Page 126 of Unexpected Shot
“You got home late last night,” I say as I move my hands over top of hers as she lines up her shot. “Also, you played yesterday.You don’t need to be at the driving range this early in the morning.”
“I didn’t like how I was hitting my long irons,” she says. “So I wanted to get back out here.”
“You got home at two in the morning, Shelby. You can take a day off.”
“Says the man who’s playing two weekends in a row.”
“That’s different,” I say. “The next tournament is at one of my favorite courses. So if playing back to back needs to happen, then I’m going to do it.”
The season is officially underway, and the first major is a few weeks away. I’ve won two of the four majors, but the one in April is one I’ve never conquered. Every year it’s on the goals list, but this year, I don’t know…I want it more than ever.
Maybe it’s because I feel like I have something to prove after last year. Maybe this weekend I felt better than I had in months. Maybe it’s because now I associate golf with sex.
Either way, I want to win. And I’m going to make it happen.
“You know what you’re doing, right?” she asks.
“Yes. I’m trying to tempt you into going back to the house with me, throwing out your ‘only sex when it’s golf related’ rule, and spending the rest of the day in bed together.”
“Funny,” she says, even though I’m not joking. “What I was going to say is that you’re doing Ghost golf.”
It takes me a second to remember what she’s talking about, but then I realize I’m standing behind her, my hands wrapped around hers on her club. Our bodies are touching. The last time I dared to put myself in this position, it earned me an elbow to the stomach and a classic Shelby-Beau argument.
Funny how things can change in the blink of an eye.
“Apologies. I know you hate that.”
“No.” Her one word shocks me. “It’s not so bad…”
I’m speechless. Actually speechless.
I take the moment I’m offered and kiss the top of her shoulder, loving that even after her long weekend—and so earlyin the morning—her floral scent is still just as strong and addicting as ever. I have no intention of moving…until I hear a very rude throat clear from next to us.
“Get a room, you two. This isn’t the place for whatever that is.”
My teeth grind together and I instinctively put my hand on the small of Shelby’s back as I look up to see Chad in front of us.
Who…doesn’t look well.
His black eyes have healed, but his face looks paler than normal. And I know it’s only been a few weeks since I last saw him, but I swear he’s skinnier. We used to have similar builds, but now it looks like the man is withering away.
We both heard that he was back in Nashville, but neither of us have seen him before now, which means he’s been scheduling lessons opposite of when he knew we’d be on the range. We knew that wasn’t going to last, but this isn’t how I wanted to start off my day.
“But it is for putting your hands on clients?” I ask, remembering the time I walked up to him touching Shelby in a way that had nothing to do with golf. “Tell me, Chad, how many complaints have you racked up over the years? I’m setting the over/under line to ten and a half.”
“My clients have never complained, and are always satisfied.”
“Bullshit,” Shelby says through a cough. “Oh. Sorry. Something in my throat.”
Shelby and Chad proceed to start a stare off that I’m partly glad I’m not involved in. I’ve seen what she can do when she’s pissed off and has access to golf clubs. It never works out in the other person’s favor.
“We were just going,” I say, because as much as I want to give Chad a piece of my mind—and maybe another visit with my fist—this isn’t the time or the place. And if I initiate something and word gets out, Ethan is going to have my head. Or, worse, if we linger, Chad could start spewingthe shit he said about Shelby the night I first punched him. Frankly, I’m worried at that point I’ll need to bail my wife out of jail.
“No one buys this,” Chad says, motioning in a circle toward us. “One of these days, someone is going to believe me that this is all a ruse. I’m going to expose you, and both of you are going to become a laughing stock.”
“Says the man I’m pretty sure has scammed the entire golf world into thinking he’s the top swing coach in the game?” I say, because I’m tired of his shit. “Do you really want to have a war of words with us, Chad? Is that your best move?”
I’ve long thought the narrative about Chad being the best swing coach in the game was started by none other than Chad himself. I can’t prove it. And I’ve never sat down and actually talked to people about my suspicions. This isn’t the first time I’ve had that thought, either, but it is the first time I’ve considered an active plan to figure out the con he’s pulling on the sport.
