Page 57 of Summer Ever After
“When?”
It’s a good sign that he hasn’t completely said no yet.
“That’s up to you. I mean, the Fourth of July is out, but we could probably make any other day work. A Friday would be best since the city offices are closed that day, and we’d be available to run the tournament.”
“Usually, in tournaments like this, you golf in pairs or foursomes and play the closest ball. It’s called a scramble.”
“Sure, we could do that.” To be honest, I haven’t really looked into it yet. Note to self: Google these types of fundraiser tournaments.
He eyes me. “So I can pick my partner and my group?”
Walker will probably win the tournament no matter who his partner is, but I can see this is a big bargaining chip for him, so I concede. “Yep, you can choose your partner. If you want Pete Luca, he’s all yours.”
“Great.” His lips pull into a smirk. “I’ll take you, then.”
“Me?” My brows jump so high they might never come back down. “I can’t be your partner. I’ll be running the event. And besides, I’ve never even played golf before.”
“Sounds like I’ll have to teach you. Maybe even schedule a practice or two before then.” His tone is emotionless, but his expression gives away his amusement.
Teaching me how to play golf?
Practices?
No, no, no, noo, nooo. That’s not going to work.
Even the most basic romance fan knows what that kind of stuff leads to.
“I’m not going to be your partner.”
“Then I’m not doing the tournament.”
It’s time to face my reality. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“Not really.” His nose wrinkles as he shakes his head, making him look positively charming, and for a fleeting moment, I’m excited to be partnered with Walker. Then doom sets in.
How am I going to explain this to Capri? I can’t go from telling her we’ve bumped into each other a few times to he’s teaching me how to play golf and partnering up with me.
“Now, as far as dates go, we have to schedule it before July thirteenth,” he says.
More doom sets in—how much doom can one person feel?
“Why? Is July thirteenth when you’re leaving town?” My voice is measured, hiding my disappointment.
“I fly out to Scotland that morning for the British Open.”
“I didn’t realize you had a big tournament scheduled. Don’t you have to qualify for those things?”
He nudges me. “Jane, are you implying that I haven’t been playing well enough to qualify for the British Open?”
That’s exactly what I’m implying. “Oh.” I nervously tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “No, I was just saying?—”
“It’s fine.” He laughs it off. “Normally, you do have to qualify, but I have an exemption since I won the Masters two years ago. The British Open is the last Major of the year. There are other PGA tournaments, but nothing beats the Majors. So I’m going all in. Hopefully, I’ll be the comeback kid. I mean, I’m not delusional enough to think I could win, but I’d like to at least make the cut and have a chance to play on Saturday and Sunday.”
My footsteps stop in front of the city building where my golf cart is parked. I turn to Walker. “Does Pete agree it’s delusional to think that you could win?”
“Pete thinks there’s nothing wrong with my golf game. He says the problem is in my head.”
“Not your gut?”
