moved into this house with Mallory that I understood what a real home should feel like.
Four walls don’t make a place home, but what she brought into the space did.
Clanging dishes at the crack of dawn. Vibrant pieces of art she found at thrift shops on every wall.
Oldies blasting from her room at all hours.
Lively plants in every corner. With her gone, I haven’t been able to make it mine. I haven’t wanted to.
Before I can respond, another text comes in.
Marshmallory
I miss you. Sleepover next weekend?
I grin. She has always been able to read my mind.
Me
Miss you most. And please. I’m having vitamin E deficiency
Marshmallory
Vitamin E? Eat some peanut butter
Me
Lol. No. Vitamin Edwards
Marshmallory
Good one. I’m stealing that – Kenneth :)
My laugh falls short when I open my email and see hundreds of unread, urgent messages. It may be Saturday, but I never get a day off. A few of Trevor’s requests—demands—are simple enough, but the rest are him passing off his work to me.
The most recent email is from Andy. We may be colleagues, but I can’t remember the last time he emailed me separately.
Andy Walker: Not sure what happened. Doesn’t seem good
I click the link he added, expecting bad news, but it’s worse than I could imagine.
Carolina Pilots shortstop and golden boy, Cade Owens, stormed out of media.
My elbow connects with the coffee table as I roll off the couch, but I’m too preoccupied with opening my contacts and scrolling down to the C’s. It took six months to lose the itch to call him every night, but in thirty seconds, the desperation to talk to him returns.
Then the doorbell rings, and I can’t even be happy about dinner because my phone starts vibrating.