26. Shelby #2
The second finger goes up for good measure, and I hear him laughing in the distance as I enter the house, pondering how this is my life…and also slightly curious about what the hell a fan page is.
“I can't believe it took you one hundred forty-eight tries to make that putt.”
“Thank God you showed me the line,” he says with a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Yes, what would you have done if I didn’t crash the video?
” There’s no way, or reason, to hide my sarcasm as we stand next to each other in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for the stir fry we agreed to eat for dinner tonight.
“Okay, truth: you could’ve made that putt in fewer shots, right? Like, you were being bad on purpose?”
Beau doesn't have a lot of tells. Actually, I take that back. He has so many facial expressions it's hard to decipher when he's being serious and when he's being his annoyingly-charming self. And even then it’s a fifty-fifty shot.
“What do you think?” He puts down his knife and turns to me, resting his hip against the counter in a position that shouldn’t be sexy, but is.
Because of course it is. It’s a man in a kitchen. That’s sexy as hell.
“I think you’re an attention whore, and if a live stream is making you money, you're going to make it go as long as possible. I also know you’ve likely memorized every inch of that green. There’s no way you kept hitting it in exactly the wrong spot that many times.”
I watch as the corner of his mouth tilts up. “I married someone with beauty, talent, and brains—really the whole package.”
I shake my head, because I refuse to let him sweet-talk me with compliments when I’m trying to do my best every day to remind myself this isn’t real. “Cut it out with that wife shit.”
“I don’t know, cooking a meal together is a pretty real thing,” he says as he turns back to the counter and grabs a zucchini. “Do you like to cook?”
His question takes me by surprise. It's such a get to know you question, which feels weird coming from a man who's known me my entire life.
Yet, he doesn't know this part of me. The domestic side. The non-golfer side. What he knows about me in that realm is likely only something Gabi’s talked to him about, and I doubt my cooking habits are on the top of that list.
“Occasionally. It’s hard to find a recipe meant for one person, and I’m not the biggest fan of leftovers. But I know I can't live off of takeout every night, so I do it when I have to.”
“Completely agree,” he says as he moves on to a green pepper. “Gabi told me I needed to get a crock pot and meal prep. That just felt like a lot of work.”
“Right?” I exclaim. “Also, how am I supposed to know what I want to eat Thursday when I’m making dinner on Sunday.”
“Exactly. I want to meet the person who can eat the same thing five nights in a row.”
“Same, because I have a lot of questions for them.”
The two of us pause in our joint rant and share a smile.
One that hits me in a way I was not prepared for.
It’s… I can’t name it, but it feels…nice.
Comforting. I’ve known for a long time that Beau and I have a lot in common—the top two things being our competitiveness and our stubbornness.
But having the exact same opinion on leftovers and cooking?
I don’t know, it just feels…normal. Friendly. Like we bonded in a way.
Before my brain can try to send me down a rabbit hole of why I like that feeling so much, I hear my cell phone start to vibrate on the kitchen counter.
“Who is it?” Beau asks.
I wipe my hands and look down to see Kat’s name flashing on the screen. “Hey, Kat. What’s up?”
“Hi, Shelby. Is Beau there?”
“Yeah,” I say, wondering what happened that she needs to talk to us both about. Are we in trouble? “He’s right here.”
“Great. Can you put him on speakerphone? I want to talk to both of you.”
I take the phone off my ear and muffle it before I set it down. “She wants to talk to both of us. What did you do?”
“What did I do?” he whisper-shouts back. “I didn’t do anything!”
“Well, one of us did something. Why else would our newly appointed PR person be calling us on a Monday?”
“You know I can hear you two,” Kat calls out. Embarrassed, I set the phone down and flip it to speaker. “But, don’t worry, you did nothing bad. In fact, you did the exact opposite.”
Beau and I each take seats at the kitchen island, the phone between us as Kat begins speaking.
“Beau, do you know what your live stream numbers were before Shelby came and crashed the video?”
My eyes go wide. I don’t know why I didn’t think about the video incident from earlier today.
“Um…a few thousand? I think it was averaging around five-k each time I checked.”
“Correct. And do you want to know how many people have now watched the clip of the video someone posted minutes after Shelby sank that putt?”
Oh my God. What have I done…
“Since neither of you are going to take a guess, I’ll tell you. The number is two point five million…and counting.”
My eyes nearly jump out of my head. “Two and a half million? That can’t be right. That was barely two hours ago.”
“The number's actually closer to three if you add in every social media channel. And probably gaining on ten now that other random accounts are posting it. But yes, the original video a fan posted seconds after you did it? Viral is an understatement, Shelby.”
I let my head fall to the island, smacking it against the granite as I curse myself for doing what I did.
I was just annoyed. I had no desire to be on his channel.
In fact, I insisted when this started that I was going to stay far away from it.
And here I am, going viral—again—for something I had no intention of doing.
“Kat, I doubt you’re calling just to give us the numbers. I’m guessing there’s something else you want us to do now?”
“You’re a smart one, Beau, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Literally no one,” I groan out, making both Kat and Beau laugh.
“Sorry, Shelby, but Beau’s right. Numbers like this tell us one thing—you being on the channel with him is great for both of you. And it’s something you should do again.”
“No,” I say immediately. “I refuse to be on a bro golf channel.”
“But it wouldn’t be like that,” Kat says.
“It’ll be the two of you. Plus, you’ve been hibernating for a week.
I wanted to let you two have a chance to settle in, but sports gossip blogs are going to start asking questions soon if you aren’t seen out together in public. Let’s kill two birds with one stone.”
”Do we really have to?” I ask. “Can't we just, I don't know, exist?”
“I’m going to pretend you aren’t being serious about that,” Kat says.
I share a look with Beau, who I know doesn’t have a problem with this. Every bit of unease in this decision is coming from me.
“What are you suggesting?” I ask, hating that I know I’ve already lost this battle.
I hear her let out a sigh. “It’s a great plan. But fair warning: you’re going to hate it.”