“You’re the best, Holland!” Ava goes up on her tiptoes and kisses me on the cheek.
“Whoa, thanks.” I laugh because I’m startled. She beams at me, and I consider her. It’s a sweet gesture. She’s being fun and playful, and usually I’d be totally into this. What did I tell Mallory before we went to my parents’ house? I’m a big fan of physical touch. I wish it was doing something for me, this physical touch from Ava, but I’ve got nothing going on in the heart department.
“It’s just a picture,” I tell her.
“I know. But you didn’t have to coordinate it for me. For us,” she adds, glancing at Zelda, who nods, and Mallory, who forces a smile.
Mal clears her throat. “Okay, then. Golf first, picture later. I’m up, right?” She checks her scorecard. “Yep. My turn.”
“I’ll hold that for you,” I say, as she goes to tuck her card into her pocket.
Mallory hesitates and stares down at my outstretched palm.
“I promise I’ll keep it safe,” I add with a grin.
She hands it over, and I feel a strange power trip as she takes her position in the tee box, our roles reversed. I study her scorecard. Sure enough, she notched a hole-in-one on hole nine and hole eleven. She completed holes ten and twelve in two strokes each.
“Dang, Mallory. Remind me again why you aren’t out on the LPGO circuit?”
“You need me too much,” she deadpans.
She says it without hesitation, but she grins to let me know she’s teasing me, and dang it if that doesn’t do something to me.I’m suddenly hot around the collar of my polo shirt, and my pulse has picked up.
“Is it that obvious?” I wink.
“Only to everyone watching you play.” She says it with some sass, and Ava laughs. Zelda cozies up to me, tucks her arm into mine, and starts chatting with me about my favorite aspects of golf and what I love most about being on the pro tour.
I answer her questions mindlessly. These are the sorts of questions I could field in my sleep. Zelda is a gorgeous woman, and she’s obviously trying to endear herself to me. Her laughs are overly loud, and she keeps pressing her chest into my side. But my focus is fully on Mallory as she positions herself over her ball and glances up toward the hole.
A cacophony of sea gulls circles overhead, and a plop of poop drops inches from where Zelda is standing.
“Gross!” She bolts away from me, and I heave a sigh of relief. I actually hate birds, but right now, I want to thank that diarrhetic one. Mallory glances over at where I’m standing, and I shrug. When she looks away from me, all thoughts of birds flee, and I take the opportunity to use the tiny pencil she’s been writing her scores down with to jot a quick note in the margin of her card. By the time she glances back, I’m finished. I don’t let on that I’ve written anything. The whole point is for her to find it later…like when she leaves me messages inside my golf billfold.
16
Water Hazard
Holland
Imotion to the hole. “How’re you feeling about the shot? Two strokes for birdie?”
The way the waterfall hole works is you have to putt over a tinier bridge, this one with no railings, that’s only intended for golf balls, not for walking. Then your ball has to travel behind the waterfall, between the rushing water and the rockface. It’s not actually that hard of a shot if you can hit the ball straight—which is sort of true for all of golf, I guess. But you also have to factor in the speed of the ball going up the bridge and back down. Hit it too soft, and your ball comes back at you or falls into the water, and you lose a stroke. Hit it too hard, and it’s tough to keep the right line. Not to mention, there are some variations in the green around the hole.
Mallory tugs her top lip behind her teeth, and my throat goes dry. I can’t look away from her, from the stretch of her upper lip and where it disappears into her mouth. I’ve felt that mouth on mine. I know how soft those lips are. There’s something incredibly alluring about how she looks when she’s concentrating.
She stands up straight. “I think I can make it in one.”
I arch my brow. “How much are we betting?” I ask out of habit.
“Oh, this sounds fun.” Ava steps forward. “Who’s betting?”
Mallory scowls at me, but I grin back before turning to Ava. “It’s a little game Mallory and I play at practice sometimes. We wager how many strokes it’ll take me to make a particular putt. Or we bet on how many putts I’ll make out of the ten she’s having me take, that sort of thing.”
Zelda nods. “I’m in. Sorry, Holland, but I’m with Mallory here.”
Ava glances around. “I’ll side with Holland. Sorry, Mal,” she adds with a shrug.
“All good. If I make the putt, let’s say Holland and Ava have to read a book I pick out for them.”
