29. Beau
BEAU
The absolute worst thing happened this weekend. And when I say worst, I mean best.
I ended up finishing third.
And Shelby won.
I’m not going to claim we both played so well because we got ourselves off with each other every night, but I’m not not saying that didn’t help. And, being the superstitious guy I am, once you start something that works, you don’t stop. Ever.
Oh no! I have to get off to the sight of my wife’s tits every weekend as she fingers herself. Whatever is a man to do?
“Good morning, beautiful,” I say as I step up behind her at the driving range. Putting my arms around her, I take advantage of my sneak attack and place a kiss on her neck.
“Beau…” she says before tensing for a second. She relaxes quickly, remembering that we’re in public and it would look pretty strange if she shoved me away for just wanting to give my wife a kiss. And a pretty tame one at that.
Am I using the fact that we’re outside to get close to her? Yes.
Am I ashamed? Nope. Not a damn bit.
“You got home late last night,” I say as I move my hands over top of hers as she lines up her shot. “Also, you played yesterday. You don’t need to be at the driving range this early in the morning.”
“I didn’t like how I was hitting my long irons,” she says. “So I wanted to get back out here.”
“You got home at two in the morning, Shelby. You can take a day off.”
“Says the man who’s playing two weekends in a row.”
“That’s different,” I say. “The next tournament is at one of my favorite courses. So if playing back to back needs to happen, then I’m going to do it.”
The season is officially underway, and the first major is a few weeks away. I’ve won two of the four majors, but the one in April is one I’ve never conquered. Every year it’s on the goals list, but this year, I don’t know…I want it more than ever.
Maybe it’s because I feel like I have something to prove after last year. Maybe this weekend I felt better than I had in months. Maybe it’s because now I associate golf with sex.
Either way, I want to win. And I’m going to make it happen.
“You know what you’re doing, right?” she asks.
“Yes. I’m trying to tempt you into going back to the house with me, throwing out your ‘only sex when it’s golf related’ rule, and spending the rest of the day in bed together.”
“Funny,” she says, even though I’m not joking. “What I was going to say is that you’re doing Ghost golf.”
It takes me a second to remember what she’s talking about, but then I realize I’m standing behind her, my hands wrapped around hers on her club. Our bodies are touching. The last time I dared to put myself in this position, it earned me an elbow to the stomach and a classic Shelby-Beau argument.
Funny how things can change in the blink of an eye.
“Apologies. I know you hate that.”
“No.” Her one word shocks me. “It’s not so bad…”
I’m speechless. Actually speechless.
I take the moment I’m offered and kiss the top of her shoulder, loving that even after her long weekend—and so early in the morning—her floral scent is still just as strong and addicting as ever. I have no intention of moving…until I hear a very rude throat clear from next to us.
“Get a room, you two. This isn’t the place for whatever that is.”
My teeth grind together and I instinctively put my hand on the small of Shelby’s back as I look up to see Chad in front of us.
Who…doesn’t look well.
His black eyes have healed, but his face looks paler than normal. And I know it’s only been a few weeks since I last saw him, but I swear he’s skinnier. We used to have similar builds, but now it looks like the man is withering away.
We both heard that he was back in Nashville, but neither of us have seen him before now, which means he’s been scheduling lessons opposite of when he knew we’d be on the range. We knew that wasn’t going to last, but this isn’t how I wanted to start off my day.
“But it is for putting your hands on clients?” I ask, remembering the time I walked up to him touching Shelby in a way that had nothing to do with golf. “Tell me, Chad, how many complaints have you racked up over the years? I’m setting the over/under line to ten and a half.”
“My clients have never complained, and are always satisfied.”
“Bullshit,” Shelby says through a cough. “Oh. Sorry. Something in my throat.”
Shelby and Chad proceed to start a stare off that I’m partly glad I’m not involved in. I’ve seen what she can do when she’s pissed off and has access to golf clubs. It never works out in the other person’s favor.
“We were just going,” I say, because as much as I want to give Chad a piece of my mind—and maybe another visit with my fist—this isn’t the time or the place.
And if I initiate something and word gets out, Ethan is going to have my head.
Or, worse, if we linger, Chad could start spewing the shit he said about Shelby the night I first punched him.
Frankly, I’m worried at that point I’ll need to bail my wife out of jail.
“No one buys this,” Chad says, motioning in a circle toward us. “One of these days, someone is going to believe me that this is all a ruse. I’m going to expose you, and both of you are going to become a laughing stock.”
“Says the man I’m pretty sure has scammed the entire golf world into thinking he’s the top swing coach in the game?” I say, because I’m tired of his shit. “Do you really want to have a war of words with us, Chad? Is that your best move?”
I’ve long thought the narrative about Chad being the best swing coach in the game was started by none other than Chad himself.
I can’t prove it. And I’ve never sat down and actually talked to people about my suspicions.
This isn’t the first time I’ve had that thought, either, but it is the first time I’ve considered an active plan to figure out the con he’s pulling on the sport.
“You can go ahead and try,” Chad says, way overconfidently. “My reputation speaks for itself.”
“Oh, fuck off!” Shelby yells.
Welp, there goes my plan of getting us out of here before Shelby goes Shelby on his ass. But you know what? Fuck it. I’m going to let my wife cook.
“Chad, with all due disrespect, fuck all the way off. The only reason I haven’t called your ass out publicly is because I’ve had better things to do with my time.
You know, like actually fixing my swing.
Being happy with Beau. Unlike you, who’s living a miserable excuse for a life where your only claim to fame is clout chasing and being the third wheel your literal entire fucking life.
To be honest, I’m pretty sure if I asked any woman you’ve been with, they would confirm you’ve never made a woman come. ”
It’s nearly impossible to hold back the laugh trying to escape, and I wind up snorting then coughing, struggling to keep it in. Because she’s not done. And I’m here for it.
“So, seriously, Chad”—the mockery in her voice and the sneer on her face when she says his name are classic Shelby—“fuck all the way off. You’re a leach.
A miserable excuse for a human. Your entire personality is that you were once Beau Devereaux’s best friend.
And you need to get the fuck out of our lives.
Because we never, and I mean never ever, want to see or speak to you again. ”
Holy shit…that was so fucking hot…
Shelby turns to look at me, and I’m pretty sure my jaw is touching the tops of my shoes. “What’s on the agenda today, husband?”
“Uh…” I stutter, because I’m trying to calm my dick down. “I…need to go to the bakery.”
“Great, let’s go.”
Shelby grabs her clubs, throws them over her shoulder, then grabs my hand and walks us back to the golf carts.
“I don’t know if this is the wrong time to say this, but you’ve never been hotter than you are right now.”
“Ah! Can you believe that guy!?”
Shelby is pacing around the kitchen, and has been since we got back from the driving range.
Do I need to go to the bakery? Yes. Other than Poker Club, I haven’t been since Las Vegas, and that’s way too long for an owner not to check in on his store.
Yes, Gabi has it under control, but I can’t help but feel guilty that I’ve put everything on her.
But I’m not leaving until I know Shelby isn’t going to punch a hole through my wall. At this point, I put the chances at fifty-fifty.
“Honestly, yes. Because he’s literally the worst person I know,” I say. “I can’t believe I was friends with him.”
She stops for the first time since we walked in the door, but only to give me an epic raised eyebrow. “Do we really want to get into a who-regrets-more game when it comes to Chad? Because guess what, Big Boy, I’m winning that one hands down.”
She’s right, but there’s no way I’m saying that out loud. Even on her nicest day, I’m a little scared of my wife. And right now? That’s grown to very scared.
“But you said what you needed to get off your chest,” I say, trying to block her from doing another lap around the kitchen island. “And let’s be real, it’s Chad. He’s all bark, very little bite. He’s probably at home crying right now.”
Shelby shakes her head. “I know, but…something feels off. The look he gave me before I walked away, it put me on edge. Like he has something up his sleeve.”
“And we can be on the lookout,” I say, rubbing her biceps in hopes of getting her to calm down. “But right this second? There’s nothing we can do.”
“Not a fan of that answer. And why are you the calm one about him? When did we Freaky Friday this?”
“Because I’ve realized he’s exactly what you said.
He’s a little man who, at the end of the day, has no real leg to stand on.
” I can’t help the evil-grin ghosting across my face.
It’s the one I intend on wearing when we take Chad down.
“Plus, while you were telling him off, I concocted a plan to try and expose whatever con he’s pulling.
So when that happens, he’s going to be crying back to his daddy in Louisiana, and we’re never going to have to see him again. ”
This helps her relax slightly. “Really?”