Chapter 32
I SHOWED UP AT VEGAS’S TOPGOLF WEARING CUTOFF JEAN SHORTS and a black T-shirt.
I wondered if I’d match Rory, considering that his day-to-day uniform, including the night before at Manor House, was always some sort of black shirt and a black hat.
I was wearing minimal makeup again, with a pop of lip color, and my hair was down underneath my blue LA Dodgers baseball cap.
I’d tried to beat Rory to the entertainment-venue-meets-restaurant-meets-sports-bar-meets-driving-range by showing up ten minutes early, but he was already waiting for me when I arrived.
He was sitting on a small couch inside our private bay, leaning back and typing into his phone.
No hat. Perfect, messy, curly brownish hair that was magically pushed away from his face.
My guess is he had spent some time watching YouTube tutorials on how to tame his wild hair.
He looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine, which seemed fitting considering he had been, including Men’s Health.
I lost my appetite for three days when I stumbled across that issue at my local Ralphs grocery store.
Rory saw me walking up to him and placed his phone down on the coffee table, flipping it over so I couldn’t see the screen. He stood, saying, “Hey.” He smiled sweetly and moved around the crowded furniture.
I opened my arms, assuming we should hug.
I saw him hesitate as he stepped toward me, and I regretted my life choices.
He hugged me regardless. I felt every sharp point on his body poking uncomfortably into mine.
I took in a deep breath, and after a moment, he did the same.
His arms dropped from holding me across my back like the Tin Man and wrapped around my waist, sinking into the hug.
After our bodies relaxed, I could have drowned in that hug.
I cleared my throat and pulled away after I realized too much time had passed with us in this position to be considered acceptable.
“This feels familiar.” I gestured to the bay and the clubs laid out for us. “Haven’t had enough golf for the day?” I knew he had already played eighteen holes for the Celebrity Pro-Am.
“Oh.” He frowned. “I thought you would like this. We can do something else if you want. Do you want to go to dinner somewhere? Or we could see a show?”
I smiled. “No, no. It’s just . . . all a bit surreal.
You must be a big deal at a place like this, huh?
” I shifted toward two Titleist bags that were set up for us.
They were decked out with top-of-the-line clubs, one left-handed and one right-handed.
I lifted my eyes to see Rory watching me move my hand carefully over the clubs.
His eyes followed my hand, moved along my arm up to my shoulder, neck, and mouth, then flicked up to my eyes.
“No one cares that I’m here.” Rory shook his head but didn’t shift his stare.
“They care.” I lifted my hand and pointed to the group of twenty-something guys in one of the bays beside us, all pretending not to sneak photos. “Rory Campbell!” I called out to them while popping out my thumb toward Rory. “You boys better be good, or it’s gonna be hella embarrassing.”
Rory swiftly moved to block my view of the guys. He clasped his hand over my pointed finger and pressed my arm down. “Well, you’re still you. That’s good to know.” His smile dipped. “Also, ‘hella’? You’ve been in LA way too long.”
“I don’t think an Angeleno has said that word in the last twenty years. It just came out of me, from some untapped darkness. I think I was possessed.”
“Your voice did change into something demonic with that word only, so . . .”
“Checks out. I forgot about that time I sold my soul at Duke’s in Malibu.”
Our smiles lingered, and we held our stare just as the music ringing throughout the sports bar shifted to “Sweet Child O’ Mine.”
“Whooooooaaa!” My eyes went wide, and my voice dropped. “Guns N’ Roses? Did you do this?!”
“I did not.” Rory laughed. “I guess the Devil works hard.”
“Not as hard as you,” I teased.
His laugh grew, and his dimple intensified beneath his scruff. “I didn’t do this. If I had, I would have made them play our song, but the acoustic version to try to be subliminal about it.”
“Our song? We had a song? Which one was that?”
He grinned. “I’m not falling for it, Cainey.”
It was shocking to me how quickly we settled back into ourselves, as if no time had passed, as if our history hadn’t been complicated, as if we hadn’t absolutely shattered each other’s hearts multiple times, as if he wasn’t dating a model that he’d met on a photo shoot whom I inadvertently met at his father’s funeral.
Suddenly, we were sixteen again.
“You did, though, right?” I asked. “You made them play this?” I poked my finger into his chest and was reminded by his pecs that, nope, Rory wasn’t sixteen anymore.
“Give me a little more credit than that.” Rory lifted out a driver from one of the bags and tipped the club head toward the other bag. “That one’s yours. I took a chance that you still play with men’s clubs.”
“I haven’t played in a long time. No joke, this is gonna be awful, but luckily, you’ve seen me play at my worst, so I’ve decided not to care.” I grabbed the other driver. “Ooof. These rentals are faaancy!”
“Not rentals. I got them for you.”
“What?” I spun my head around, my face flattened with surprise.
“They were free. Try not to be weird about it.”
“I don’t know, that’s really hard for me.” I smiled.
“I’m aware.” He returned my smile.
Rory dropped his ball on the mat and prepared to swing.
He was in his element. I could picture him as a kid, standing the same way, in the place where I fell in love with him.
My throat closed. The two groups of rowdy adults that flanked us on either side were watching with their phones out.
I smiled awkwardly at one of the girls next to us.
When she waved, I waved robotically back, not sure how else to handle the situation.
Rory hit the ball, and we heard a chorus of whistles and whoops.
He then stepped away from the mat, making space for me to take his place.
Oh no. This is . . . intimidating. It’s the Long Drive all over again.
I lined myself up with the ball.
Okay, calm down, Ellie. Calm down. It’s just Rory. It’s just a shit ton of strangers with their phones out. Calm. Down. Ellie, for the love of God, calm—
I was distracted by Rory quietly laughing to himself. He was holding his club against his chest. His smile warmed the night with nostalgia. My back straightened, and a slow smile crept across my face.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He laughed again, pulling on his jaw with his hand, trying to stop himself. “Just go.”
“Rory?” My voice lowered, and my eyes narrowed.
“I just . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale. His shoulders were shaking.
“Tell me.” I shifted my stance so I was leaning against the club with one hand, and the other hand landed on my hip.
“I just . . . I know what’s gonna happen.” Rory’s hand went to cover his eyes, exposing his perfect smile. He could no longer control his laughter.
I started laughing, too. “And what do you think is gonna happen?” I asked accusingly.
His eyes were lit up, and we shared a smile, knowing we were both thinking the same thing.
“Promise me, if you shank it, to hit the divider and not any of my twenty fans. I need that round number for my ego.”
I scoffed. “Okay, Instagram-verified-three-million-followers Rory Bloody Campbell, I’ll try my best not to maim or injure one of your twenty fans.”
“Just don’t kill anyone.”
“Ha!” I squared myself to the ball, and as I swung back, I shouted, “No promises!”
THWACK!
Rory was smiling hard as he watched my ball crack down the center of the range. I got a few whoops and whistles myself. I even heard one of the guys off to the side say “sexy” to his friend.
“Alright, back off. She’s with me.” Rory turned to the guys, who were all laughing.
He shooed them away, then shifted back to face me, and our eyes connected.
My stomach dropped, and his mouth tightened.
He put his hands on his hips again and shrugged, clearly not as self-conscious as I was. “Old habits.”
I moved away from the mat so Rory could take his next turn. “We were never together, you know.”
As I walked by, he whipped off my Dodgers hat and popped it on his head, flipping it around backward. “Yes, we were.” A smile spread across his face, then he stepped onto the mat and hit his next ball.
“You can’t just take my hat, Campbell,” I protested playfully. I could see his body react to my calling him by his last name, something I had never done before.
“I just did, McCain.”
“I have hat head. Our first proper hangout in eight years, and you really wanna do me dirty like that?” I plopped myself down on the couch, crossed my legs, and picked up one of the menus that were sitting on the coffee table. “Mini cheesecake balls? Jesus Christ, yes.”
Rory walked to his bag and unzipped the side while simultaneously flagging our server.
A beautiful young woman dressed in a polo and a white skirt ran over to us excitedly. She pressed her short black hair behind her ear and gave us an award-winning smile. “What can I get you?”
Rory pulled out his black Titleist hat from the side of his bag. He then walked over to me and placed it on my head, pulling the rim down so it fit me perfectly.
“Apparently, cheesecake balls,” he said, not acknowledging that he’d just given me his hat. He sat down on the couch opposite me. “Anything else?” He leaned back, waiting for my order, and picked up a menu himself.