Page 51 of Sweet Spot
There’s a hint of disappointment on her face that makes me seriously consider blowing off work, but she nods and stands to leave. “See ya later then.”
I watch her go, each step she takes making the room feel a little less enjoyable.
“Keira,” I call out before she’s out of earshot.
She stops and turns her head, a hesitant smile on her lips. “Yeah?”
“Good job today.”
That smile gets bigger, and she takes a step, still looking over her shoulder. “Thanks, Coach.”
* * *
I’m on the phone with Heath for our weekly check in. All the other employees check-in with the manager of their division because there’s simply too many for me to oversee all of them, but I do Heath’s one-on-one every week.
Really, I just want to make sure everything’s good with him, but we do chat work for the first ten minutes and getting his take on things I might not see from my position, is always interesting.
I lean back in the single chair in my room while he tells me about the most entertaining client of his week, a woman who is trying to win her man back by learning hockey via barraging Heath with questions on terminology and breakdowns of games she’s watched on television.
“Look at you, hockey guru and relationship counselor.”
I can almost picture him flipping me off through the phone as he says, “Fuck off. I’m going pro after this year. Watch and see, old man. Then you’ll have to find someone else to be your hockey guru.”
“In the meantime, how about you stop procrastinating and crack open a book. I have to make some other calls.”
He mumbles something, but I’m distracted by the knock at my door.
I stand and speak as I cross the room, “Stay out of trouble. Call me if you need anything.”
When I open the door, Keira holds up a bottle of wine in front of my face. I take it and open the heavy door wide so she can step in.
“How’d you find me?”
She walks in, taking in the space before sitting on the edge of the bed. “I asked. Nicely. And I might have batted my eyelashes at the cute guy at the front desk.”
“Shameless.” I put the wine on the dresser and lean my back against it, crossing one ankle over the other. “What’s the plan for the night? Are you guys getting in some practice or taking the night off?”
“Night off. Coach was pleased with how things went today, and it was spitting rain as we left anyway, so . . . we have all night to prepare for the final round tomorrow.”
“Is that right?”
She pulls her legs under her on my bed, and my thoughts go from golf to—fuck, I need a drink and to get out of this hotel room.
Keira and bed—two words I’ve already established don’t need to be said or thought together. Seeing it, also real, reaaaal bad.
“Have you eaten?” I stand straight.
“Yeah.” She bobs her head from side to side. “Well, sort of. I had a sandwich at the course.”
“Come on, let’s feed you something.”
While Keira and I eat downstairs at the hotel restaurant, I give her a brief rundown of what I saw today. Then try to keep the conversation off golf so she can relax and have a few hours without stress.
I’m usually good at small talk, but I find myself struggling to say anything and simultaneously trying to keep it all inside. She doesn’t need to know that I think it’s beautiful how she lights up when she talks about golf or how I want to run my fingers along her smooth skin.
I’m on my third beer, which initially I thought was helping but now I’m wondering if sober state of mind was the way to go. A group of guys at the bar keep looking back at her. She’s totally unaware and I’m not about to point it out to her.
Her phone vibrates on the table between us, and she glances at the screen. “I have to get upstairs. Curfew is in ten minutes.” She lets out a long breath, all the nerves we chased away returning before my eyes. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
