Page 74 of Unexpected Shot
I don’t want to lie to her, but we’re finally calm, and I have a feeling she won’t be if I tell her what he said about her. “Let’s just say he was out of line.”
“Out of line how?”
God I don’t want to tell her. She might actually kill him. “Don’t worry about it, Shelby. I took care of it.”
Judging by the widening of her eyes, my response wasn’t the right answer, either. “Took care of it? By punching him?”
I shrug. “Something like that.”
Nope. Wrong answer. Because now her face is redder than the shirt I planned on wearing on Saturday.
“How many times do I need to tell you, quit defending me!”
“What? That’s what you’re mad about?”
“Yes!” She’s back to pacing. Hell, I think she might leave a trench in the carpet. “Quit treating me like I’m still that little girlwho was nervous to go and play for the first time. I don’t need you defending me. Or belittling me. Or questioning me. Just stop it.”
“I don’t do that.”
Much. I don’t do thatmuch.
“Bullshit. You had a comment about every swing and shot I took today. You challenged me on the reads of almost every putt. And then there’s the whole taking questions for me because you didn’t think I could handle it.”
“Could you?” I shout. “You were panicking. Staring at Michael and unable to speak. So I helped out. Or are you so fucking stubborn you can’t let anyone help you, ever?”
“I can let people help. I just don’t need you playing Superman.”
All I can do in reply is snort out a laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“You think I’m doing that because of a hero complex?”
I don’t expect her to be taken aback by that statement, but she is. “Isn’t that how it’s always been? Beau Devereaux, saving the day. Making sure I don’t get picked on by other boys. That I had everything I needed if we weren’t playing in the same group. Defending me when I wanted to play from the men’s tees. Answering questions because you think I can’t handle an interview.
“Beau Devereaux, always wanting to play the hero. Unless it doesn’t make him look good, allow him to win, or hurts his reputation. Then he runs away like a fucking coward.”
“Of course!” I yell out, throwing my hands in the air in exasperation as I start pacing in circles around the room. “All roads lead to me being a cheater. It’s an old, and untrue, story, Shelby. And one of these days, you’re going to believe that.”
“I know the truth, and I always have,” she says, stepping into my space.
I suck in a breath as the scent of her soap hits me. Floral. Jasmine, maybe? All I know is that a smell this sweet is the biggest juxtaposition of Shelby LeBlanc. Because nothingabout her is sweet. Firey? Yes. Bold? Every day. But sweet? Never.
Now my traitorous brain is wondering if she tastes as sweet as she smells.
“I know my truth,” I grit. “I didn’t cheat. I turned in the card you signed off on. What happened between then and the announcement I still to this day don’t know. But I didn’t come here to hash out a decades old fight that you’ll never listen to my side about.”
“Apologies,” she says sarcastically. “Then let’s go back to the topic at hand: You being a complete and total ass today.”
I run my hands through my hair and take a few steps back, trying to calm myself down before I absolutely lose it on this maddening woman. “Again, I’m sorry. For everything. I treated you horribly and acted like an idiot. And I wanted to say that to you so that way, hopefully, we can do our best to get through this weekend without it lingering more than it has to.”
On a scale of one to ten, I think that apology was a solid seven and a half. Heartfelt. Genuine. Honest. I deducted points for how easily she gets me off topic and I end up screaming at her. But the look she’s giving me now doesn’t equal someone who just got a better-than-average apology. No. Shelby’s looking at me like I forgot a big piece of the puzzle.
“What?”
“Is that it?”
“I mean…yes?”
