Naese rubbed the back of his head, glaring at Maxim. Cruz laughed from his seat in the back.
“Cruz quit playing after the third hole,” Nik reported. “He complained about blisters.”
“Can’t have those for our game tomorrow,” Cruz said, unperturbed. He picked up a bottle of iced tea and took a long swig.
“I’m going to take my putt,” Maxim said.
“You’re in the fucking sand trap again,” Nik pointed out. “Let me go so I can clear the green.”
“You’re not on the green,” Maxim said. “You’re still a hundred yards back there.” He pointed behind him.
“Well, I’m doing better than Naese, who lost…how many balls was it—a dozen?—to the water.”
“Golf’s fucking hard,” Naese grumbled.
“Not for Keelie,” Cormac said, puffing with pride. “She played par for the course.”
Maxim’s scowl deepened. Cruz belly laughed, and Nik shot the middle finger as he hiked back down the green. Giggling, I leaned against Cormac.
None of this group fared as well as Cormac had, and the next foursome included Coach Whitaker, Paloma, Adam, and Luka. Coach and Paloma knew how to play, but as Paloma said, neither of them was very competent.
“I just like to be outside,” she said. “Well, that and I can occasionally beat Silas.” She winked. “He’s still as competitive as his players. They put together a pot at the beginning. Don’t worry, I covered the twenty bucks for each of you—least I could do after Silas commandeered your time together.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Cormac tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Whoever’s got the lowest score wins the pot.”
“Ah.”
We moved to our cart, and I reached over to grab my water bottle just as Silas cursed. Looking up, I noted that he’d missed his putt, and the ball was now thirty feet to the other side. He strode over, glaring at the ball, and settled into his stance.
“He’s going to pull it left,” I muttered.
When he did, Cormac chuckled. “I don’t know how you know that, but I love that you do.”
“Why’s that?” I adjusted my visor, wiping sweat from my brow.
“Because you’re going to win the pot.”
Flutters built in my belly, and I placed my hand there. “I can’t. I didn’t even put in money…”
“You will,” Cormac said, confidence radiating from him. “None of us is as good as you.”
Silas completed his round just as the last cart bumped along the path toward us. Cormac shot me a told-you-so glance before he drove us back to the clubhouse. When we arrived, the guys returned their borrowed clubs, and the staff brought glasses of icy, cold water.
As we sipped, Paloma sidled up next to me, steering me toward an out-of-the-way spot near a wall. “They’ll need to take some photos, probably sign some merch,” she explained. On cue, the manager and more staff flooded the room, requesting photos and autographs.
She took another drink of her water before bringing the glass to her sun-warmed cheek. “Houston is hot, even during February.”
“I don’t know anything else,” I said.
Paloma smiled. “I didn’t either, before I met Silas.”
“Is it hard?” I asked, turning toward her. “Being married to a celebrity.”
Her smile shifted, becoming more indulgent. “Luckily, Silas isn’t a genuine celebrity—not like a movie or rock star. So we can go places and never be bothered. But here, in this city, where people are used to seeing him… It’s part of the job, I guess. And he loves what he does, so he doesn’t complain about meeting fans’ expectations.”
I nodded. “I’ve never been asked for anything before—except to change my treatment plan for a kid once. His parents didn’t want him to be disabled. And he wasn’t, just slower with development, which improved more rapidly after I got the interventions he needed in place.”
