Chapter 14 Wesley
Wesley
I haven’t seen Shannon since Friday, maybe I should have skipped seeing Tristan and cancelled today’s round of golf, but now I’m here, I’m glad I didn’t. Smacking balls across the fairway is a great release for my hulking temper.
We pull up to the fourth hole. Tristan checks the scorecard for the third time, rubbing it in my face how he’s just made the perfect shot, scoring two under par, while I’m still standing on the green, scratching my scruffy beard, which is edging towards an overgrown mess.
Knowing I’m heading for a double bogey, two over par.
With my putter gripped firmly, I shift my stance, mentally calculating the distance so I can sink my putt.
“You’re playing shit,” Tristan says, still studying the fucking scorecard.
“Shut the fuck up.” I adjust my cap, spinning it backwards, then give the ball a tap, watching as it rolls smoothly across the green, disappearing into the hole with a gentle plop.
The tension eases from my shoulders. I’m so glad he convinced me to get out of the house.
I wanted to go over there, tell her I’m sorry, and explain why I’ve been acting like a full-blown arsehole.
Tristan’s idea of a round of golf sounded like a good plan, but I’ve been playing like he said - shit.
It’s a sport I’m usually good at, not even a pro course, just a small pitch and putt, set between trees and a fishing lake. Eighteen holes, pay as you play with a basic clubhouse serving shit, watered-down beer. It’s meant to be a place to relax, clear my head, but she won’t get out of it.
I should charge her rent.
We stroll towards the next hole at a leisurely pace, but Tristan must sense something's off with me.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
Sighing I decide to be honest. “I was a wanker towards Shannon.” I drop my head, adjusting the weight of my heavy bag onto my shoulder. “I’ve been nothing but a prick towards her.”
Tristan points his finger to my forehead. “So that’s where you got the egg from?” He snickers, but it’s gone down, leaving a faint mark.
“She didn’t do it.” I come to her defence. “I hit my head on the window ledge, but let’s leave it there.”
Keeping silent about the fact I’d watched her like some voyeur, or how she manages to catch me off guard.
I’m always checking her out, watching the way her arse sways when she walks away.
I just can’t help myself. I want to grab handfuls, especially when she’s strutting around in those ridiculously tiny shorts.
I’m an arse man, but I’ve not been lucky enough to have my hands on one in a while.
Let’s just say, three years without the pleasure of a woman is a bloody long time.
And now I’m faced with her braless tits, as it’s clear Shannon would rather walk around wearing no bra.
I’ve wanked off more than I care to admit since Shannon turned up.
“Fair enough, but what’s going on with the two of you?”
I level my eyes with him. “I don’t know, but every time we cross paths, we argue.
” My mind replayed Friday morning, when the bloke she was with was practically giving her heart eyes, then purposely kissed her on the lips when he noticed me watching.
Jealousy burned through me, but instead of walking away, I kept playing the role of an arsehole.
The engineer felt the heat of my temper, then I had to go and tell her she was disrupting my life.
What I should have said is “I can’t stop thinking about you,” but I haven’t a clue how to handle it.
I’m scared of getting more than my fingers burnt.
Still didn’t stop me, replaying the mental images of her fucking tits while I knocked one out in the shower, again. This woman is becoming my only release, and I can’t even say two nice words to her.
“She’s got a boyfriend,” I tell him, feeling like a loser.
“No, she hasn’t,” he replies, and I shoot him a confused look, because how the fuck does he know? Now I’m left wondering if he’s been sniffing around Shannon behind my back. He must catch on to what I'm thinking before he fills in the gaps.
“Whoa, no. I mean, I met her mate, Talia, for drinks.” He shoves his gloved hand through his hair.
“I did some fishing for you; Shannon’s single.
” Still doesn’t explain who the bloke kissing her on the porch was.
It pissed me off, and every door in my house took the brunt of it.
He was all over her in the pub last week.
Come to think of it, she didn’t look like she enjoyed the pub or the kiss — I saw the way she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“You need to put yourself back out there, mate.” I don’t like where this is going. “You’re the best bloke I know, Wesley.”
If I’m a good person, then why did I get shit on from a great height?
“I think you need to come clean with her, tell her about She Devil.” He pulls his glove off and shoves it in his bag.
“This all stems from the blind date, which was over a year ago, Wes.” Yet again, he’s right.
I’ve had every opportunity to explain, even when we had the run-in at the pub and she accused me of being a cheat.
Instead of leaning in and sniffing her neck like a feral dog, she smelled good… too good.
I could have told her the truth.
If I ask myself why I never did, I suppose it’s because I’m scared. Scared that history will repeat itself, and I’ll end up getting burnt again. But Christ, it’s lonelier than I care to admit at times.
“You don’t have to tell me you’re worried about dating again, mate.” He’s always been good with words.
“Can’t help it,” I say. I’m thirty-seven and too old to be playing games.
“I reckon if you tell her, she’d understand. Talia said she’s loyal to the bone.” I like his confidence, which is more than I can say for myself.
“What do you suggest I do?” I ask, dreading what he’s going to say.
“You tell her you like her, and that you’re sorry.” He gives me a look, it says Don’t mess it up. He’s right, like he has been all day.
“You can start by being friendly, offer to help her.” He levels with me. “She’s alone up there, Wes. Probably needs help moving furniture or some shit.” This makes me feel worse, I’ve never not helped anyone. Christ, I feel like such a wanker.
Offering to help is a lot easier than telling her my ex left me for someone else. Call it pride, but saying it out loud to anyone besides my closest mates, my ex-wife cheated, ran off, and keeps reappearing for more money, just makes me feel fucking useless.
People always jump to the conclusion the man is to blame, never the woman. Shannon’s no different, she judged me like I was the one to blame, but I kept quiet and let her think the worst of me. “Did you tell Talia about Megan?” I hope he didn’t.
“It’s not my story to tell mate.” I give him a nod.
“Thanks, I’m going to talk to her when I get back.” Having unloaded the lead weight off my chest, I feel lighter. I just hope Shannon accepts my apology.
If Friday morning is anything to go by, she's not likely to be in a rush to accept anything I say, let alone an apology.
“How did your date go?” I’m eager to change the subject.
Tristan shoots me a cheesy grin, all teeth and mischief. “Good but it won’t be going anywhere.”
Now all I want to do is punch him. I called it, Shannon’s going to take it out on me and probably tar me with the same brush as Tristan. “I can’t believe you, I told you not to go there.” I shove his shoulder, but he’s quick, his hand comes up, gripping my arm before I can pull away.
“Calm down, Wes. I wanted to see her again.” He blows out a harsh breath. “She thought it would be for the best if we didn’t see each other again because of you and Shannon being neighbours.” He insists he’s not bothered about it either way.
“Really?”
He nods and slaps my shoulder. “You’re right, mate.” Only, I’m not convinced.
“So, you just went for a drink?”
Tristan takes a step back and waggles his finger. “Now, I didn’t say that.” Christ, he can’t even go for a drink without it leading to his bed.
“You slept with her?” He shrugs his shoulders.
“Don’t worry, we both made the decision it wouldn’t work.” He strides down the fairway with his usual swagger, without a care in the world.
Un-fucking-believable.
It’s after six by the time I get home after spending a couple of hours in the clubhouse.
I glance over at Shannon’s and see her car is parked in the driveway.
It’s about time I manned up and made an effort to be kinder.
Tristan’s words really hit home and made me realise how much of a prick I’ve been towards her.
You tell her you like her, and that you’re sorry. You can start by being friendly, offer to help her. She’s alone up there, Wes.
I thought about inviting her over for a drink, maybe a bite to eat.
What the hell am I thinking? I need to take this slow, ease myself in gently, or she’ll likely throw it all back in my face.
But from here on in, it would be my mission to win her over. No sugarcoating it. I wanted Shannon Newton.
Unlocking my garage, I hook my golf bag onto the rack and step back, toeing off my golf shoes and tugging my sweater over my head. I make my way inside, grab a beer from the fridge, and decide to sit on the porch, hoping to catch the sound of Shannon.
But there’s nothing. No sound of her. I wander to the bottom of my garden, making a mental note to cut the grass. stretching my neck for a better view of her back garden, still nothing.
Maybe she’s gone for a walk. I used to do the same when I first moved back here, roaming the fields to clear my head.
It’s a good three hundred acres to the next farm, where they grow their own strawberries, fruit and veg.
Their farm shop sells the best pies and local produce.
I should know, my freezer’s stuffed to the brim with them.
I could throw one in the oven, see if Shannon fancies sharing? I doubt she’s had a chance to get anything in yet.