“How awkward were those first few minutes, though?”
“Pain. Ful.” She puts a hand on her stomach. “God, am Ihappy to be out of there. Now, about that burger.”
***
We end up at the putt-putt course, where Piper promptly inhales the burger I pick up at the snack bar. She tucks away an order of tater tots and a root beer too. When she’s finished, she tosses her trash and rubs her hands together. “Okay. Let’s get our golf on.”
We acquire clubs and balls. She chooses purple for herself and green for me. “Because yours will blend into the turf, and then I’ll win,” she says, like this is a theory she’s tested.
“Don’t underestimate my skills. People like me excel at putt-putt. It’s something about the immense focus needed, combined with the fact that putt-putt doesn’t require you to communicate with others. Don’t get cocky, is all I’m saying.”
She goes first, managing two strokes on a par three.
Damn.
She plucks her ball from the hole, perches on a nearby bench, crossing her ankles like royalty, and says, “Your turn, sucker.”
Takes me four strokes.
The game continues. She keeps overachieving. I keep underperforming. I meant what I said about putt-putt—I’m usually decent. I even held my own on an actual golf course with Dad yesterday. But Piper’s crushing me and being terrifically arrogant about it. I can’t explain why, but I kind of like having my ass handed to me by this girl.
“You grew up in a resort town,” I remind her as we walk to thethirteenth hole. “You’ve been putt-putting your whole life.”
“Hardly. I’ve only been here a few times.”
“Tati brought you to whack balls through the mouths of gigantic pirate heads?”
“Definitely not. My dad and I came when I was little. He was a good golfer and an awesome teacher. I’ve been here with a couple of unimaginative dates too.”
“Hey, now. Putt-putt was your idea.”
She gives me a mild smile. “Who said this was a date?”
She’s got a point. Being with her is so easy, I let myself get caught up in the moment. We came here to escape Davis and Tati and Blitz Brews, not launch a romance of our own.
“Not me,” I say, spinning my ball on the palm of my hand.
She arches a brow like she’s disappointed in my response. Like maybe she wanted me to try and convince her that yeah, thisisa date, and not a bad one.
“Do you think Davis and Tati are still together?” she asks.
“Hopefully. Do you think they’re still talking shit about us?”
“Probably.” She sets her ball in the tee box, lines up, and takes a smooth swing. The ball rolls toward the flag, coming to rest six inches from the hole. She taps it in, then beams. While I set up, she says, “It’s hilarious that what bugs Tati most about me are traits your dad apparently has too.”
“Impulsive and careless, she said, right? I guess that’s Dad sometimes, yeah.”
“And you’re apparently responsible to the point of being boring. That’s Tati, unequivocally.”
I whack my ball with a lot less success than Piper. “Opposites attract,” I reason with a shrug.
I expect her to give me another of those shit-eating grins, but her expression goes solemn. “Do you really believe that?”
Her eyes are the prettiest blue.
She’s trapped me with her gaze, and she’s messing with my head. Because suddenly, I don’t know what I believe. Whitney was my opposite in a lot of ways, and as a result, we clashed. By the end, I was weary and drifting. Were we attracted to each other? Fuck yes. The problem was that our attraction couldn’t transcend a shit ton of conflict.
When I came to Sugar Bay, emotionally beaten down, I was set on reclaiming my focus. I was going to concentrate onme. I was going to be careful and keep my heart safe, my future intact. I wasn’t going to fly off course—not again.
