Page 10 of The Perfect Putt

“Absolutely not. She works for me, that’s all.” I keep my voice steady and let no emotion leak through.

If Jason and Shaw–and Sutton for that matter–hear even the smallest tone change they’ll read into it. Brock and Emmett both understand my aversion to relationships. Brock feels like he’s too busy to make time for a relationship, and Emmett doesn’t want to get married again after his ex-wife cheated on him. So they never question my decision to stay single.

Shaw and Sutton however, are disgustingly affectionate and want everyone to have what they have. And Jason has taken to watching romantic comedies in his free time, so he thinks everything is a potential love story. Which means even though I find Ellie attractive, no one on this call needs to know. There’s nothing more to it than that I find her pretty and funny. I find lots of women pretty and funny, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to marry them.

“I found her Instagram!” Sutton says and I resist the urge to groan. “She’s stunning. I love her style. This sundress is adorable.”

“We should get you a sundress like that,” Shaw says in a low voice, and before I can comment, Brock does.

“In case you forgot, there are four other people on here including her brother.”

“You should take it as a compliment that I think she’s gorgeous beyond measure. You are twins after all,” Shaw says. I snort.

“You did not just say that,” Jason says through his laughter. I can make out Brock audibly gagging on the other line.

“I regret ever becoming friends with you,” Brock says.

“That was such a weird thing to say,” I add.

“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Shaw replies.

“No, it’s just weird,” Sutton says.

There are some shuffling sounds and then a girlish squeal. Our game is officially ruined with all the distractions, so I just set my controller aside.

“We should have a rule that they can’t make out while we’re listening,” Brock says and I laugh.

“They’re in their honeymoon phase. It’ll let up eventually.” It did for my parents. I don’t hope that Sutton and Shaw get divorced, but they’ve got the same chances as flipping a coin, according to statistics.

“I think they’ll be this disgusting forever,” Jason says over the sound of Sutton’s giggles. “But as much as I hope that for them, I’m going to log off so that I don’t have to listen to it. I’ll see you and Ellie next week, Miles,” he jokes.

“You’re not seeing anyone next week except your team and the physical therapist,” Brock says.

“Yeah, yeah. I was just messing with him. As much as I’d love to bother you in person, I’ve got practices and personal training to prepare for this season.”

“Maybe another time,” I say, brushing off the whole thing. It’s rare that any of us get to see each other in person, and the chances of Jason coming here and falling for Ellie are way less than the country’s divorce rate. Not that it would matter if he did. The worst that would happen is I’d need a new assistant because I doubt Ellie would want to work if she married an NFL player. It would merely be inconvenient to me if they fell in love.

“Sounds good, I’ll talk to y’all later,” he says before he logs off.

“I should probably go too, I’ve got some paperwork to look over,” Brock says.

“All right, it was fun while it lasted,” I say, earning a chuckle from him and–surprisingly–Emmett. He must be in a good mood tonight. His mirth is followed by a simple goodbye before hanging up. I listen for a second longer to Shaw and Sutton’s laughter and murmurs before logging off myself, an unfamiliar ache blooming in my chest.

I open my front door to find Ellie standing on my porch, with what looks to be an iced coffee in some sort of floral sleeve in one hand, and a laptop in the other. She’s wearing a dress made out of some kind of athletic material, which only makes me think of Shaw’s dress comment.

“You showed up,” I say with a smirk. “I thought you might back out.”

“What about me gives you that impression?” Not a single thing. I knew she’d come, with the determined fire in her eyes that I see now. She didn’t back down once at the diner, and I doubt she ever will about anything. After her little anti-golf speech, she introduced me to her sister and best friend. Then she got her food to-go and made sure I knew it wasn’t because I had shown up, but because she wanted to watch the sunset on the beach while she ate.

“Come on in,” I say instead of answering her question. I pull the door open and she walks in. She smells sweet and tropical as she passes me, like fresh cut pineapples.

“Wow,” she murmurs, barely loud enough for me to hear. Her eyes are locked on the view of the ocean out my living room windows.

“I bought this house for the view,” I tell her, though I’m not sure why. She doesn’t need to know, and probably doesn’t care.

“Really? It wasn’t because you needed to prove how rich you were by buying a ten bedroom mansion even though you live alone?”

“How do you know how many bedrooms I have? I thought you said I wouldn’t have to worry about you.”

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