July 4th
Simple things.
Damon
My dad always says it’s the simple things in life. And I finally understand. It’s waking up with the person you love sleeping next to you. Smiling at the clothes scattered on the floor from last night. Recalling the way her lips felt against yours. And how a kiss can convey so much without a word.
I think about yesterday and how I sort of upset her.
I’ve always had a plan for my life. I set goals and achieve them, but my mind is always on the endgame.
I keep pushing and driving. And I realize that while that might work for getting to the pinnacle of your career, it might not work in a relationship.
I’ve been pushing. Because I know what I want. I can visualize it—us married. A bunch of kids. A happy life together.
Which is the keyword. Together. My dad says it’s important that your teammates are all on the same page.
That your goals align if you want to win.
And what I have to remember is that while she’s been my goal for three years, I just finally showed up on her radar.
That we’ve only spent a total of two weeks together in person.
And although I’ve gotten to know her body quite well during that time, she’s right.
I don’t know how she likes her coffee. Or if she even likes it.
Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her drink it.
And I need to know those things.
She stirs next to me, making a sweet little moan and moving her hand across my chest, which instantly turns me on. I pick her hand up and kiss it. Her eyes then flutter open, revealing gorgeous green irises.
“Mmm.” She looks up at me through her lashes. “What time is it?”
“Six thirty. What time do you have to work today?”
Her eyes fly open, and she leaps out of bed. Naked. “Seven!”
She rushes into the bathroom and slams the door shut in a panic.
I decide to get up and make her breakfast. I throw on a pair of shorts and go survey the fridge, pulling out eggs, leftover bacon, and some cheese. Then pop some bread in the toaster.
She comes out of the bathroom about the time I have it all put on a paper plate.
“Oh gosh,” she says, glancing at her watch, “that looks amazing. I just don’t have time to eat.”
“I’ll drive. You eat,” I tell her.
“You’re going to drive me to work?”
“Is that okay?”
She smiles. “Yeah, it’s great. Let’s go.”
I hand her the plate and a fork and grab the keys, and we go hop in the golf cart.
On the way there, I tell her, “You look cute. Very sporty.”
She’s got on her uniform, consisting of a white resort-branded ball cap and polo, paired with a white athletic skort.
“Thanks. When they redid the resort, they updated the uniforms as well. And I’m thankful. Last year, they were mostly black and way too hot in the summer,” she says in between shoveling food in her mouth. “This is really good. Thank you so much for making it for me. I woke up starving.”
“You’re welcome. Although we need to discuss what foods you like and don’t like. I was considering making you an omelet with peppers and onions, but wasn’t sure.”
“I love the scrambled eggs and toast, but the omelet sounds amazing too. I’m not a huge fan of anchovies, eggplant, or oysters. That’s about all I can think of.”
“Good to know,” I reply. “And what does your day look like? Could we have lunch together? Can I help? I don’t really have anything to do other than work out this morning.”
“I have lunch break from eleven to noon and am off at four. Why don’t you come pick me up at eleven? And I’ll ask my manager if you can tag along with me this afternoon. It’s going to be extra busy.”
We pull up to the golf club area.
She glances at her watch. “Record time,” she says. “Which means I still have time to kiss you.”
And it’s a very good kiss.
What I want.
Ainsley
Damon meets me at eleven, and I take him to the employee dining room inside the golf club. The air-conditioning is always cranked up, and it’s a wonderful reprieve from being out in the sun. The room sits under the club’s main restaurant and actually has a decent view of the eighteenth hole.
“How was your workout this morning?” I ask him as we grab food from the buffet. “Did you go to the gym?”
“Yeah, I did. I expected it to be packed, but it wasn’t. And that was really nice.”
“They were all here,” I say with a laugh. “Everyone’s wanting to get in a round of golf before the family festivities start this afternoon.”
“What do the family festivities consist of, and when do they start?” Damon asks.
“It kicks off at noon with the chefs outside cooking up burgers, hot dogs, and fried chicken along with lots of side dishes and patriotic desserts. They’ll have water-gun fights, bounce houses, blow-up waterslides, splash pads, and a foam party, which the kids will love.
We have a small group tournament—just twenty guys—that starts teeing off at noon.
I heard from some of the waitstaff that they were pretty rowdy last night.
Lots of alcohol was consumed—big bar tab, great tips.
Anyway, once the last foursome has teed off, the course will be shut down to set up for tonight’s carnival.
It’s always a big hit. There will be wheelbarrow and sack races, lawn games, face painting, carnival games, and lots of food.
We should go,” I say with a grin. “One of my little known talents is that I’m very good at the ring toss. Maybe I can win you a prize.”
Damon puts his hand on mine. “I’d love that actually.”
“After that, everyone will move down to the Big Top—that’s what everyone has started calling the screened area where Chase and Dani had their after-party—for the dinner buffet that follows.
The chefs have been smoking meat since last night in preparation for today.
Big barbecue spread with all the fixings, ice cream sundaes and s’mores, live music, followed by fireworks at sundown.
And if you aren’t worn out after that, a stars-and-stripes music festival that is scheduled to go until dawn. ”
“Wow!” Damon says. “That’s a lot to do. You up for that?”
“Definitely the fireworks. And it would be fun to dance with you.”
“I’d like to dance with you again too,” he says, looking into my eyes.
“In bed?” I say with a smirk.
His eyes crease at the corners, and a wide smile forms on his face. “Chase and I used to do that—hell, we still do. Say, In bed. We started doing it after we learned about sex. We thought we were so cool. Now, it’s just funny.”
I stare at him for a beat. “It wasn’t supposed to be a funny comment.”
He swallows, nods, and slides his hand across the top of my thigh. “Even better.”
“All right, lover boy. I have a surprise for you.” I whip a polo shirt that matches mine out of my tote bag. “I will definitely take your help this afternoon. I might even split my tips with you.”
“I’d rather you owe me,” he teases.
“Let me guess. In bed.”
He laughs. “Exactly.”
“I’m amiable to that. Now, finish up your food. We have work to do. And I need to restock my cart before I go back out there.”
Once my cart is restocked, he asks, “What do you want me to do?”
“I’ll make the drinks. You can hand them out. And let’s bring our cart out, too, in case I need you to run back for something. Normally, I drive around all day, but because we’re so busy, they have us set up every three holes. I start on the ninth for this shift.”
The afternoon is busy but going fast. Everyone has been in good spirits today—pun intended—probably because it’s actually a really pretty day.
After a storm rolled through last night, there’s a cool breeze, and today’s high is only going to be eighty-two.
They also seem really excited about the festivities tonight and are all looking forward to the fireworks.
Many are decked out in patriotic colors in honor of the day.
There’s a noticeable difference when the last foursome of the guys in the tournament get here. You’d think they’d be having a ball, but based off their chatter, they are all hungover as well as highly competitive. And aren’t playing up to their standards.
One guy is getting teased about not being able to get it in the hole. On and off the course. Apparently, he’s newly divorced.
“Another round of shots?” one of the guys says.
“Bro, we shouldn’t,” another says.
“Since when has that ever stopped us?” Another slaps him on the back and grins.
Guy Four says to me, “Guess we’re doing more shots. Doubles, please.”
“Sure. What would you like?”
“Well, we did vodka to start, whiskey at the third whole, rum at six”—he turns to look at his buddies—“so tequila?”
Damon and I share a glance.
“Hell yeah!” they all cheer.
I pour the shots, and Damon delivers them.
“You’re a big guy,” one of them says, looking up at him. “You play ball?”
“Sure do,” Damon says.
“You look familiar,” another says. “How come?”
I can tell by Damon’s look, he doesn’t want to get into it.
“People always say that to me,” he says easily.
“Cool,” the guy says.
They take their shots, down them, hand Damon a hundred-dollar bill, and then off they go.
“Wow,” Damon says, handing me the folded-up bill. “Nice tip.”
“It is. And that’s the last group. I’m supposed to move to the fifteenth hole now since the server there started his day earlier than I did.” I glance at my watch. “Should be done right around four if they don’t dally too much.”
We hop in the cart, drive to the assigned hole, and relieve a guy named Paul, who has been doing this job with me for the last few years.
“That’s quite the group,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s just like last night at the bar. They were handing out hundred-dollar bills like it was all they carried.” He laughs. “Actually, it might be pocket change to them.”
I introduce him to Damon.
“They’ve had a lot of shots already, it sounds like,” I tell Paul. “At what point do we cut them off?”