Her face lights up. “Exactly!”
“And that’s a good thing because…”
“He might as well be fictional. You can follow up on your promise to live a little and go make a move. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I embarrass myself.”
“So what? He’s a stranger you’ll never see again.”
“We’re not strangers. We’re birth— Never mind.” But she has a point, damn it. I glance back at the happy couple and find Hays mingling in the crowd, his easy smile like a beacon in the fading light of day. “Maybe, you’re right. But let me Google him first. I think he’s a golfer or something.”
Tabitha arches an eyebrow. “You’re doing research now?”
Ignoring her, I grab my phone. “His name is Hays Granger. I saw it on his license.”
“You checked his ID? How very thorough of you.”
“He showed it to me to prove his birthday,” I mutter, already typing his name into the search bar.
“What?”
But I’m too busy scanning the search results to answer. “Oh.”
“What ‘oh’? Good ‘oh’ or bad ‘oh’?” she asks, leaning over.
My stomach sinks. “He’s… He’s actually famous. Well, sort of famous.” I clear my throat and read aloud. “‘Hays Granger isn’t just one of golf’s newest rising stars—he’s the swaggering, smirking heartthrob who’s making headlines on and off the green.’”
Reading over my shoulder, she continues. “‘After a standout career at The University of Texas, where he racked up a dozen collegiate wins and earned All-American honors, Granger had a rocky season on the Korn Ferry Tour’—what’s that?”
“Hell if I know. But look, it says he managed to rally and officially earned his PGA Tour card last year.’” I pause, processing. “He’s a professional golfer, Tab. Like, actually professional.”
“He has the tan to prove it. What else?”
“‘Known for his killer drive and the kind of effortless charm that makes post-round interviews go viral, he’s got the game to back up the hype.’” I look up at her. “His interviews go viral.”
“Ooh, search for videos later. Keep going.”
“‘But if Hays wants to go from internet sensation to championship contender, he’ll have to trade a few parties for practice rounds. With talent to spare and a twinkle in his eye, Hays is more than just one to watch. He’s the one everyone’s already watching…and waiting to see if he can deliver.’”
I stare at my phone then look across the deck at Hays, who’s now laughing at something his brother says. “He’s an actual celebrity, Tabitha. People write articles about him. He probably has a publicist.”
“So?”
“When I vowed to go on a few first dates after David, I meant with guys I’d actually consider dating—”
“But you haven’t actually gone on a single first date all summer,” Tabitha is quick to point out.
“—and who would consider dating me.”
But even as I utter the words, I wonder if there’s a chance I’m wrong. Is there a world where Hays would date a small town girl like me? Or, does he say things like, ‘gorgeous, dark-eyed beauties who call me on my shit are apparently my kryptonite,’ to every woman he rescues at a bar? Something tells me the answer is no. But surely, that’s the rum talking.
“Okay, first of all, pump the brakes there, girl. No one said anything about dating the man. All I’m suggesting is, you go over and continue the conversation.”
“I work in a bookstore and write novels and sometimes attempt to garden in my spare time, Tab. The guy is a pro athlete who’ll be jetting off after breakfast, not doing Wordle in his pajamas. We’re from completely different worlds.”
“Which is exactly why this is perfect.”
I glance back at the article. “It also mentions parties. Plural. As in, he’s apparently known for them.”
