Page 43 of Playmaker

I wasn’t sure what to expect at a driving range, but this was a Cooper kind of place. There was parking that he could access with a card. Everything was clean, modern-looking and well cared for. He’d brought some clubs along, and I followed him to the entrance.

“Mr. Cooper, so glad to see you. We have your bay waiting for you.”

He smiled his easy, charming smile, dimples in play, and the man’s face lit up. He led us to “our” bay, as he called it. Cooper asked him questions as we walked, me following a couple of steps behind. I saw a lot of people do a double take, then watch Cooper.

Apparently the golfing contingent were big hockey fans.

Our friendly guide showed Cooper how everything worked, which made me think Cooper hadn’t been here before. Had he set this up all for me?

“Would you like a picture?” Cooper asked our guide, who was still lingering.

The man’s eyes lit up. “If you don’t mind.”

Cooper posed for several shots, and then, reluctantly, Cooper’s new friend left.

Something relaxed in Cooper—his shoulders were less rigid, his mouth softened, and he let out a long breath.

“Tough day?”

He turned to me and forced a smile. “Nothing to worry about.”

I held up a hand. “I’m not asking for secrets about hockey or whatever. You just seemed tense. Are you sure you want to do this tonight?”

“Yeah. I do. Did you follow what he told us?”

I rolled my eyes. “What he told you. I don’t think he noticed I was here.”

“Does that bother you?”

“It’s fine. Honestly. I’m good at being in the background. You’ll just have to explain to me why the balls are going up and down on those tee things, and what’s with tapping that card?”

Turned out this was a fancy automated system that would set different tee heights and would keep track of your shots.

“It’s very elaborate.”

“People take their golf seriously. Another time we can even virtually play Briarwood.”

I did not understand that kind of obsession. “Do they insist on a dress code when you do?”

Cooper laughed. Maybe I was thinking too much about it, but it felt like a real laugh, not one that was part of the Cooper experience he gave his fans.

“I haven’t tried it, so I don’t know. But you’re covered with what you’re wearing. Now, let’s see if we can improve your swing with a little practice.”

Two hours later I’d learned a few things. I was never going to be a real golfer—the kind of person who chose to spend hours hitting a ball with a club. Because it was kind of boring. I knew a little better how to swing a club and hit the ball so the ball went farther, the way it was supposed to. And I knew I’d been right that Cooper was incredibly patient.

Since I was the person with the most to learn, I spent most of the time on deck, and Cooper had to be behind the red line. Which meant people passing by felt they had access to him.

And they all wanted to be in that Cooper orbit. They wanted to share in his charisma and be close to their hero. I learned more about being a public figure than I did about golf. I was starting to believe he earned his inflated salary for playing hockey.

He did his best to balance being polite with fans and helping me. I was getting the hang of what I was doing, so I didn’t need as much input from him. But one blowhard with a loud voice started to talk about “terrible loss” and “failure” and Cooper’s smile grew more rigid. I wanted to shove the man out of our bay, but if Cooper was working so hard to protect his image, it wouldn’t be helpful to undo it. And the guy had money, based on his clothes and an entitled air, so someday he might be a client.

Instead, I straightened, shoved my boobs out a touch, and did my best to sound sweet and flirty. “Coop, babe, I need some help here.”

Blowhard turned as if he’d just realized there were more people around than him and Cooper. I tried a pout.

Cooper’s rigid smile changed into something real. “Coming, honeybun.” He turned to Blowhard. “She needs me.” Disgruntled, Blowhard stood while Cooper walked over to me. “How can I help you, babe?” His eyes were glinting.

I batted my eyes. Blowhard was still waiting, so I had to make this good. I wiggled my hips. “How am I supposed to hit this again?” Was that going too far?

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