Page 38 of Playmaker

“And you don’t want that.”

“I need people to believe I have a brain. That I got my job because I’m smart and I work hard. All my life people have dismissed me because of how I look.”

“Seriously?”

“When I wear my ‘fade into the background’ clothes I look a little frumpy, but then people believe I’m a boring tax expert. I’ve spent years learning what I know. I want people to trust my advice, not second-guess me because I have a large bustline.”

I’d never considered that. I’d never had to.

“Now I need to find a way to look less frumpy but still find something that’s not going to distract people by emphasizing my boobs.”

I might have missed something important with how Callie had to operate, but I could make up for it. “Let me see what I can come up with.”

She shook her head. “You’re doing enough. I’m going to start changing the colors I wear and get better quality. Then maybe I’ll get some things tailored, a little, so they’re not quite as loose. But I don’t want people to notice the wrong thing.”

I wanted to insist I go with her. To pick the things I knew would work. I claimed it was easy to look good, but that didn’t mean everyone knew how to pick the right clothes. That was what personal shoppers and advisors were for.

But Callie was a grown woman, a successful tax attorney, and she was smart. I couldn’t push in and insist on her doing things my way. A dress for the wedding, sure, because then she’d be facing the judgment of my family and their circle, and I didn’t want her to go in unarmed. “If I can help, just let me know.”

“Thanks.” She paused, and I heard a laugh in her next words. “Did it hurt, not asking to pick out the clothes?”

I smiled, delighted that she was relaxed enough to joke. “Truly painful. But I do get to pick the dress you’re wearing to the wedding.”

She sighed. “That’s going to be worse than the golf clothes.”

But there was a little grin on her face as she said it. Callie had a sense of humor under those prickles. Which were mostly lying flat today.

We turned into the club driveway again and pulled up to the valet. It was a different kid, but he called me Mr. Cooper and I gave him a warm smile. Some club members thought it was okay to be an asshole with the staff, and I did my best to treat them like the people they were.

Once he drove off with the car, and Callie and I were standing by our clubs, she asked what the plan was for today.

“We’re going to hit the greens.”

“Am I ready for that?”

I shrugged. “Probably not. We’re going to do a little bit of putting first. I didn’t want a bunch of the more serious types rushing us, so I booked a later tee time. It might be a little hot, but we can take time to talk you through it. You have sunscreen, right?”

“Of course.”

I checked in at the pro shop. I’d booked a cart, but not a caddie—I didn’t think Callie was ready for anyone to watch her that closely yet. With an hour to kill, we went to the putting greens, mostly empty at this time of day.

I pulled out a putter and a few balls. “Have you played mini golf?” It was as close to putting as she was likely to have done.

She eyed me suspiciously. “Are you saying there’s a windmill out here to roll that ball past?”

I grinned. “No, but the windmill might be less frustrating. Ready to start?”

* * *

Callie

Cooper was patient.

It was probably a hockey thing, needing to be patient to, I don’t know, shoot or skate or hit people. But I was so bad at this, and he never lost his calm. If I didn’t have a deadline at the end of the summer, we’d have been better staying at the practice place.

I learned, after repeated shots that went in the wrong direction, that you only had so much time to find your ball, and if you didn’t, you took the “drop.” I didn’t care—I wasn’t even keeping track of my score after the first couple of holes.

It seemed like cheating to me, but I used the easiest tee box. The first hole, I almost argued with Cooper. Wouldn’t it be better to learn the most difficult tasks first? That didn’t last because I was so bad at this.

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