Page 55 of Unexpected Shot
That seems to surprise her. “Really? Not once? Never even thought about it?”
I lean into Shelby’s space, my chest resting against her arm as I reach for the bottle of whiskey, my mouth right next to her ear.
“I’m not the sharing kind, Belle. Never have been. Never will be.”
I linger there for a second, fighting the urge to run my nose down the frame of her face, before I pull away. My timing is perfect, and I watch her swallow the lump in her throat and do her best to pretend she’s not affected.
Pretendbeing the key word.
“My turn,” I say, wanting to get this back on a track of questions that doesn’t make me want to kiss her.
“Actually, no, I want togo again,” she says as she tries to straighten herself up. “I need to know. Right now. Under oath of shitty whiskey. Did you cheat?”
The air leaves my lungs. This wasn’t what I had in mind when I invented this game an hour ago. “Why are you bringing that up?”
“Because we’re playing a game where you have to tell the truth.” In her drunk musings, the reasoning sounds legit. “And because I need to know. Did you cheat, Beau?”
I suck in a breath and leave every thought of taking a drink or not to the side. This is much more important than any loose rules. I know we’re both drunk, so who knows if we’re even going to remember this conversation tomorrow, but at least for now, I need her to know—truly know—how I’ve felt about this situation for all these years.
“Shelby, I promise you on Ace’s life, my expensive-as-fuck driver, and my grandmother’s grave, that I did not cheat that day.” I pause for a second, taking each of her hands in mine, really hoping this helps me get through to her. “We both signed our scorecards. We both turned them in. When you left the table, I was under the impression that you beat me. Whatever happened from that moment until…”
I trail off, because especially now, in a drunken stupor, I don’t know what happened, nor can I even hypothesize it.
Ooh…hypothesize. That’s a big word for Elmo.
“I don’t know what happened that day, Shelby. I was just as shocked as you were. I know I didn’t do the right thing in accepting the trophy and the scholarship, and I’ll apologize for that every day of my life. But I promise you, I don’t know what happened. And I promise that one day, I’m going to find out.”
I make sure not to look away. I don’t want to miss a single reaction on her face. I want to see if she double blinks. I want to see if her shoulders ease. I want to see if she softens, even if just a little.
What I don’t expect to see is the one, single, tear, fall from the corner of her eye.
“Belle…”
I take my thumb to her cheek to wipe it away, and I brace myself for her to pull back. To slap my hand away. To tell Frank that I’m actually “stranger danger” and he needs to kick me out.
But she doesn’t. She lets me. No fight. No argument. She just…lets me.
“My turn,” I whisper. “Do you believe me?”
She doesn’t nod, but she doesn’t shake her head either. I quit breathing as I wait for her answer.
“I want to.”
I do too, Belle. I want it more than anything.
“Do you actually like your YouTube channel? Or are you just doing it because it makes you money?”
“That’s actually a very thoughtful question.”
She pretends to bow, but almost falls off her barstool. I hurry and reach my arm out to save her, which is just my shitty excuse to touch her. I’ve found every reason to do it tonight, especially after we had our moments of truth.
We quickly went back to personal questions and ones that were just plain ridiculous. I was in stitches when I learned that she didn’t tell a tournament director to suck his own dick—like I’d heard through the grapevine—but merely to get fucked by a putter-shaped dildo. And now we’ve landed on my side hustle.
Which is fine. That’s safe. Talking about my YouTube channel won’t make me want to kiss her.
Touching her leg will, but I don’t seem to be in a hurry to remove my hand.
“I do enjoy it,” I say. “And… Can I tell you a secret?”
