“You’ve only been doing this a few minutes and you already have amazingly good form in your swing. That’s pretty impressive.”
WHACK-THUMP.
After a few more swings, Dean was managing to drive the ball onto the fairway consistently. And he was even getting better at actually aiming the ball toward specific points.
“Okay, now we need to work on distance,” Colton explained. “You want to drive the ball as far down the fairway as possible, so hit it as hard as you can.”
I’d like to hit that ass as hard as I can. Dean thought and giggled to himself.
They took turns driving the ball on the simulator, taking note of the data on the screen; distance, power, and placement.
Dean saw this moment as the perfect opportunity to ask Colton about what he noticed on the roof a few weeks ago.
“Hey, Colton. Can I ask you something?”
WHACK-THUMP.
“Of course. What’s up?”
“I consider us friends now, so I feel I can be real with you.”
“Absolutely.” Colton smiled. “We’re bros now. You can say anything to me.”
WHACK-THUMP.
“I totally enjoy hanging out with you. We always have a lot of fun, so don’t take this the wrong way. But I rarely hear you talk about Sophie. When do the two of you do things together?”
WHACK-THUMP.
Colton’s face scrunched into a slight grimace. “Well, Sophie lives in L.A. and she’s constantly traveling for runway shows and photo shoots, so we don’t get to see each other very often, but we FaceTime every few days.”
“Okay. And again, if this is getting too personal, just tell me to shut the fuck up,” Dean continued. “But it seems like…there’s no joy, passion, or excitement anytime you talk about Sophie, or when the two of you are together.”
WHACK-THUMP.
Colton sighed. “Is it really that obvious?” He leaned onto his club. “I love Sophie, I really do, but we are so different. Honestly, I really don’t enjoy hanging out with her. All she cares about is shopping and partying at the clubs.”
Dean offered a consoling smile. “Um, I’m no expert on marriage, but don’t you kind of have to enjoy being with someone if you’re going to marry them?”
Colton chuckled. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I kind of figured we would get married, then she would have her friends, and I would have my friends, and we would only get together occasionally.” He sighed heavily. “I really don’t want to marry her, if I’m being honest.”
Dean raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Then why the hell are you getting married?”
“Well, we’ve been dating for almost two years. It just feels like it’s what I’m expected to do. As a pro athlete, you’re expected to produce, you’re expected to win games, you’re expected tocarry yourself a certain way and represent the team in a positive manner.”
He let out a long, deep sigh.
“And, you’re expected to have a hot girl on your arm, so I just felt like dating her, and then proposing to her, was what I was expected to do…from my team, my friends, and my family.”
Colton was staring at the floor, his shoulders hunched, looking sad and despondent while he spoke. Dean couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. It must be hell to have that kind of pressure every day of your life.
Dean stepped toward him and gently squeezed his arm.
“Colton, I think you really need to think this through. If you feel this way, maybe you shouldn’t get married.” Dean shifted to lean on his club. “I mean…you marry someone because you can’t breathe without them, and you can’t bear to spend a single moment apart. You’re a good friend, my best friend. Hell, in the right circumstance, I’d probably take a bullet for you.” Dean smirked. “And I really like Sophie. If you go through with it just to please others, you’re going to ruin your lifeandhers. And neither of you deserve that.” Dean jokingly threw his arms up. “But hey, I’m no expert on women, or marriage.”
Colton smiled. He’d never confessed his feelings about Sophie to another living soul, but Dean had a way of lowering all his defenses. He was like a fucking truth serum. It was both infuriating and endearing.
He knew Dean was right though. “I appreciate you talking this through with me. I guess I needed to get that off my chest. Thank you for making me talk about it.”
