Page 12 of Sweet Spot
Smith and his girlfriend appear at the table, interrupting what I’m sure was likely to be a much longer tirade.
“Hey, Lincoln,” Smith says, near empty beer in hand. “I just wanted to say thanks for all your tips today. I worked on them all evening. My release is already looking better. I took video, just like you said. And I signed up for an account on your site.”
“Good, I’m really glad it was helpful.”
“Keira, are you ready?” Abby asks. “We’re heading out.”
She stands. “Yeah, can you guys drop me off on the way? I’m ready to crash.”
Smith nods, finishes his beer, and places the empty glass on the table.
“Well, it was interesting,” Keira says, hanging back as her friends start to leave.
“It was really good to meet you.”
“Same.” And with that, she moves to follow her friends out of the bar.
I call out before she gets lost in the crowd. “Keira.”
“Yeah?” She angles herself between tables and groups of people on each side. Those brown eyes soften, and warmth spreads through my chest. I think about asking her to stay. I want to keep listening as she talks about golf with a passion that vibrates off every word. I understand it and respect the hell out of it.
Instead, I go with something much more appropriate. “Work hard, keep your head down, you’ll be okay.”
She seems to let my advice sink in for a moment before she gives a slight head bob and then ducks into the crowd.
5
Lincoln
I situp with a groan and look around the small, drab hotel room. I slept like shit. By the time I found Heath and got out of the bar, it was almost midnight.
I’d planned on going back yesterday afternoon as soon as the clinic was over, but Nathan found out I was at Valley and wanted me to check on Heath and then, well, the night slipped away.
I only had two beers but driving the nearly three hours home that late with any amount of alcohol in my system seemed like a bad idea. Then, I couldn’t fall asleep because I was too busy thinking about Keira and her fiery hatred of her coach.
I don’t pretend to know if she’s a good golfer just from watching her swing, but I know she has the potential to be, and that’s even more exciting as a coach. So, why isn’t Potter playing her?
I looked through everything I could find on the guy. He jumped around a few junior colleges before landing at Valley, decent records at all of them. Really, nothing out of the ordinary.
I followed that with looking up Keira.
Keira Brooks. Twenty-one, junior. Played on her local Valley high school team with all-state honors her junior and senior years. Since coming to Valley, she’s placed in a handful of tournaments, missed the cut at the championship last spring, and had her first individual win a few months ago.
After that, I could only find one more tournament she played where she led until the last day and then bombed with three bogeys in a row and tossed a driver into a water hazard. I laughed at that because I could totally picture it. And then saw it for myself when I found a clip on YouTube. Guess that was what she meant by losing her head.
By the time I drag myself through getting ready for the day and get in my vehicle to head back to Scottsdale, I’m behind schedule. But I can probably take care of most of the things I missed last night and this morning with a few phone calls during the drive. When I get home, I can get to my client emails, and shit, I need to check in with all my direct reports too.
There’s really no escape. Anything I put off one day just gets piled onto the next. Still, I think last night might have been worth it; although, I need some caffeine.
At the end of the parking lot, I hesitate to turn right toward the freeway. I rub at the back of my neck and let out a sigh.
It’s none of my business. I have better things to do. I shouldn’t get involved. I have my own shit to handle. I absolutely shouldn’t be angling for ways I can see Keira again. Not only would that be a bad business decision, but also a terrible personal decision.
Fuck.
I turn left.
At the Valley U golf course, I head through the clubhouse and out to the driving range, where I find Mark hitting a few balls. He leans on his driver and waits until I reach him before he says, “Hey, Linc. What are you doing back?”
