Page 41 of Unexpected Shot
“For telling me that. I know you’ve never been one to overshare, or share at all. So, thank you.”
A rush of warmth runs through my body from the praise. And there’s no wind right now, but something is happening, because suddenly Beau’s cologne is all I can smell. It’s not the scent from high school, but it’s reminiscent of it. Cool and aquatic. But somehow…elevated. Woodsier? I don’t know how the two scents blend like they do, but it’s about to put me under a spell where I do something really fucking stupid.
Luckily, the sound of an animal that could be a yeti for all I know, breaks the daze I’m falling into. And that is my cue to get the hell out of here.
“I should get going,” I say as I stand up. “Early flight tomorrow.”
Beau doesn’t say anything, but stands up from the bench with me. I turn to my left toward my golf bag, and Beau turns toward me, leaving us chest to chest.
Fucking hell, he smells so good…
I know we were this close the other day, but somehow this feels different. For years, my head has been able to remind my body that I hate him. That I can—shouldignore every part of me that is attracted to every physical part of him. But somehow, when I need her the most, my brain is on a fucking smoke break and didn’t even put up the “back in fifteen minutes” sign.
My breathing is picking up, and I’m almost hyperventilating when I see his jaw tick back and forth. There’s not an inchbetween us. All I can smell is his cologne, and all I can feel is his chest against mine.
“Belle…”
My name on his lips is too much. Fourteen-year-old me would die if she knew she was this close to Beau. That if she wanted to, she could lean up and kiss him.
It wouldn’t take much…
And just when I think I’m about to do the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, the Golf Course Gods smile upon me and the automatic sprinklers turn on. We don’t get wet, they’re a little too far away for that, but the sound is enough to break me from the spell that Beau somehow put me under.
“See you in Vegas,” I rush out, not looking at him as I power walk to my clubs, throw them on the back of my golf cart, and speed back to my house. I need to get away from here. I need to pack. I need to get my head on right.
I need to remember that I hate Beau Devereaux.
CHAPTER 10
BEAU
“Are you going to be okay in there?”
The glare that Shelby sends me is pointed, and says so much without her even opening her mouth. Granted, it’s not the worst look she’s ever given me. Not even in the top five. But it’s harsh enough to tell me the answer:
No, she’s not okay. And if a reporter asks her how her practice round went, she might stab them.
“Mr. Devereaux. Miss LeBlanc? The media is ready?—”
“Not yet,” Shelby snaps at the poor intern who’s been tasked with ushering us into the media room for our pre-tournament press conference.
“Oh. I’m sorry, Miss LeBlanc. I…”
“Can we have a minute?” I say, plastering on the best smile I can. “Five at the most?”
I’ve known from a young age that I can get a lot from a smile and a little charisma. Have I used it to my advantage? Many times. Should I stop? Maybe. Will I? Hell no.
And right now? If a little Beau Devereaux charm can give Shelby the time she needs to gather herself, I’ll charm anyone I need to.
Today’s practice round didn’t go as badly as it could have,but it definitely wasn’t great. Yes, she’s back to her old grip, but because she hasn’t practiced with it in months, her shots are inconsistent. The weakest part of Shelby’s game has always been the mental one, so once the first few holes didn’t go her way, it was all downhill from there.
Then there was our bickering, which was honestly par for the course. It wasn’t too bad, just a minor dustup when we disagreed on which way the green was breaking. She was right. I missed the putt. She gloated for a bit.
I’m hoping she didn’t see me smile as she sauntered away, loving that she got one over on me. But I wasn’t smiling because of how good her ass looked in her tight-fitting golf pants. It was strictly because it seems Shelby got her groove back. And I’m happy for her. That’s all.
Keep telling yourself that Beau, maybe soon you’ll believe it…
“Do you think anyone’s going to ask about Chad?” Shelby’s question is a whisper, even though there aren’t any reporters out here. “Because if they do, I’m not going to lie.”
