32. Beau
BEAU
There's always a buzz about the first major of the year. The official season started a few months ago, but there’s still an air around this historic course like it’s the first day of school.
This is the first one that truly counts.
The first tournament of the year where a win will cement you as one of the greats to play the game.
Winning here means something. The course is historic.
Your name gets etched in a winner’s only locker room.
You get a special jacket that carries just as much prestige as championship trophies in team sports.
The tournament opens with a black-tie gala that’s harder to get a ticket to than game seven of the World Series.
And it’s one of the majors I’ve yet to win.
I have two under my belt, and for most players, that’s more than they could ever hope for in a lifetime. But I’m me, and since I first knew what majors were in golf, my goal has been to win them all. A career grand slam. A feat fewer than ten golfers in the history of the sport have ever achieved.
I know I’ve talked with Shelby about giving the sport up, and have let the thought circle my brain more than it probably should. But at the end of the day, I know I’ll never give up until I win here. And at that point, if I already have three, I’m going for the fourth and final.
Then maybe I’ll consider hanging up my golf polos for a life of social media work. Hell, maybe by that time, Shelby and I will have some kids. Stay-at-home dad Beau does have a certain appeal to it. Unless Shelby doesn’t want kids. And in that case, we won’t—because what she says goes.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“If I haven’t said it before now, this is a good time to remind you that I do, in fact, hate you.” Shelby’s voice carries in from the bathroom of our hotel suite.
I chuckle as I finish fastening the cufflinks of my tuxedo. “And why, dear wife, do you hate me today?”
She storms into the bedroom, looking eight different ways of pissed but ten different ways of sexy.
“Holy fuck, Belle…” I eye Shelby up and down, and I don’t try to hide it. “You look stunning.”
I feel the drool dripping down my chin as I stare at my wife in a skintight, black, silk, strapless dress. I don’t know what kind of lingerie she’s wearing, but it’s pushing her tits up so high I’m slightly concerned about a wardrobe malfunction.
“I look ridiculous.”
“Shut your mouth,” I say as I walk toward her, reaching for her hand to bring her closer. “I have never seen anyone more beautiful in my life.”
She lets out a defeated sigh as I drag my fingertips up and down her bare arms. “I can’t get this damn jewelry on. I can’t breathe. And my boobs are going to pop out.”
“I’m not complaining about that last one,” I say as I kiss her shoulder. “Unless it happens in front of the old asshole members and they start staring. Then there will be a problem.”
She knows it was a joke. I knew I’d get her “don’t you dare” look.
Worth it.
“Come here,” I take her hand and walk with her to the dresser where the diamond bracelet and necklace are still waiting in their velvet boxes.
I know Kat was behind this entire look, right down to the jewelry.
Note to self: send her the biggest bonus and thank you card when we’re back in Nashville.
“I know you’ve always had to put these things on by yourself.
But now, you lucky dog, you have me. Let’s do the bracelet first.”
I take the diamonds in my fingers and bring up her wrist, leaning in a little closer to clasp the piece together.
"You know, I get why you think you have to do things like this alone.
Things like bracelets, necklaces, zippers.
Even my cufflinks. They're a necessary evil, but a true pain in the ass when you're doing it alone.”
I kiss the inside of her wrist before I turn her around, letting us both face the vanity mirror.
I’ve never wanted to freeze a moment so badly.
Shelby’s hair is down and draping over one shoulder, styled in perfect, loose waves that I know look effortless but took the stylist she hired three hours to get exactly right.
The makeup she’s wearing—also done by a talented artist, because my wife is many things, but skilled with makeup isn’t one of them—is understated and natural, but also somehow elevates her.
I don’t know if she’s ever looked more beautiful in her life.
And she’s mine. She’s all fucking mine.
“But now you have me,” I say as I bring the diamonds around her neck. “And neither of us has to do things alone. Ever again.”
I make sure the clasp is secured, then place a lazy kiss on her shoulder. “Also included in that list of things I can help with is unzipping dresses.”
She shakes her head, and I sneak in one more kiss before she turns to face me.
“Are you sure I don’t look like I’m trying to play dress up?” she asks, her fingers toying with the lapel of my jacket. “And don’t give me this ‘you’re beautiful because you’re my wife’ crap. Be serious.”
“I promise you on my mother’s and Ace’s lives, you look gorgeous.
You’re going to turn every head when you walk in there.
” I hold my hand up to cut off the protest I know she’s about to make.
“And it’s not because they think you’re cosplaying as a model, it’s because you could pass for one with no questions asked. ”
She starts to say something again, and since I have a feeling she’ll be angling for the argument about how she’s an athlete, and she shouldn’t need to dress up like this, I put my finger over her mouth to shut that shit down right now.
One of these days, she will accept and understand that she can be both.
All. Everything. Until then, I have no problem reminding her.
“When people see you like this—strong, confident, feminine, but in the best and most fierce way—it’s not going to make people less scared of you.
It's not going to make you less of a golfer. If anything, it completes the package. Enhances it. Because now they're really going to see what a force you are to be reckoned with in every single aspect in life. And that, Shelby? That’s the true power.”
She lets out a breath as she leans in to kiss my cheek. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I offer her my arm. “Shall we?”
“Let’s go,” Shelby says as she grabs her clutch purse. “Is this really just a gala so all the members can feel special?”
I laugh at her assessment, but she’s not wrong.
“They bill it as the ‘Welcome Dinner,’ but essentially, yes. This is where the members with too much money on their hands—politicians, a few diplomats, those kinds of assholes—pay an absurd amount to eat dinner with us. I really don’t understand the point. ”
“Oh, so it’s Willowmere on steroids."
“And put those steroids on another sort of speed,” I say. “But don’t worry, the second we can get out of there, we’re gone.”
“Promise?”
I turn around and bring her into me against the door. “Oh, Belle…the one promise you can count on tonight is that the second we can get out of there, we’re going to be up in this room and that dress is going to be on the floor.”
“Any other promises?”
I breathe through the fact that my vixen of a wife is taking the opportunity to run her hand over my dick. Witch.
“Yes. The heels? They stay on.”
“Holy shit, Shelby. You…look…” I feel like it takes a lot these days to shock Ethan, especially after Vegas. But based on how his eyes are bugging out of his head, he’s clearly never seen Shelby in anything but golf clothing. “You look incredible.”
“Eyes off, West,” I joke as I pull Shelby into my side, sending Ethan’s hands into a surrender position.
“I’d never.”
The two of us share a smile and a handshake, before he leans in to give Shelby a polite kiss on the cheek.
“In all seriousness, you both clean up well.”
"Thanks," I say, grabbing two flutes of champagne and passing one to Shelby, before I quickly put my arm back around her waist. "Thank you for coming."
“I never need an excuse to break out the tuxedo, but it’s always nice to have one,” he says as he looks around the elegant ballroom.
Do most golf clubs have a ballroom lavish enough to host state dinners?
No. Does this course care? Absolutely not.
“Plus, this has the possibility of being a big weekend—either good or bad—for you. Felt like this was the right place to be.”
“Let’s hope good,” I say.
“I never know with you two.”
As if summoned, I see Kat and Grayson walking toward us, his hand on the small of her back as they part the sea of tuxedos and evening dresses to sweep through the crowd.
They’re getting looks from everyone. This golf circle is small, and the two of them are clearly outsiders.
Or maybe it’s because every old man’s viagra is suddenly working overtime at the sight of Kat in a fitted dress.
The woman is beautiful. But I also know if any of them tried to make a move, Grayson would have then flattened in seconds.
I get it. I get it one hundred percent.
"Thank you all for coming," I say. “Though I’m feeling a bit like the troublemaker who's only allowed to go out for recess if all of the teachers are monitoring.”
“That’s not exactly it,” Kat says, but the tone of her voice says I’m not far off. “Just consider this a safety net in case anything happens this weekend.”
“She’s really releasing the article soon?” Shelby asks.
“Any minute,” Grayson says. “I have alerts ready on my phone.”
When Shelby got the idea to sit down with Emily, and Emily agreed to run the story, our next phone call was to Ethan, Kat, and Grayson. We were clear that it wasn’t an opportunity for them to talk us out of it, but rather a warning that we were doing it, whether they liked it or not.
At first they were hesitant—Ethan especially. Which I get. His goal is to make us money. If we not only keep a public feud going, but escalate it, we aren’t very marketable. We’re messy. Companies don’t like that.