Page 60 of The Blind Date

"That's not important," I dismissed, trying to save face. "I'm assuming you're here to watch your parents play golf?"

Cillian nodded, grinning at me. “Also for the Sunday dinner my brother promised he would treat us all too afterwards.”

"Oh, that's nice,” I murmured, my smile turning uncomfortable. As long as we weren’t part of that Sunday treat, all would be good.

I didn’t even want to think about how awkward that would be.

Cillian and I headed to the field where a large crowd of people had gathered, eagerly watching the quarterfinal contestants as they hit a tiny ball on the various courses set up over the large field.

Ten courses, I counted.

It didn’t seem like it because I had wasted a considerable amount of time in the pavilion, feigning interest in the notice board, but I was excited to watch the Remington-Barlowes play. Thankfully, it wasn't their turn yet, so I hadn’t missed anything important.

I grinned as I stared at my parents, willing for them to turn their heads and catch sight of me. Instead of meeting their eyes, a shadow cast over me before someone knocked into my shoulder.

"Watch where you're going!" The person was quick to snap at me even though he had been the one to walk into me.

Not this again.

"Don't bother speaking to her, Barry." A second man laughed. "She's a Remington. We don’t want to lower ourselves by associating with a Remington.”

"And he's for sure a Barlowe." One of the women turned their nose up haughtily while the other sneered at us.

My jaw dropped as I watched the four of them walk away with their golf clubs, looking rather happy with themselves for belittling people that were more than half their age.

"Can you believe the nerve of them?" I scoffed, annoyed, as I rubbed my shoulder where one of the men–Barry–had walked into me. "Who even are they? And why do they think they can talk to us that way?"

"Ignore them,” Cillian said, not nearly as fazed as I was. "They're the ops."

"Ops?"

"The opposition. The enemies," he chuckled. "They're the Wheeler-Jones and probably our parents' biggest competition."

"They're a rude bunch, that's for sure!" I huffed, forcing myself to ignore the rude couple duo and continue watching the game.

"They've won this competition two years in a row," Cillian told me. “So, I guess that comes with a sense of entitlement.”

"Looks like they're here for a hat trick."

"And believe it or not, our parents are doing pretty well, so I guess they're worried. And very snobbish.”

"Worried or not, he didn't need to shove my shoulder like that. It’s plain rude, and I bet they knew who we were all along.”

For a man that played golf–not quite the sportiest sport out there if you asked me–he sure had a strong shoulder on him.

Returning my attention to my parents who had now spotted me, my lips curled up. They were standing next to Alfie and Yasmin who looked just as excited. I sent them all a thumbs up and mouthed ‘good luck’.

And then I sent up a little prayer for them to kick the Wheeler-Jones’ asses.

My attention returned to the quartet currently playing, but I felt a pair of eyes staring into the side of my head. From the way it raised the hairs on my arms and sent a shiver down my spine, I knew it wasn’t my parents.

I dared to look over my shoulder to discover the elder Barlowe brother staring at me with his usual intense gaze.

Cedric's stare was hard and determined. Unwavering.

I held his eyes for a moment before I looked away, shifting uncomfortably. Even though I was trying to focus on the game, I could still feel his eyes staring holes into the side of my head.

"Are you avoiding my brother?" Cillian asked from beside me.

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