I head into the clubhouse where I’m just in time to hear the final instructions for the day from a man in a WBCC visor and polo. He starts reading out the teams and which hole they’ll start on, and I catch a glimpse of Izzy toward the front in a pink version of the man’s outfit. Her long hair is pulled up into a ponytail that snakes out the hole at the back of her cap and down to the middle of her back. I’ve stopped paying attention to the man, which is why I’m just as shocked as Izzy is when he says my name.
She looks up, darting her gaze around until she sees me. She scowls slightly, and I can’t decide if not telling her I was taking Carter’s place was a good idea or an absolutely terrible one. At least this way she can’t back out on me.
When the man upfront finishes, reminding us yet again to tee off from our respective holes at exactly one thirty, Izzy walks over to me, the fakest-looking smile I’ve ever seen plastered on her face.
She grabs my upper arm, shoving me out the side door of the building with her.
“What are you doing here, Jaxon Reid?”
“Supporting the childcare center,” I say casually, as if I’m both a big golfer and a regular donor.
Izzy closes her eyes, clearly trying to keep her temper leashed. “Great. The childcare center always needs more support. So, I guess my question is, why are you golfingwith me?”
“Carter let me have his spot.”
“But why?”
“Because I asked him if he had any ideas for winning you over. He suggested this.”
Izzy turns and paces away a few steps. “I’m going to murder that man.”
“I did ask him very nicely, if it helps,” I say. “And I’m pretty sure he would’ve been a shit time anyway. He’s a bit hungover.”
“So are you! So am I!” Izzy whisper-yells. “We all made a lot of bad decisions last night that we now have to live with.”
I nod. Couldn’t agree more.
“Well,” I say, “we’d better get headed to our tee. We were hole seventeen, right? That sounds like quite a trek.”
“You don’t even golf,” Izzy says, resigned.
“Not true,” I say. “Didn’t you read the articleGolfers’Magazinedid on me? I dabble.”
“No,” Izzy says. “I have actively avoided any articles about you.”
She pauses before looking me squarely in the eyes. “This event is important to me. I set it all up since I’m a member out there. Please don’t fuck this up.”
After she finishes, she turns and walks to the front of the clubhouse, swinging a pink golf bag over her shoulder.
“Come on, Jaxon. They have a golf cart that will give us a ride to our tee box,” she calls, not even looking behind her to see if I’m coming.
I grab the rental bag of clubs and hurry to catch up with her. “I thought they didn’t allow golf carts out here?” I ask.
Izzy caddied at this golf course in high school, carrying members’ bags eighteen-plus holes a day all summer long, so I know a thing or two about the Wild Bluffs Country Club.
“They don’t,” she says, strapping her golf bag into the back of the cart. “But they can drive us on the maintenance roads. Only those of us going to the holes far away get a ride out. I hope you’re ready for a lot of walking,” she says, the biggest smile I’ve seen from her all day lighting up her face as if she’s enjoying the idea of me not being able to keep up.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I say, strapping mine in as well.
The teenage girl in the front seat catches our attention then, saying, “You’ll have to smoosh in up here. They used all the four-person carts on the groups going farther away.”
Izzy shakes her head. “That’s okay, I’ll just hold on to the back.”
“I’m sorry. They specifically said I can’t let anyone do that. I could lose my job if I let you,” the girl says timidly, her eyes wide.
“Okay, but we’re both very large people. Don’t you think they could make an exception?” Izzy asks sweetly.
“Maybe you could sit on his lap?” the girl says, and I have to physically bite my lips together to keep from laughing.
