Page 27 of Perfect Praise

“Emmie’s clapping for her daddy on TV,” I joke. My heart suddenly drops to my feet as I frantically remember we’re televised and feel around the collar of my shirt. “Shit. Are we mic’d up? I don’t even remember.”

“No,” Conrad laughs. “I shot them down when they asked.”

“God,” I breathe out and relax. I could never live with myself if I blasted that over airwaves for someone to record and post on YouTube.

I’d be no better than Russell, who is waiting impatiently by the looks of his stance, for us on the green.

He gives us a sarcastically cordial, “Took you fucking long enough,” when we reach him.

Conrad and I ignore him and put our heads together to discuss where my ball landed, which only infuriates him more.

“What are you doing?” he demands in his insufferable voice.

I look up. “About to chip in for a birdie. What are you doing?”

“What are you doing with my girlfriend?” he tries again like I didn’t know what he was asking the first time.

We’re going to do this little dance where we look like we’re joking around, our voices light, so it doesn’t actually look like we’re pissed off at each other.

“Why do you keep calling her that?” I ask curiously.

“Is this about us?” He doesn’t answer my question, but I suspect he’s trying to keep her close, close enough that whenever he feels likeit, she’ll thankfully welcome him back with open arms, happy and blissfully unaware that he’s manipulating her.

“Contrary to what you think, Russell, you hardly ever cross my mind,” I say with a smirk.

“Stay away from her,” he says, almost scared.

“Well, since you have zero control over me, I’ll go on doing whatever the hell I feel like doing.”

“You can’t do whatever the hell you feel like doing with her,” he sing-songs.

I blink. “Like you didn’t?”

“She’s not like that,” he offers, looking like he’s either about to crawl out of his skin or punch me. He settles for a smug smile instead. “I bet she won’t even sleep with you. She sees you with your girl of the month every now and then.”

“She alsoseesyou now,” I reply. “And I don’t need your advice. One, my caddie doesn’t pick girls out of the crowd for me. Two, I don’tcheat. And three, she’ll forget who you are the second my name leaves her lips “

“Bullshit,” Russ laughs. “She still loves me, and she’ll take me back when I’m ready.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so busy being an asshole, she wouldn’t have outgrown you. You don’t deserve her.”

“Like you fucking do.”

“I didn’t say I did, but it’s not my fault you didn’t know how to keep her satisfied. You don’t even know her.” I shake my head and inspect the club I just slid out of my bag. I let my voice take on amusement. “Too busy with your side fucks to know how to get your own girlfriend off. You’ve always been careless.”

I stand rooted when Russ flares with anger, forgets where we are, and takes a step toward me. “If this is about revenge—” Conrad slides in between us, cutting off Russell mid-sentence and making him step back.

One glance at Maren tells me she’s been watching us and trying incredibly hard to read lips. Her face is covered in confusion, eyes worried, in disbelief that we’re actually having a conversation that looks like two friends joking around that suddenly turned near-violent.

But I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.

I cross in front of Conrad and brush as close to Russell as I can without actually touching him. He’s radiating hatred but has his look of fake camaraderie plastered on his face. My laugh comes out low.

“I don’t give a fuck about you, Ashe, and eventually, she won’t either.” I give him my best dimples. “No one will care.”

Which is probably his worst nightmare.

Not so breaking news:Locke Hughes won the first tournament of the year and one point six two million dollars.

---