Page 121 of Unexpected Shot
“Hold on,” I say as I continue my horrible lie. “Yup. Out. So much better.”
He laughs under his breath as he situates himself against the headboard of his bed. I don’t know if it’s intentional, but he’s posing himself like a fucking model.
God, I hate how fucking hot he is…
His hair is ruffled, clearly having air dried after getting out of the shower. He’s not wearing a shirt—because of course he isn’t—and the way he’s holding his phone shows off the nonflexed ridges of his biceps while also highlighting the pecs that are peccing.
And then there’s…
“When did you start wearing glasses?”
He smiles as he slips them off. “At night when I’m reading.”
“Since when did you learn to read?”
“You’ve been full of jokes lately. I’m really liking this new side of Shelby.”
I know we’re both teasing each other, but it feels good. Comfortable. I once read an article that claimed a true sign that you’ve found your person is that they’re your best friend. That they can roast you and love you and support you and be everything you need. I don’t know if we have the love part yet, but if I’ve learned anything over the past few weeks, it’s that it’s getting harder and harder for me to deny that Beau makes me feel a certain kind of way.
“Well, what can I say, married life has brought out a new side of me.”
“Clearly,” he says as he gets a little more comfortable in the bed. “I have to ask, because don’t get me wrong, I was very happy to see your name on my phone, but I have a feeling you didn’t call just to shoot the shit?”
I shrug as I fall back into my bed. “No, I called because I played like shit.”
“I don’t want to get ahead of myself here or assume anything. Did you call to yell at me because somehow it’s my fault?”
I laugh, because I don’t blame him for thinking that. “Actually, I didn’t. I…I was wondering…”
Why is this so hard to say? Or ask for? Why can’t I, for once, just open up to someone? Be a little vulnerable? Ask for help?
“Take your time, Belle. I’ve got nowhere else to be.”
There’s not a hint of sarcasm in his tone. Not a trace of annoyance or irritation. Beau genuinely wants to be here for me right now.
And I’m going to let him.
“Can we talk through my day? I…I just felt off the whole time, and I’m not sure what’s wrong, but I felt like I sucked today.”
“No, you didn’t,” he says. “You’re two under par. Few hard holes that you didn’t do yourself any favors on, but all-in-all, not a bad day.”
I’m taken aback by his breakdown of my round. “Did you actually watch?”
“Caught the highlights,” he says with a smile. “What? Did you not look up how I did today?”
Thank God I did so now I don’t have to feel worse than I already do. “Of course I did. You played well.”
His raised eyebrow says otherwise. “Eighth is generous. The morning group got the shit end of the weather. I should be worse.”
“You’ll bounce back,” I say. “Hopefully tomorrow will be better.”
“Same for you,” he says. “Oh, I meant to ask you. What did you change with your swing?”
I’m a little surprised he noticed. “You can tell?”
“Shelby. I’ve watched your swing for years. A little too closely at times. You could change a nanosecond of how long you hold your upswing and I’d notice.”
Have sexier words ever been said? I don’t think so.
