Chapter 9 #3
I type in his number, realizing it’s still the same from all those years ago. My face heats with the realization that I never deleted his contact information from my phone, and I type out a quick text to him. “There,” I say, glancing back up at him.
“I already have your number saved but thanks for the text.”
“But you just asked—”
“I wanted to give you my number. I wasn’t sure if you would still have it.” His words hit me in the chest, because the last messages we exchanged weren’t great. More like him wondering where I was, and I was too much of a coward to respond. He takes my silence as a dismissal.
“I’ll meet you inside, okay?”
“Oh, um. Yeah.” I shake my head slightly. “See you inside.”
Soft chatter lingers just inside the door to the conference room. I step into the full room and notice several individuals I’ve seen around town. I give a couple polite hellos before I’m making my way to the table nearest the big bay window, loving how the sun shines in.
Pulling out the chair, I’m grateful these have no arm rests as they’re never wide enough and end up digging into my hips.
I scan the doorway for the tall, lean figure who came rushing back into my life.
What would it be like to work closely with him again after I ran out on him, twice now?
But seeing him, even for the moment now, it’s easy to fall into thinking this is my second chance at what could have been.
It’s foolish, I know. Hell, it’s only been a few encounters now.
This isn’t a whirlwind romance; this was my life and my heart is warring with the past what-could-have-beens.
He agreed so quickly to Glen’s question—after how I hurt him, I don’t know why he would even agree to this.
Maybe it’s his way of starting fresh, I think to myself.
“I didn’t get the chance to tell you at the bar—” I press my hand to my chest to calm my surprise as Clinton leans in, whispering against the shell of my ear, his voice soothing some deep part of me. “I love that color on you, Heartbreaker.”
I don’t need to turn my head to know he has a smirk plastered across his smug, sexy face. With how close he’s standing, I can feel the heat radiate off his body, seeping through my clothes. It sends a delicious shiver down my spine. I hate that I love it.
“You’re like a ninja.”
“You want to be my sidekick?” he asks.
I turn toward him. “I don’t think ninjas have sidekicks.”
“Would you be my ninja sidekick if I brought you something?”
This piques my interest enough to consider his offer of being the Catwoman to his Batman…
Let’s be real, I’m no Robin. He holds out a white Styrofoam cup in front of me, and the fragrance of strong coffee wafts into the air.
When I take the cup from his hand, his fingers brush against mine and our eyes meet.
A thank you is on the tip of my tongue, but I’m surprised, completely lost in the gesture.
I take a tentative sip, not wanting to burn myself, and my eyes widen in surprise.
“Two shots of espresso with steamed milk. Don’t forget to ask them to stir sugar and a swig of coffee like their life depends on it.”
In a disbelieving voice, I ask, “How do you still know my coffee order?”
Before he can answer, Glen walks into the room.
“Thank you all for coming in today. We are thrilled to be the course chosen to host the Albatross Charity Tournament. We know our community believes in giving back, first and foremost, so I’m not surprised to see so many of you.
Thank you so very much! Now to get into the nitty-gritty of the event. ”
“Clinton and Paloma, would you mind coming up here with me, please?” Glen smiles as we both nod.
Clinton is quick on his feet. Scooting out and placing his hand on the back of my chair, helping me scoot out as he reaches out his hand for mine.
Damn him and his manners Somehow he even makes politeness sexy.
I place my hand in his large one and stand, making our way to the podium.
“Our wonderful event coordinator had a family emergency and, while she’s away taking care of her family, we decided to shift gears.
As I’m sure many of you already know, this is Clinton Morrison, owner of Albatross Youth Academy along with Paloma Reyes, someone who has been a part of the Mossy Oaks community for years, and one of the co-owners of Shaken Tropes.
Both will be stepping in to coordinate the rest of the tournament. ”
Claps sound around the room, and I smile as Clinton waves.
Clinton steps forward and tilts the mic up.
“Thank you for having me, Glen. I’m excited to be back on the Mossy Oak green while working closely with Paloma.
To each of you here in this room, thank you.
Albatross Youth Academy brings two things I’m very passionate about: golf and helping our youth succeed.
This charity tournament will be essential in providing scholarships and everything the first year of students need to begin their careers in golf. ”
One of the meeting members raises a hand and Clinton nods in their direction, “Who will be providing the lessons?”
“Good question, golf professionals from other nearby courses as well as many traveling during their offseasons. We already have a list of golfers who are ready for the first year of lessons.”
“Who will be handling the social media marketing for this? How can we make sure those interested know where to go?” another asks, and this time I answer.
“Buenos dias, I will be spearheading the social media sides of things. For those of you not familiar with me, I’m Paloma Reyes. My business partner and I own Shaken Tropes, and I manage the socials for us. You can direct them to the club’s website and all the club’s socials.”
Glen steps up to us. “Thank you both. Most of all the questions are answered in the folders that have just been passed out. Please take a look at them, and when we meet next we can dig a little deeper.”
Clinton and I take our seats, and I open the folder Glen mentioned has been passed out.
“The coffee.” Clinton leans into me, reminding me of the question I asked him before we were interrupted.
“It’s like muscle memory. I didn’t need to think about it.
” For just a second, I stop breathing, stuck in the forwardness of his words.
It's as though he's forgotten I broke both of our hearts.
He turns his head, aiming his gaze at my stunned one.
“I can’t believe you remembered that,” I whisper beneath my breath as I now aimlessly flip through the papers. I’m dumbstruck, and I know it's only because I refuse to acknowledge what I really want, what I refuse to allow myself to have.