“Would you be my ninja sidekick if I brought you something?”
This piques my interest enough to consider his offer of being the Catwoman to his Batman…Let’s be real, I’m no Robin. He holds out a white Styrofoam cup in front of me, and the fragrance of strong coffee wafts into the air. When I take the cup from his hand, his fingers brush against mine and our eyes meet. A thank you is on the tip of my tongue, but I’m surprised, completely lost in the gesture. I take a tentative sip, not wanting to burn myself, and my eyes widen in surprise.
“Two shots of espresso with steamed milk. Don’t forget to ask them to stir sugar and a swig of coffee like their life depends on it.”
In a disbelieving voice, I ask, “How do you still know my coffee order?”
Before he can answer, Glen walks into the room. “Thank you all for coming in today. We are thrilled to be the course chosen to host the Albatross Charity Tournament. We know our community believes in giving back, first and foremost, so I’m not surprised to see so many of you. Thank you so very much! Now to get into the nitty-gritty of the event.”
“Clinton and Paloma, would you mind coming up here with me, please?” Glen smiles as we both nod. Clinton is quick on his feet. Scooting out and placing his hand on the back of my chair, helping me scoot out as he reaches out his hand for mine. Damn him and his manners Somehow he even makes politeness sexy. I place my hand in his large one and stand, making our way to the podium.
“Our wonderful event coordinator had a family emergency and, while she’s away taking care of her family, we decided to shift gears. As I’m sure many of you already know, this is Clinton Morrison, owner of Albatross Youth Academy along with Paloma Reyes, someone who has been a part of the Mossy Oaks community for years, and one of the co-owners of Shaken Tropes. Both will be stepping in to coordinate the rest of the tournament.”
Claps sound around the room, and I smile as Clinton waves. Clinton steps forward and tilts the mic up. “Thank you for having me, Glen. I’m excited to be back on the Mossy Oak green while working closely with Paloma. To each of you here in this room, thank you. Albatross Youth Academy brings two things I’m very passionate about: golf and helping our youth succeed. This charity tournament will be essential in providing scholarships and everything the first year of students need tobegin their careers in golf.”
One of the meeting members raises a hand and Clinton nods in their direction, “Who will be providing the lessons?”
“Good question, golf professionals from other nearby courses as well as many traveling during their offseasons. We already have a list of golfers who are ready for the first year of lessons.”
“Who will be handling the social media marketing for this? How can we make sure those interested know where to go?” another asks, and this time I answer.
“Buenos dias, I will be spearheading the social media sides of things. For those of you not familiar with me, I’m Paloma Reyes. My business partner and I own Shaken Tropes, and I manage the socials for us. You can direct them to the club’s website and all the club’s socials.”
Glen steps up to us. “Thank you both. Most of all the questions are answered in the folders that have just been passed out. Please take a look at them, and when we meet next we can dig a little deeper.”
Clinton and I take our seats, and I open the folder Glen mentioned has been passed out. “The coffee.” Clinton leans into me, reminding me of the question I asked him before we were interrupted. “It’s like muscle memory. I didn’t need to think about it.” For just a second, I stop breathing, stuck in the forwardness of his words. It's as though he's forgotten I broke both of our hearts. He turns his head, aiming his gaze at my stunned one.
“I can’t believe you remembered that,” I whisper beneath my breath as I now aimlessly flip through the papers. I’m dumbstruck, and I know it's only because I refuse to acknowledge what I really want, what I refuse to allow myself to have.
10
Chuck:With the way she’s walking, it’s a wonder she hasn’t got fire under her ass.
Lou:She does seem to be fuming.
Chuck:Walking like a player who just chucked her favorite putter.
I quicken my pace down the sidewalk. The Spanish curses that leave my mouth would make my mother proud, or extremely angry. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass with how flustered I am after being in the same room as the most fucking hot and cocksure man I know. Why couldn’t Clinton come back a haggard old man or married? No, absolutely not. Thinking of him married to anyone but me makes my breathing stop.Married to anyone but me?Inwardly I shake my head at the thought, not recognizing myself.
The moment I leave the charity tournament meeting, I head straight to the bar. I grip the door handle to Shaken Tropes and pull. I don't even know why I’m here. I don’t have a shift tonight, but I knew I didn’t want to be home alone. Must have been on autopilot. Stepping through the heavy wooden door, I suddenly find myself being pulled to the ground. Slapping my hand on the wall to stop myself from either falling or becoming a sandwich between the door and the brickexterior, I notice my purse strap is caught on the outside of the fucking door.
I yank on it with so much force my arm throbs. Attempting to snatch my purse free only causes me to lose my footing more and piss myself off further. Angry tears spill over my lashes. Whether it’s over seeing the man I know I want with every ounce of me or this stupid. Fucking. Door. I growl, “Puñeta!”Son of a bitch, and finally pull my bag free and shut the door.
I take a deep breath and adjust my dress, needing to center myself in some way, and it’s then I realize I’m not alone. Cassidy is standing behind the bar, eyeing me like I’ve lost my damn mind. And I think I have. A small laugh slips past my lips at what she must have seen—me, almost falling on my ass, wrestling with a damn door.
Unable to hold back, I laugh, loud and hard. I feel out of control, thinking about how rough this day has been on my emotions but also how crazed I felt fighting with the door. The laugh isn’t exactly one of joy, but it's one that’s needed when nothing feels right, and all you can do is laugh at your circumstances rather than cry. I hear Cass join in with me, and somehow the sound gives me a bit of comfort.
“Girl! You want to tell me what made you so pissed off at the door?” my best friend asks me, holding the ache in her sides.
“Carajo!Damn it.Fucking door. I swear it's always something.” I’m still incredibly annoyed and lost in my feelings so I continue, “One more minor inconvenience and I am going to lose my shit. One. More. That’s all it’s gonna take.”
Cass and I both make another attempt to ground ourselves. Feeling somewhat settled, I pull open the half-door to the bar and notice a broken bottle of liquor on the ground. Cassidy must have dropped it when I was in the middle of my clusterfuck fight with the traitorousdoor. She grabs the broom and sweeps up what she can, while I reach for the mop to help her clean up.
“Oh my God! My cheeks hurt,” I wheeze, feeling calmer as I mop up the brown smokey liqueur. I close my eyes and exhale the deep breath I was holding on to and then I am enveloped in Cassidy’s warmth.
She squeezes me gently before saying, “So, here’s the plan. You tell me what’s wrong and I will make us both a drink.” There’s nothing I want more than to tell her, but now it feels like I’ve been holding on to a secret.
“I’m totally fine,” I say, as she preps two espresso martinis, and feeling like such a fucking liar. Letting her do her thing, I sit down on one of the stools and stare blankly at the counter. Holding the pain in feels easier somehow. With aclunkshe sets the chocolate creme liqueur and vodka from the top shelf on the bar top in front of me.
