4. Beau
BEAU
Me
Come over. We need to figure this out.
SheDevil
No.
Ipinch the bridge of my nose and let out the sigh to end all sighs. It’s been five hours since we left Ethan’s office. The sun has gone down, the air is cold, but that’s nothing compared to the chill I feel just reading the two-letter response Shelby sent back.
She hates this. I mean, I do too, but she really hates this.
That’s it? Just no?
That’s it. There’s nothing to figure out.
I beg to differ.
What’s there to figure out? Unless you’ve forgotten how to play golf. Too busy filming yourself trying to make an impossible chip off the rooftop at Tootsies to practice the actual game?
I can’t help the smile that comes over my face. Shelby watches my videos. Even when I’m not trying, I’m living in her head rent-free.
Serves her right. She lives in mine more than I’ll ever admit to anyone.
Aww, did you watch the last episode? It was a great shot wasn’t it? Crowd went nuts.
Fuck you.
You wish.
Literally not even with my worst enemy’s vagina.
Do you have another worst enemy? Because I thought I held the number one spot. And, in case you didn’t know, I don’t have a vagina. I do have a…
What the hell do you want, Beau?
I laugh as she cuts me off via text. Sometimes she makes it too easy to fuck with her.
Back to my original point. We need to meet up. Talk this out.
You know this isn’t going to be as easy as showing up in Vegas and putting on a smile for the cameras and working perfectly together. We need to come up with a plan.
And maybe, just throwing this out there, maybe play a few rounds together before we go to Vegas.
How can I say this in words you’ll understand?
Oh this is going to be good.
Fuck.
Off.
I swear to everything holy and my brand new set of irons, this woman is going to be the death of me.
Shelby Lynn, I need you to quit hating me and think rationally about this for five fucking seconds.
Ooooo. You middle named me. I’m trembling in fear.
Shelby, for the love of God, we have to play together. As a team. Which means we have to get along. And interviews? You are the worst media-trained golfer on either tour.
We really don’t. And no I’m not. Not by far. So thanks for the offer, or whatever this was, but I’m good.
“Fuck!” I yell out to no one. I can’t take her anymore.
If there’s one thing I know about Shelby LeBlanc, it’s that of all the qualities she has that she excels at—which I notice more than I’d ever admit to anyone—the woman is stubborn.
Actually, stubborn isn’t a strong enough word.
Unyielding. Dogged. Will dig in her heels over the smallest things or die on the biggest hills, even if she knows she’s going to go down with the ship.
And she’s a complete pain in my ass.
Which is why I have to change the play right now. She’ll continue to argue with me over text until I concede. Or say something that’ll piss her off so badly she’ll block my number for a few days. She’s done that more times than I can count.
So, I do the only thing I can think of.
I grab a hoodie, snag my keys from my kitchen counter, and jump into Sophia—my souped-up golf cart—to make the hundred-yard drive across property lines to Shelby’s house.
Now she’ll have to talk to me. Or slam the door in my face. The second one is entirely more likely than the first.
The night was already chilly, but I’m shivering as I make the short drive across my backyard.
I sometimes forget it’s February, and even though we’re in Nashville, temperatures dropping into the thirties at night isn’t uncommon.
If I was smart, I would’ve changed out of the gym shorts I put on when I got back from Ethan’s, but I didn’t think that far ahead.
It’s like my brain was only focused on one thing.
Dealing with Shelby usually does that to me.
The woman is a thorn in my side. Has been since the first time Gabi brought her to the house for a playdate. Being the older brother, I wanted nothing to do with my sister, her friends, or whatever dolls they were playing with.
Except Shelby wasn’t playing with dolls. Or even playing with Gabi and their other friend, Hannah.
My face forms a small smile as the wind hits me, remembering back to the first time I met the girl who would forever plague me.
“What are you doing?”
Mom told me I had to stay away from Gabi and her friends. Fine by me. I want to be outside anyway. That’s where my new clubs are, and I haven’t practiced today.
I walked into the garage, where I keep them, but they weren’t there. I know I put them away. Dad was serious when he said I had to take care of them, so I wipe them down and cover them up every night.
I walked out of my garage and into my back yard, which is where I see finally them. But they aren’t in my neon golf bag. They’re being used.
By a girl.
“Hey!” I scream, running across the yard and pulling the iron from her grip. “Those are mine!”
I didn’t mean to yell at her that loud, but I’m mad. She could break them. Does she even know how to use them?
I thought I’d scare her. I can be pretty frightening when I want to be. I know when I’ve yelled at Gabi like that before, I’ve made her cry. I did feel bad about that. I don’t want to make people cry.
Only this girl isn’t crying. She’s standing with her hands on her hips, my club now laying on the ground, and I think she wants to fight me.
“Who are you?”
Did she just ask me that? “I’m Beau. I live here. And those are my clubs.”
She looks at my bag, then back at me. “They don’t have your name on them.”
“But they’re mine!” I say, walking and standing in front of them. “Who are you anyway?”
“Shelby.”
Shelby. Shell. Shell Bell. Maybe if I rang a bell at her, she’d quit touching my clubs.
“Are you Gabi’s friend?”
The look she gives me is making it seem like I’m asking ridiculous questions, when she’s the one who was touching my clubs.
“Yes.”
“Then why aren’t you playing with her?”
She looks back at the house toward Gabi’s window. When she turns back to me, she has the same look I make when Mom makes me eat spinach. I hate spinach.
“They’re playing with Barbies.”
I’m still mad at her, but the way she said that was kind of funny. Like they’re worse than spinach.
“You don’t like Barbies?”
She shakes her head. “I’d rather play golf.”
Shelby golfs? I know girls can play, but I’ve never met one. I never see any at the course my dad takes me to.
“You golf?”
“Duh.”
“Why duh?” I’ve just met this girl and she’s really confusing me.
“Because girls can do anything boys can do!”
Why is she yelling at me? “I didn’t say they couldn’t.”
She gives me a mean look. At least, I think it’s mean. I’m not sure what’s happening here.
“So?”
Why is she asking me like I know what she means? “So what?”
“So, stop being a butthead and give me a club. Let’s chip.”
That interaction was a lot of firsts for us.
Our first meeting. Our first argument. The first time she called me a name. The beginning of her nickname that I’m pretty confident she likes more than she’ll ever let on.
I guess some things, even with thirty years in between, never change.
I pull my golf cart right up to the top of Shelby’s driveway, turning it off and sliding the key into my pocket. Not because I’m worried some teenagers will come and steal it. No, I don’t want Shelby to drive it into our shared pond. She would just because she can.
I bang on the door, which might not be the best move. This is Shelby we’re talking about.
I brace myself, ready for whatever is about to greet me when she opens up.
I’m ready for a gun. Or for her to swing her five-iron at me. It’s her usual choice of golf-bag weaponry. Hell, I’m ready for a snarling German Shepherd. She’s been saying she was going to get one for months.
What I’m not ready for is the sight of Shelby, blonde hair thrown up into a messy something on the top of her head, an old T-shirt hanging off her shoulder, and her face covered in green…something.
“What the fuck?” I say, unable to keep in the laugh as I bend at the waist, cracking up at the sight in front of me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you couldn’t come talk to me because you were transforming to go back to the mother ship.”
“Get in here, you ass.” She grabs my arm and pulls me inside her house, slamming the door behind me. “Why are you here?”
I want to answer her, but I can’t stop laughing. I’ve seen women do skincare routines before. Dozens of lotions and potions, even those weird sheets with the eyes and mouth cut out. I know it isn’t a glamorous process. But I never thought I’d see Shelby LeBlanc transforming from SheDevil to Alien.
I’m gonna have to update her name in my phone contacts. I’ve used SheDevil for a while now, but before that it was Shrew. At one point it was P.I.T.A.
Years ago, it was just Belle. But it hasn’t been that way for a very long time.
“Seriously, Beau. Get over it. It’s not that funny.”
“I know,” I say, able to finally catch my breath. “I just wasn’t ready for…that.” I stick a finger out toward her face and move it in a circular motion. I half expect her to try and bite me. Not sure if I’m happy or disappointed when she doesn’t.
Standing in the middle of her foyer with her arms crossed, hip popped, and eyes ready to kill, Shelby isn’t amused by my reaction at all. I’m not phased by her stance, though. She looks at me like that at least three times a week. Hell, this isn’t the first time today she’s given me that glare.
Which is why I’m here. Because in two weeks, that look has to stop.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, finally getting my breathing under control. “I wanted to talk. And since you weren’t very responsive over text, I thought I’d come over.”
“Uninvited.”
“I thought neighbors had open invitations?”
“You thought wrong.”
“Come on, Belle. You know I’m right. We need to figure out these logistics. Let’s go talk. Maybe wash your face first. Then let’s sit down and figure this out.”
We’re both silent, staring each other down, as I wait to see if she’s actually going to agree to this.