4. Beau #2
She’s stoic, not giving anything away. Trying to see if she can get the upper hand. It’s her default mode. Always trying to make sure she’s on the offensive. Thinking she has to be two steps ahead to win because everyone is out to get her.
I know why she’s like that, and I don’t blame her.
If I had the childhood she had, I’d be that way too.
Add to that, growing up in a male dominated sport where you were winning more times than you weren’t?
More times than your competition thought you had a right to?
I’d always feel like I had a target on my back, too.
To the world, Shelby LeBlanc is hardened.
A little mean. I’ve called her names I’m not proud of.
It’s our thing. She shrugs it off and comes back at me with something comparable, and we move on.
But I’ve heard people call her names behind her back that would’ve earned them a seven-iron up their asses if she’d heard them.
And none of them would’ve even gotten to know her well enough to notice her tell. The one that says she’s about to concede the upper hand. Hell, I don’t even know if Gabi knows it. But I do.
It’s the one thing I’ve been able to figure out about her in the thirty years I’ve known her.
A fast double blink. So fast that if you look away for even a split second, you’ll miss it.
But I never have. And I don’t miss it now.
“Fine,” she says, turning on her heel and taking two steps before swinging her top knot back to me. “Can I trust you to just go sit in the living room and wait for me?”
What does she think I’m going to do? Rob her? Sneak up on her while she’s de-greening and take video for a future episode? Wellll…
I hold in the chuckle at that idea and make a shooing motion with my hands instead. “Yes, Shelby. Now quit stalling.”
She lets out a huff of frustration before heading upstairs, leaving me standing alone in the foyer of her four-bedroom, three bath, house. I know that’s the specs because I checked it out when it was being built. Before I knew who I’d be living next door to.
Her house is nice. Clean. Simple. Not as big as mine despite us being neighbors, but with the high, vaulted ceilings, and the white paint paired with dark wood beams, it gives the look that it’s bigger than it is.
Shelby’s been living here for four months, but this is the first time I’ve been inside. Considering her hatred of me, I wasn’t put out when I wasn’t invited to a housewarming party.
I do know Gabi’s been over plenty of times, but this is the first time I’m really getting a look at Shelby behind the curtain.
There are just enough pictures that I can tell it’s her house and not one she’s renting, but not so many that they overtake the space.
Some are hanging. Some are displayed on various mantles and bookshelves.
They’re mostly of her, Gabi, and Hannah.
One of her holding my nephew, Ace. A few of her and her father before he passed away.
And ones of her over the years at various golf tournaments.
There are some of just her—both action on the course and some of her holding tournament trophies. A few with her and other golfers, but those are scarce as I know Shelby doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends on tour. One of—
No fucking way.
I stop and stare at a picture I haven’t seen in years. It’s of the two of us when we were younger. If I was looking quickly, I would’ve missed it.
It’s not big. In fact, it’s one of the smaller ones she has displayed.
But it’s there. The two of us, smiling as big as we can, after we each won our first junior titles.
The only girl in the mix, she dominated the eight- to ten-year-old boys group, while I made a clutch putt to win the eleven- to thirteen-year-old division.
Back then we still liked each other. If anything, we were rivals. Always wanting to one-up each other any way we could. But there was no personal animosity. She still smiled at me. Still let me call her Belle. We kept each other motivated while also wanting to always beat the other.
Then one day it all changed. And I still don’t know how it happened.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says, scaring the shit out of me as she comes into her living room. “It’s the only picture I have of that day.”
“Of course it is,” I say, letting her think I believe the lie.
I know for a fact my mother took just as many pictures of her that day as she did of me.
Shelby’s dad could rarely make tournaments—I know he picked up every overtime shift he could to make sure Shelby could continue golfing—so my mom always took her under her wing. “Are you ready to talk?”
She lets out a heavy sigh as she plops down on a couch as far across the living room as possible from the chair I choose to sit in. “I guess.”
“Don’t be too excited.”
“Believe me, I’m not,” she says as she pushes up the side of the T-shirt that’s fallen down a little too low. And yeah, she’s definitely not wearing a bra. “But Ethan’s right. It’s a good tournament for me to come back to. Even if I have to play with you.”
“I’m honored,” I say dryly. “It’s good for me too. I still stand by what I said last year, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling the effects of my actions.”
“You fucked around and found out.”
I sigh. “Pretty much.”
She’s quiet for a second, but I watch as her hardened shield lessens just the slightest. It’s in her shoulders. They aren’t as tense. I wouldn’t call her relaxed, but this isn’t overly-defensive Shelby.
“You were right, by the way. Those tournament directors fucked you and the rest of the guys who were in that afternoon flight.”
“I appreciate that.”
And I do. While many players messaged me privately showing their support and agreeing with what I said, none would come out and say it publicly. Which I get. No one should have to face the wrath I did just for agreeing with me. Though, it would’ve been nice.
“So,” I continue, hoping to make the best of the current mood she’s in, “we both agree this could be a good PR thing for us? Both of us need to perform well.”
“What we need is to not kill each other.”
I can’t help but laugh at her bluntness. “Exactly.”
She sits back against her couch, the shoulder of her shirt dropping again, exposing the top of a toned bicep and a long neckline down to her smooth shoulders. Would it have killed her to change when she went and washed the shit off her face?
“We only have to play together two of the days,” I explain, unsure if she looked up the format of the tournament. “First day is a two-ball scramble, second day is women’s only, third day is me, then the final day is an alternating shot.”
“I know,” she says like I’m the biggest idiot on the planet. “I’m not dumb.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Well, since you assumed I didn’t know the format, I wasn’t sure.”
“I was trying to be helpful,” I toss back at her, trying not to sound as exasperated as I feel.
“Well you weren’t.”
“This!” I scream out, unable to temper my frustration at this woman anymore. “Can we have one conversation where you aren’t defensive as hell?”
“Can we have one conversation where you don’t feel like you need to be in charge and maybe treat me like an equal?”
“I’m just trying to be nice!”
“Well quit it!”
We both let out deep breaths, realizing how quickly this innocent enough conversation got off track.
“How are we going to do this, Shelby?” I ask, feeling like this is the best and worst idea my agent has ever had. “We can’t even get through a conversation. How are we supposed to get through a week of interviews together, and then play as a team?”
“I don’t know,” she says, sitting back against the couch cushion. “I guess we need to rip the Band-Aid off and see how bad this could get.”
She’s right. We need to play together. The sooner the better. Because if this is going to implode in our faces, better to let Ethan know now than have it go to shit in front of cameras.
“Tomorrow? Six a.m.?”
She shakes her head. “Can’t. I have a morning session with Chad. I can go out in the afternoon.”
I let out a groan. Typical of Shelby that she’s going to make me wait all day to do this.
“Fine. But we’re taking my cart.”
She narrows her eyes. “The cart that has video equipment installed? Oh, hell no. This is not about to become an episode of your dumbass golf show.”
“Like I’d ever want to put you on my channel,” I say. “But I am turning on the cameras.”
“Why?” She scoffs and throws her hands in the air in a universal what the fuck gesture.
“Because when you cause me to lose my shit, I’ll have video evidence to show Ethan how bad of an idea this is.”
I don’t know if she can roll her eyes any harder. “Bold of you to think I’m going to be the one to ruin it.”
“Shel—” I swallow my next words, because they weren’t going to be nice. At all. “Can we just get through tomorrow? Please.”
“Ugh, fine,” she says, standing up, so I follow suit. “Meet you at the clubhouse at one?”
“One it is,” I agree. “Now, go back to your skincare so you can get some sleep. You’ll need your rest for tomorrow.”
“What I’ll need is a flask and a gummy.”
Honestly, that’s not a bad idea. “You need to be under the influence to play a round of golf with me?”
“I need to be drunk and stoned to get through anything with you.”
I cover my heart. “Ouch. You’re hurting my feelings. But what kind of anythings are we talking about? Golf things? Other things…”
“Leave. If I have to spend time with you tomorrow, I need you to leave now.” She points to the door and I can’t help but laugh. I might not like her, but it really is fun fucking with her.
“Whatever you say, Belle.” I open the door, but turn before I walk away. “Turn that frown upside down. Who knows? Tomorrow could be fun!”
One more eye roll greets me before she slams the massive door in my face.
Yup. Tomorrow’s going to be something. But I don’t know if “fun” is the word I would use.