“Thanks for making me look good.” It’s the same thing I’ve been telling her since opening night of filming. I’ve yet to get more than a sniff in acknowledgement of my gratitude. I turn to Callen. “Are we all set?”
“Yep. Follow me.”
“One second.” Vivian reaches for my arm and pulls me to a stop. “I’ll bring him out to you, Cal.”
Callen nods, and the door to the trailer creaks as it closes behind him.
I’m alone with Vivian, and while she’s not looking at me unkindly, something about being here, under her scrutiny, makes me feel like I’m carrying five hundred bricks on each of my shoulders.
All I want to do is get out of this hotbox, but I try to look at ease as I wait for Vivian to say what she’s going to say. She doesn’t speak until Rizzo clears out of the trailer behind Callen.
“I want to check in with you,” she begins. “Make sure you’re starting to develop some feelings. That things are progressing as they’re supposed to.”
“I…uh…”Blergh. I hate this. The weight on my shoulders doubles. I don’t know what has gotten into me. I haven’t had a panic attack since middle school, and now I’m on the verge of my second one in as many weeks. My pulse starts pounding in my ears, and my thoughts are flying a mile a minute as I try to come up with an adequate response for Vivian and figure out my own feelings about everything.
I had a decent date with Ava two nights ago. She’s a high school English literature teacher with a massive social media following. She told me how she’s made a name for herself by doing short videos summarizing Shakespeare plays using the language of this generation. She’s even been interviewed by CBA news, the same network that airsMost Eligible Mister. We talked about fame and how it’s a double-edged sword, how we’re grateful for it, and how it changes your life in ways you may not have anticipated or prepared for. All in all, it was a nice date.
Did I feel somethingmorefor Ava beyond appreciation that she’s here for me and respect that she teaches hormonal teenagers sonnets for a living? Not entirely. I’m trying to ignore the worry that keeps curdling in my stomach when I think toohard about it all. Because Ishouldbe feeling something for a woman like Ava, right? She’s smart, and accomplished, and interesting, and we have things in common.
The same thing happened as I’ve chatted with the other women. Take Britt. She’s gorgeous and smart too. She’s a licensed marriage and family counselor with a specialty in helping troubled kids. She’s a good listener…very attentive. But every time I talk to her, I feel like she’s trying to diagnose me. With what? Who knows. But it’s hard for me to relax around her. It’s ameproblem, not aherproblem, I know, but I can’t help it. With both Ava and Britt, and all the other women, I can’t force feelings—even if it feels like Vivian wants me to.
She’s staring at me now, waiting for my response, and my nervous system continues to go all haywire. My head feels light, and my arms feel like tree trunks. I grab for the golf billfold I brought into the trailer to study in my downtime. I focus on the feel of the leather exterior, and I flip it open, staring down at the worn, familiar paper and the outline of the Grand Masters course in an effort to ground myself.
That’s when I see it.
There’s a small notation written on the edge of the scorecard. It’s in Mallory’s dark, scribble-y handwriting. I zero in on the words like they’re a life raft, and I’m a man who just jumped off the top deck of the Titanic.
Acknowledge the overwhelm. But remember, it doesn’t own you. You are more.
I re-read the words a couple times over. I feel my pulse slowing and the rest of my body calming down as well. Mallory’s one-liners are the stuff of legend, and they always speak exactly to the point. She must’ve written this after our practice session on Monday.
Before our kiss.
I ping my gaze up to meet Vivian’s. She doesn’t know I’ve kissed any of the women. Maybe I should feel guilty about that,because my contract spells out that all romantic moments must be documented. But I’m oddly pleased that whatever happened between Mallory and me was just that—between the two of us. Hate kiss or not, I’m protective of my feelings where my coach is concerned.
Vivian is watching me carefully. She holds up her hands as if sensing my fragile state of mind. “You don’t have to go into specifics. But I’d like to know that this is working for you. That there are some women here you could see yourself falling for.”
I rub the pad of my thumb over the words in my billfold and an image of Mallory, scowling at me, pops into my head. It transforms in my mind’s eye to her tossing her head back and laughing, red hair fanned out around her like a blazing fire. I swear I can smell a subtle whiff of peaches in the air.
Mallory told me I’m her paycheck and her player. That’s all. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to be more. Maybe it’s foolish, maybe I’m reading the whole situation wrong, but I think there’s a chance her feelings for me might be shifting. I want to explore that fault line, see what’s at the epicenter of her. What makes her tick? What makes her blood boil? What makes her sad and nervous, elated and hopeful? I want to know it all.
I’m helpless to stop the small smile that creeps across my face as I respond to Vivian. “Yeah,” I say carefully. “Yeah, I think so.”
15
Secret Notes
Holland
Chad Erickson is in his element on this mini-golf course. He’s got his hair gelled back, and he’s wearing tight-fitting khaki shorts and an obnoxious, orange floral polo shirt. I’m standing off to one side of him, leaning up against a mini-sized putter. The women are in a line in front of us. The sun is high and bright in the springtime sky, but the air is chilly, so everyone is wearing sweatshirts and leggings.
My gaze snags on Mallory. She’s got her red hair tied up in a ponytail, and it’s poking through the back of her baseball cap. She catches me staring and arches a brow.Busted. I blink and turn my focus back to Chad, who’s explaining how the day ahead will go.
“So, you’ll be split into two teams, and your team’s collective score will be submitted at the end of the round. The team with the lowest average score will earn more time with Holland at this afternoon’s cocktail hour. We all know how precious time is, don’t we?”
That feels like a pretty existential question, if you ask me, but all of the women—Mallory excluded—are nodding vigorously. I’m flattered, and a bubble of hope rises in my chest. These ladies are here for me. There’s a chance this could work—with Mallory or someone else. I need to keep an open mind. I should compartmentalize how I’m feeling about my coach and focus on getting to know these other women more deeply.
I raise my hand and step forward. Chad pauses mid-way through his sentence. He’s not expecting me to speak right now, but I have a great idea, and I’m going to go for it.
