Chapter 4 The Frozen Classic
FOUR
The Frozen Classic
Eli
“Hey Eli!”
I spin around on the icy sidewalk by my office. Jacob’s jogging toward me, cheeks red from the cold and breath puffing in little clouds.
He comes to a stop a few feet in front of me. “I was going to call you, but since you’re here. Nate and Susie had to bail on the Frozen Classic. I know you signed up as a sub. You and Julie still available?”
Shit. Julie. My ex. Once upon a time, I thought couples’ ice golf would be a fun, romantic couples’ activity since she was hounding me to spend more time together.
Past me should’ve been stopped. “Yeah… about that,” I rub the back of my neck.
“Julie and I aren’t together anymore. But I’ll find a new partner. ”
Jacob winces. “Oh, sorry, man.”
“It’s fine,” I shake my head. “It’s better this way. Count me in, but I’ll have to let you know who I recruit.”
“Great! I’ll see you Saturday.” He nods and heads in the opposite direction.
The second he’s gone, my brain does what it always does lately: slides straight to Lauren. She played golf in high school… well, mini golf, but close enough. Besides, this isn’t Augusta. It’s whacking balls across a frozen lake. If nothing else, she’d make it fun.
When I arrive home, the air is thick with garlic and tomato.
My stomach growls, but it’s nothing compared to the other hunger that hits me when I see her.
Lauren’s at the stove, bathed in the golden glow of the overhead light, hair loose around her shoulders, humming to herself.
She doesn’t even know how heartbreakingly pretty she looks in that ordinary moment, and that’s the problem—I notice. I always notice.
“Seriously,” I say, tossing my keys on the counter. “I should’ve had you move in ages ago.” I pull off my boots and hang up my coat.
She glances over her shoulder, smiling like she doesn’t have a care in the world. “You’re just lucky I enjoy cooking and not playing the drums.” She dips a spoon into the sauce and holds it up. “Here. Taste.”
I step closer. She steadies the spoon at my parted lips.
When the sauce touches my tongue, warmth floods through me that has nothing to do with the sauce.
Her eyes flicker down to my mouth, linger, then drift back up.
She pulls the spoon back slowly, her gaze lifting to meet mine again, and for one insane second, I almost lean in.
“Well?” she asks, soft but teasing.
“Phenomenal,” I say, my voice rougher than I’d like. “I could eat that on its own.”
She laughs again. Soft and sweet. “Lucky for you, you don’t have to.” She points to another pot and a sheet pan on the stove. “I have noodles and garlic bread too.”
I tear myself away before I do something stupid, like stare at her mouth again, and head to my coat. “Speaking of lucky…” I pull out a package from the inside pocket and toss it to her.
She catches it midair. “Red Vines!” Her face lights up, which, unhelpfully, makes my chest flutter.
She rips the package open, bites into a string of licorice, and groans.
“You know, my ex once gave me Twizzlers,” the red licorice bounces in the air as she points it at me, “trying to convince me they’re the same. I think that’s why we broke up.”
I gasp dramatically. “Monster.”
“Exactly. Red Vines are far superior.” She takes another bite.
“Well, my gift doesn’t come without strings attached.” I open the fridge and pull out a chocolate pudding. She passes me a spoon as I rip off the top. I stand next to her at the counter, ankles crossed.
Her eyes narrow, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips. “Strings?”
“I need a partner.”
“For…?”
“The Frozen Classic on Saturday. I was supposed to play with Julie, but obviously…”
Her brows lift. “Isn’t that… golf?”
“Yes. Frozen golf to be exact. Eighteen holes drilled into the ice on Lake Noel. It’s a charity event. Very prestigious.”
She bites another piece of licorice, lips curving. “Prestigious, huh?”
“Extremely.” I shove a spoonful of pudding into my mouth.
She chews slowly, her mouth curving like she knows I’m watching it. “Well… I did spend a summer working at Mount Holly Putt-Putt. And I still hold the record for the longest putt.”
I point my spoon at her. “See? Which is actually perfect since most of the holes are mini-golf style with obstacles along with a few par threes.”
Her smile deepens, and my stomach flips. “I’ll run it by Brie so I can have the day off, but… yeah. Sounds like fun.”
“Perfect.” I toss my empty pudding cup into the garbage. “I’m going to change out of my work clothes.” I grin, heading into the living room before I do something insane like kiss the Red Vine sugar off her mouth.
* * *
Two days later, Lauren and I are standing on a frozen lake as people mill around the fire pits and the mobile bar. Some are even partaking in snow yoga.
The Frozen Classic started twenty-three years ago as a group of golf friends wanting a winter sport to play. With each passing year, participation doubled and soon turned into a charity event with donations going to the Mount Holly Community Club.
Lauren curls her arms around herself. “Why did I agree to this? It’s like five degrees outside.”
I tug her to my chest and envelop her with my arms. “Fifteen, but don’t worry. Once we get moving, you won’t even know.”
“Says the guy who’s a natural radiator.” The pom-pom on top of her cap wobbles as she peers up at me. “Okay, so how does this work?”
“It’s just like golf, but on ice.”
“So not like golf at all.” Her brows arch, a teasing smirk on her lips.
“Okay smartass. It’s similar to golf. Same concept, slightly different rules. Each stroke counts toward our final total, but instead of golf balls, we use tennis balls so they float in the hole.” I point to the course in front of us. “The red flags sticking out of the snow indicate each hole.”
She nods along. “What do we use as our club?”
“Excellent question. For the Frozen Classic, you get three options.” Reluctantly, I release Lauren and bend down to the plastic sled next to me and pull out a tennis racket. “You can Serena Williams your way to victory with this. It’s great for the fairway, but not so much for putting.”
“It pairs well with the faux golf ball.”
“Precisely. Or you can go more traditional, Phil-Mickelson style with the golf club. The only issue is you only get one club. In this case, the driver works best. Or my favorite: you can go Happy-Gilmore style and use a hockey stick.”
“How will I ever choose?” She taps her chin with her mitten-covered hand. “I think I want to live out my inner childhood dream and be Happy Gilmore.”
“Good choice.”
We’re randomly placed into groups with various tee times. We’re slotted with Mitch and Carrie and Marcus and Amber. With our sled carrying our gear and a cooler, we crunch across the ice to the first tee box.
“When did you two start dating?” Amber asks as she waits for her turn.
“Oh—” Lauren glances at me. “We’re not.”
Amber’s lips curve into a smile. “This is a couples’ tournament.”
I chuckle. Everyone’s watching me now, so I roll with it. “While we’re not actually dating, the tournament never specified what kind of couple. We’re the best-friends kind.”
“That’s too bad,” Amber says. “You two would make an adorable couple.”
Lauren grips my wrist as the rest of our group moves to the next hole. “Why didn’t you tell me this was a couples’ tournament? Now everyone is going to think we’re dating.”
My gaze wanders across the course, and sure enough, everyone is either dating or married.
“Well, I was a couple when I signed up. And out of everyone, you were the best fill-in.” I shrug before throwing my arm over her shoulder, tugging her to me.
“We might as well roll with it. Who knows, it could throw them off their game.”
She smirks and pats my chest. “Fine. Let’s go win this thing, fake boyfriend.”
For the next seventeen holes, we heckle each other mercilessly and cheer each other on just as loud.
It’s the fun, easy rhythm that’s always been us.
I crack jokes about washing my balls, keeping a soft grip and stroking it smoothly, and rimming the hole.
Each one gets me a backhand to the bicep but also a chuckle.
By the eighteenth hole, we’re three under par and in second place, but we’re gaining ground on Mitch and Carrie.
I can barely focus on my putts because Lauren’s all rosy cheeks and sweet laughter and looks like an angel in a puffer jacket.
I rest my gloved hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. “All right. Sink this, and we win. No pressure—but just so you know, every year I’ve played, I never lost.”
“Wow,” she says dryly. “Thanks for putting that into the universe.”
“You’ve got this.”
She glares at me over her shoulder before grabbing her hockey stick from the sled and strolling onto the icy green.
Her tongue peeks out as she lines up her shot.
Feet shoulder-width, knees bent, eyes narrowed at the neon-green tennis ball like it’s mocking her to make this putt.
Slowly, she pulls back and swings. The ball skitters across the ice, wobbling over the uneven surface.
I hold my breath. It slows… slows… clings to the edge… then drops in.
“I DID IT!” She spins and I catch her, wrapping her up and lifting her off the ground as she pumps her hockey stick in the air.
“That’s my girl! The putt-putt champion!”
“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I did it!”
“I believed in you the whole time.”
“Woohoo!”
We continue to celebrate as the crowd claps and cheers. I lower Lauren to her feet, every inch of her body evident against mine.
Janet Coleman, who works at Blooms and Claus, appears, beaming. “It’s so good to see you two together. You make a great team.”
Lauren loops her arm through mine, and before I can react, Mrs. Coleman leans down and whispers, not nearly quietly enough, “I like you much more than Julie.”
I half cough, half choke while Lauren snickers against my shoulder.
Since we drove separately, I walk her to her car.
“I had so much fun today,” she says as we stop beside it. Her breath curls white in the air. “Thank you for inviting me to be your partner. And all those comments…” She laughs softly. “You and me together.” Her bright blue eyes lift to mine.
“Yeah.” It comes out low, husky—if I tried to say anything else, it would be I want to kiss you right now.
Her tongue peeks out, wetting her bottom lip. My gaze drops, magnetized by her. I inch closer. Her breath hitches. She doesn’t back away. A car horn blares in the distance, snapping the moment like a dry twig. I blink, step back, and force my voice to remain even. “I’ll see you at home.”
“Oh. Okay.” Her eyes drop to the snow before she slides into her car.
I close her door gently and blow out a deep breath. That could have been… something.
The engine rumbles to life, and I step away, heading to my truck parked a few cars down.
Once inside, I grip the steering wheel, trying to steady my pulse.
What was I thinking? Kissing Lauren. Everything in me wanted to.
But what happens after the kiss? I have a sinking feeling nothing would ever be the same.