Page 17 of Second Swing
Chuck:More like putting with your eyes closed while someone tosses balls at you.
Lou:So, exactly like the last time they tried talking?
Smoothing my hand over Waffles’ fur, his rumbling purr soothes some of the cloudiness in mind. Seeing Clinton at Shaken Tropes was not on my bingo card. His dimple-worthy grin blooms in my mind.What would have happened if I chose to go with him? Would we be off in Europe right now? Would we be…happy?
“Meow.” The chunky tabby headbutts my unmoving hand.
“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a crisis?” He headbutts me again, and I give his neck a few scratches before I peel the covers back and stand from the bed. “And don’t give me that look, Waffles E. Benedict. I have to get my day started, and you clearly have no cares for my quarterlife crisis.” He curls up under the blankets, creating a bump near the foot of the bed.
The smiling faces on my sunflower shower curtain stare back at mebefore I pull it open and turn the knobs of the shower. Quickly I test the temperature with my hand and climb in.
The hot spray of the water feels amazing but I stand, unmoving, still stuck on Clint. He’s all my mind will focus on now that I’ve seen him.
“I don’t know why I allowed myself to think about what-ifs for even one second. Now the what-ifs are ruling my mind. Am I in shock? Nooo, that’s a stupid-ass question. This isn’t…Well, I never considered I would run into the man who stole my heart all those years ago. A heart I didn’t even think capable of being stolen. The spray of hot water is a relief I desperately need at this moment, but instead, it reminds me of how warm my skin felt with him so close when he showed up at my bar. Why did he have to look so damn good? It's as if time only made him hotter.
Absolutely not. I will not let his presence derail me.I can’t. It’s been over a week, and I haven't seen any signs of him since our run-in, but my brain seems to see him everywhere I go, even in my dreams. Once I get to the golf club for the welcome meeting, I will be more than ready to put my poker face on and be the professional I am.
Fully lathering my body, I then run my hands through my hair and add a dollop of pink shampoo, sudsing my short magenta waves. I do the same thing with the conditioner and let the soothing heat of the water rinse away my frustrations. When I get to the course, I will simply slide into the golf cart; and when I see Clint—because I know I will—I’ll simply walk up to him and shake his hand. I’ll welcome him to the tournament just like everyone else. Of course he’ll charm me by giving me a compliment which I will accept, because who the fuck am I not to accept one from a man as fine as him? Then he will lean in close and twist my curls between his fingers. He’ll be so close we’ll basically be sharing the same breath, and God, I’ll want him to kiss me. Twisting my curlsaround my finger, if I think hard enough, I can just barely remember how his lips felt on mine, how his calloused hands felt coasting up my thick thighs. Fucking hell. I turn in the shower, almost slipping as I do, before twisting the knob to cool, hoping it will shock my system and drown out my libido.
“This is bullshit,” I grumble, frustrated with where my thoughts were heading. Moving through my hair routine, I scrunch in a bit of gel to the waves in the back, to give it some shape, and then I am out of the bathroom and pulling open my closet door.
The golf dress I take off the hanger gives me Wednesday Addamsvibes. The dress is black and has a few buttons down the chest. There is a black-and-white striped collar, with the same detail around the hem on the sleeveless opening.
I sit down on my bed and slide on my ankle socks and then my sneakers. Just in time, my alarm blares with the reminder I set on my phone. As small business owners in a town we grew up in and love, it’s important for us to be involved in things that matter, which is the main reason I signed us up to be vendors in the charity tournament.
Unplugging my phone from the charger, I open my text thread with Cassidy.
Paloma
Hey, babes.
Can you tack the Albatross Charity fundraiser to the community board?
Ileft it on the desk.
Cass
Already on it, babe.
She sends a selfie of her and B blowing a kiss with the community board between the two of them. Before I can slide my cell into my pocket, the contact for Mossy Oaks Golf Club brightens my screen.
“Hello,” I say, not sure if it's Glen or his assistant.
“Hey there, Paloma. How are you doing today?” Glen’s warm and cheerful tone comes through the line.
“I’m doing great, Glen. The meeting is still this afternoon, right?” We have a vendor and committee welcome meeting today. It feels like whatever we are going over this far in advance of the tournament could be an email, but Glen has always enjoyed bringing his whole team together when the course has large events.
“Yes, it is. But I’m calling for something a little different, and I know it’s short notice. Would you be able to come in early? Oh, one second.” He must place me on a brief hold because soft music plays through the speaker. I was planning on getting a couple holes in, and now I don’t think I’ll be able to make that happen. The music cuts out quickly and Glen says, “Paloma, you still there?”
“I am,” I say, nodding my head as if he can see me. I roll my eyes at myself as I stop.
“Sorry about that. Tori, my assistant. She had some—you know what, I’m getting off track. But would you mind coming in at 10:30 a.m.?”
“I don’t mind at all.”
“Great,” he says, a little too enthusiastically. “Meet me in my office. Can’t wait to chat.”
He disconnects the call before I can say goodbye, and I’ve never been more glad to have already gotten ready for the course.
