Page 30 of Unexpected Shot
“I can’t take a mulligan.”
I look back, and no one is behind us, meaning no one would be the wiser. “Then consider it a practice ball.”
Our eyes lock, and I know she’s remembering that day too. But before she can let a hint of nostalgia come back to her, her arms cross over her chest, pushing up her tits more than I should be noticing.
Focus, Beau. And not on those…even if they are fucking perfect.
“I’m not taking another shot.”
“Yes you are.”
“Who are you to tell me what I will and won’t do?”
“Woman! You are maddening!” I swing my legs out of the golf cart and march to her, her eyes getting wider with every step I take. “I’m the one who has to play with you. I’m the one who’s going to have to defend you when reporters are asking how Shelby LeBlanc forgot how to hit a golf ball. I’m the one who’s going to go down with the ship when you’re back on the course and whatever this is isn’t magically working.”
I don’t know which part of my speech gets to her, but I feel like her defenses have lowered. Slightly. Barely. But I’ll take it.
“I shouldn’t…”
“You should,” I encourage. “And while you’re at it, do it with your old grip.”
The defensiveness goes right back in place. Fucking stubborn woman.
“That’s not what Chad?—”
“Oh, fuck Chad!”
I’m pretty sure players on the other side of the course heard me, but I don’t care. My outburst takes Shelby visibly aback, but I’m not sorry. She needed to hear it. Chad might be one of my oldest friends, but her defensiveness of him is crazy.
Because, and I’ve thought this for a long time, he’s not that good. It’s just that no one has called him out on it yet.
The man has always been able to work a room. Say the right combination of words to convince people it’s cold on a ninety-degree day. Honestly, growing up, I thought he’d be a really good lawyer, or an incredible used-car salesman.
He was always a decent golfer, but not as good as me or Shelby. College golf wasn’t going to be in his future—because family legacy demanded he go to LSU, and he was not a Division I golfer. Somewhere along the way, he got into coaching. Which, good for him. Do something for a living you enjoy, right?
I don’t know when it happened, but seemingly overnight, he became the go-to swing coach in the country. I hear players talk about him all the time. Big names on the tour credit his help for their success. Again, good for him. Except, I never saw him work with any of those people, so I don’t know when it happened.
What I do know is that I feel like every time I turn around, he’s standing behind me, asking me to be onThe Back Nine.Or he’s begging me to work with him.
I’ve always politely declined, claiming I don’t want to blur the lines of friendship. But in reality, my swing is just fine. And if what he preaches is what he’s doing to Shelby, I’m good. Probably even dodged a bullet. Because now, seeing his work up close, I want to ask him—off the record, friend to friend—if his methods really work, or if he’s full of shit.
I take a deep breath, running my hands down my face before continuing, because I’m about to go crazy if she keeps being this hard-headed. “Is Chad helping you? Answer me honestly.”
She starts to open her mouth, likely to defend him, but closes it just as fast.
“Exactly. You can’t. Because you know, deep down, that whatever he’s done has made you worse.”
“I’m not worse.”
“To be determined,” I say as I pick up the ball, placing it at her feet. “Please, Shelby. Just hit the second ball, and do it normally. Like we both know you can.”
Shelby looks down at the ball, then back up to me. “I’ll hit another, but I need to give Chad’s method one last try.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose as the most stubborn woman on the planet adjusts her stance and grip. I tilt my head for a better angle, but even looking at it sideways, I have no idea where her hands are supposed to be. It looks awkward. Uncomfortable.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” I yell, marching up behind her.
Without asking permission, I reach my hands around her,doing my best to force her hands from her club. I should’ve known she was going to hold on tighter.
