Page 72 of Unexpected Shot
What was his motive for coming back today? Did my run-in with him last night give him the idea that it would be good to fuck with her, and me, so he decided to show up? Was missing practice but coming today his plan all along? I have no idea what’s going through that dude’s head, or what his motives are, but when this dust settles, I’m going to find out.
Right now, I can’t concentrate on Chad. I need to focus on how to make things right with Shelby.
Seriously, what the hell was all of that? The eruption and fight at the sixteenth green came out of nowhere, yet somehow it was brewing inside of me all day. It was the oddest feeling, because I knew exactly what I was doing when I hit Chad, yet I felt like I was out-of-body when Shelby and I were screaming at each other. I don’t remember how she got on my back, but I don’t need the videos circulating to know she did.
But what scared me the most? Somehow my brain hit the oddest deja vu—only instead of Shelby being on my back at the golf course, it was her last night as we walked down the strip. And instead of her yelling at me to not be a jackass, she was yelling to everyone in a five mile radius that we were married.
Clearly I was still drunk today. That’s the only explanation.
Though I didn’t say that to reporters when I gave my statement after the round. I kept my answers, and apologies, as general as possible, only mentioning specific details I remembered and that I felt sorry for.
Which is why I didn’t apologize to Chad. Fuck that guy.
But what I didn’t do enough is apologize to Shelby. This was supposed to be her comeback day. Two years out, and back onthe course. And she was playing pretty well despite being just as hungover as me, and maybe just as confused about last night.
And I ruined it. I seem to have a habit of doing that when the two of us play together.
“Fuck,” I groan out, knowing that I need to go talk to her. Maybe try to call a truce—a real one—for the rest of this weekend. Not whatever last night started out as.
I grab my phone, but then remember she blocked me yesterday, and I highly doubt she undid that after today.
“Fuck it,” I say, throwing back the rest of the whiskey before grabbing my key card and wallet, and heading to Shelby’s room.
Luckily, no one sees me in the halls or in the elevator, letting me privately knock on her door.
“Go away, asshat!”
I chuckle to myself as the image of Shelby looking through the peephole, yelling at me, comes to mind.
“Shelby. Open the door. We need to talk.”
“We actually don’t.”
“You know we do. Open the door, Belle.”
I’m surprised my words work, and in a few seconds, I hear the click of the lock and watch the turning of the handle. But what I’m even more surprised about is the vision in front of me.
Because Shelby is…fuck…
My throat goes completely dry. Her hair is wet from a shower, and her cheeks are red. That perfect hue that complements her porcelain skin.
But that’s not what’s making my jaw drop and my dick get hard. It’s her in an oversized T-shirt that hangs so low off her shoulder, her breast is begging to fall out. This time it’s a boy band T-shirt that I remember her and Gabi listening to on repeat in their tween years. I know I’m staring, but I can’t help it. Her shirt is so long, I can’t tell if she’s wearing sleep shorts—or anything—underneath.
Focus, Beau. Apologize. Say you’re sorry. Then get the hell out before you do something stupid. Like kiss her.
“What do you want?”
“Nice to see you too.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” The door is still open, but she’s barricaded the entryway, making it impossible to get in without me actually running her over. “What. Do. You. Want?”
I shove down my initial reaction to spar with her, remembering I came here to apologize. Be mature. Own my mistakes.
Well, at least the ones I know I made.
And maybe, if I’m lucky, piece together what the hell happened last night.
“Can I come in? We need to talk. About a lot.”
