I don’t miss the flash of sadness that flickers in her eyes as she says that. It’s gone so fast, I wonder for a moment whether I was imagining it, but her smile wavers a touch before it’s back to its regular full wattage, so I know it was there.
“Bye, boys.” She waves and continues off down the cart path back in the direction of the club.
After I secure my clubs in my bag, I hop into the cart, feeling Jonesy’s eyes on me instead of his newspaper, his gaze weighty and dubious. I ignore him of course, moving my head side to side to crack my neck in an attempt to relieve some of the pent-up tension in my shoulders. But it’s pointless.
“Hungry?”
I glance at Jonesy to find him smirking at his newspaper.
“You’re buying, old man,” I mutter, starting up the cart and turning to head for the clubhouse.
CHAPTER 4
POPPY
“Hey, Poppy!”
Mid-bite of my chicken salad sandwich, I look up from my book to find Kendall approach with the disingenuous smile she wears so well. Kendall only ever talks to me when she wants something. In fact, all the other cart girls only ever talk to me when they want something; I’m otherwise non-existent to them. Which is exactly the way I like it. To put it simply, they are just not my kind of people.
I’ve been a cart girl at Vista Palms, the most exclusive golf course, not only in Florida, but in the entire country, for just over twelve months. When I moved to Florida from Missouri with my then-boyfriend, Simon, I didn’t know what I was going to do. Simon had been drafted to the local double-A baseball team, and rent is expensive as hell around these parts, so I knew I needed to earn enough to help out with the bills. Fresh out of college, I didn’t have a lot of experience, other than waiting tables, so I was able to land a job pretty quickly as a server at a bar. One of the bartenders there worked days here at Vista Palms and said the tips were insane. I saw dollar signs and naturally asked him to get me an in with whoever was in charge because it’s alwayswho you know. As luck would have it, the day I walked in for aninterview, they’d just lost one of their cart girls and were looking for someone to step in. I started that very day, despite never having driven a golf cart in my life. And although I know I don’t look the part of a typical cart girl, my sassy, sunny disposition usually wins everyone over. What can I say? I’m a goddamn delight.
“Hey.” I smile, placing my sandwich down and wiping my hands on a paper napkin. “What’s up?”
Kendall eyes my sandwich and sighs wistfully. “I miss bread…”
My brows knit together as I look from her to my sandwich and back again. “Where… did it go?”
She meets my eyes and laughs. “Oh, no. Sorry, I just mean… I haven’t eaten bread in—gosh—I don’t even know how long.”
“Oh…” I consider that a moment. “Are you… allergic?”
“To carbs? Yeah.” She scoffs.
And I can tell by the tone of her words and the look in her eyes that’s she’s judging me, but I don’t care. Carbs are life. With a smile, I pick up my sandwich and take a bigger bite than necessary because screw the haters.
Kendall barely contains her own grimace before shaking her head to herself, her fake smile returning. “Anyway, I have an appointment I can’t miss.” Leaning in, she lowers her voice to a stage whisper, holding a hand up to shield anyone from seeing her mouth as she says, “Botox.”
I watch her, waiting.
Twirling a lock of her long black hair around her finger, she flutters her thick lashes and asks so hopefully, “Can you cover my round?”
My mind flashes back to the group of men I last encountered at the fifth. The ones who leered at me and laughed like a pack of hyenas when the ringleader booped my ass with his nine iron. A bachelor party, apparently. I know they’re still out there, and they’re probably drunk as hell by now, given it’s two hours later and edging ninety-four in the direct sunlight, but I also know Ican’t say no because the golfers need servicing and I’m the only cart girl on break.
“Please!” Kendall holds her hands up in prayer.
“Sure,” I say with false nonchalance, adding a smile I know doesn’t reach my eyes.
“Oh my God, you’re a life saver!” And, with that, she twirls and practically skips out of the staff courtyard, and as I glance down at my sandwich, my appetite is suddenly non-existent.
As I navigate the tree-lined cart path between holes eleven and twelve, dread curls in my stomach. I don’t hate this job. In the time I’ve been working here, I’ve earned more in tips than I’d earn at any entry-level desk job. But this is a means to an end for me. I have a dream. And it’s definitely not serving rich, entitled, white men who can’t handle their liquor on a golf course. Most of the time, it’s fine. The regulars are nice enough. And I usually get through a shift without issue. But, on days like today, where the occasional rowdy group of out-of-towners blow in under the guise of a bachelor party, or a team building activity, or some other celebration, things tend to get a little out of control. I’m usually pretty good at handling myself, but sometimes, the demons of my past have a habit of getting the better of me.
I round the curve and spot the group of six up on the green, their raucous laughter catching in the afternoon breeze and hitting me hard like a slap to the face.Great.
As I putt up the cart path, pulling in behind them, I force a smile when they all turn in my direction.
“Hi, boys!” I wave a hand, sliding out of the cart.
“Hips!” a few of the men chorus in greeting.
