Page 11 of Perfect Praise

I whip around to seeher.

Her.

Three little letters that ruined everything.

She’s standing there with a pink golf bag, her set of pink golf clubs poking out the top with tie-dye club head covers and her long blonde hair blowing in the wind.

“Hi,” she says hesitantly, looking between us.

“Hi,” I reply. She shifts from one leg to the other, and I wish I knew where she got her outfit. “Your golf dress is really cute.”

Then I laugh. Sure, there are tears behind them. What do you expect? I’m not that strong, and I haven’t seen her since that night. And I definitely had no inkling that they were still seeing each other.

Humiliation washes over me. Again. I’ve become accustomed to it at this point. Here I was thinking Russ cared just a little. When am I going to learn that everything out of his mouth is a lie?

Just another day in the life of—

“Maren.”

Russ’ lips aren’t moving. I squint at him, convinced I’m hallucinating, but now he’s looking at me likeI’mthe bad guy for some reason.

“You’re an ass—” I start, my voice wavering.

“Maren,” the voice says again, stronger this time, and I realize it’s behind me.

I turn to see Locke sitting in a golf cart. Like he knew where I was and that I needed saving, but obviously he didn’t. His eyes are steady on me, summoning me without another word, so I float like he’s enveloped me with the darkness lurking in them.

As soon as my butt hits the seat, he takes off.

Don’t look back, I tell myself, even though I know every single person on the practice green is staring. Me getting into a golf cart with Locke Hughes is an everyday occurrence.Don’t let on that he makes you nervous.

Whatever he wants, he doesn’t like it himself. In fact, I think he hates it. But right now, I just want to get away, no matter how much whatever lies at the end of this little ride terrifies me.

Away, away, away is my mantra.

I can finally breathe when the clubhouse comes into view.

“Thanks,” I mutter when he slows. Before the cart can come to a full stop, I’m practically trying to sprint off of it.

“Wait.” Locke reaches out and holds my wrist softly, tugging me back to the seat. The smirk radiating off his face without a trace of a smile unnerves me.

“He’s teaching Lydia how to play golf. He never taught me how to play golf,” I blurt.

His face wipes clean somehow. “What?”

“Lydia. That’s her name. Such a refined name, I guess. Better than Maren. And I don’t even like golf, but I wanted to learn for him.”

Locke blinks. “You don’t like golf?”

My laugh comes out forceful and abrupt before I compose myself to a semblance of a normal human and remember he stopped me from leaving. “What do you want?”

“I’ll teach you,” he says.

I stare in confusion. “Golf?”

“No,” Locke sighs. “How to not give a shit.”

It takes a minute for the hamster wheel in my brain to stop spinning.

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