“To take Brandon’s place at the drums.”
His mouth dropped open, and then he looked around as if trying to spot the hidden cameras. “Fuck you, Quinn. I don’t know why you’re here, but don’t you think you’ve screwed me enough for one lifetime?”
“Look, I’m sorry for anything I’ve done to you. Obviously you hold a grudge, and that’s something we’ll have to work on, but I’m not kidding. I want you to join Sketch Monsters.”
“Sketch Monsters?” he asked, still not believing my words. “You want some guy who plays buckets to join your Grammy-winning band?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because despite our past, you’re still the best drummer I’ve ever seen. Sketch Monsters needs you, Rory.”
37
Jess: Ricochet
Ilined up my shot, knowing quite well where the ball needed to go—right into the rectangular opening in the front of the mini-golf castle. From there it would fall into a box, where four separate tunnels could spit the ball out in different directions on the putting green below.
Quinn had taken two shots to get his ball into the opening. Noah… we won’t talk about how many times it took him. But then his score didn’t count anyway. It always remained a solid five whether it took him two or fifty tries to get his ball into the hole.
No. This was a two-man competition, and I was up by six.
“I bet it’s really hard for you to lose all the time,” I taunted my hot rival.
“Actually, I don’t lose all the time. My album is sitting at the top of the charts, but sure, yes, big loser.” He formed anLover his forehead with his fingers. “You know, Jess, you’re a mean golfer.”
I pointed my club at Quinn. “Watch and learn, son.”
“Are you talking to me or your actual son?”
“You. Now shush. Mama’s about to show you how it’s done.”
I tapped my ball with just the right amount of speed, direction, and intensity to hit the box straight-on. And when it disappeared into the castle, I lifted my iron and hooted, doing a little dance in place to rub it all in.
I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.
My ball rolled back out.
“What the?” I protested.
“Noah, were you paying attention?” Quinn asked. “Apparently, that’s how it’s done.”
“That was a perfect shot, Quinn, and you know it.”
“No, Mama, I don’t know it. If it had been perfect, it wouldn’t have come back out. Now try again.”
I huffed, picking up my ball and placing it right in front of the opening. “I already took a stroke, so I’m starting here.”
Quinn raised his brows but didn’t object to my cheating.
I lined my ball up again and, using a firm easy stroke, shot it into the hole.
A second later, it rolled back out. Holy shit. Someone was taking a page out of my playbook. I grabbed Quinn’s shirt and pulled him to me so I could whisper in his ear. “Someone is in there, rolling my ball back.”
“Yeah, sure, Jess.”
“No, I’m telling you—someone is hiding in there and sending the ball back out, just like I used to do.”
