Page 32 of Wood

We walk back to the clubhouse after today’s last practice round before the hoards descend for the official practice days. Crews started setting up today, and the clubhouse lawn is teeming with people.

“How are your macros for today?” I ask. He raises an eyebrow.

“Need some protein and carbs for dinner. Mostly ok on fat.”

“Hmmmm, room for some fish ’n’ chips, then?”

His eyes light up. “Hell yeah!”

We walk to the pub, enjoying the seaside village. The main street runs down toward the harbor in a gentle curve, narrow enough that delivery vans have to wait for each other at the tightest bend by an old cinema. The tar of the streets is dark and slick with puddles.

Storefronts are a mix of whitewashed stone and painted brick: ice cream shops with faded awnings, a chip shop with a line out the door, a couple of surf shops with wetsuits drying in the windows even though the water’s barely above fifty-five degrees. Fucking hardier than me, I like mine warm enough that I don’t need a wetsuit at all. Seagulls own the rooftops and argue about it. Sponsor flags flap are stiff in the wind, and there’s scaffolding and hospitality tenting visible over the dunes toward the course.

The pub is a classic, down one of the older side streets with cut stonework for paving. The beer is dark and warm, and the grease hangs in the air. It is perfect.

Geoff is well aware that fans and cameras are everywhere, so we sit apart at the high-top table. We keep our voices at a normal level. No low whispers. Our feet don’t tangle. Our thighs don’t press against each other. Just a golfer and his caddie.

I hate it.

I see women and men eyeing my pretty boy, and I want to growl. Mine.

“You’re scowling,” he murmurs. “Relax.”

Our waitress bustles over to get our food order. Her smile for Geoff is large, and she rests her hand on his shoulder as she says in a lilting Irish accent, “What are we having tonight, boys?”

“Fish ’n’ chips for us both,” I answer tightly. “Double the fish for him.” I tilt my chin in Geoff’s direction.

“Mm, big growing lad, you got it,” she quips, rubbing his shoulder before she turns away to sway back to the kitchen.

Geoff taps the tabletop where the yardage book sits. “Stop growling, you’re making me get hard. Let’s look over the eleventh hole again tomorrow? That green is tricky.”

I tip my glass back and squeeze my eyes shut. Why am I behaving like a Cro-Magnon, growling at people who don’t even matter? Because they can touch and I cannot. Not like I want to.

“Come on, Big D, we can do this,” he murmurs.

I cough. “Big D?”

He snickers and wipes his mouth with the napkin, hiding his lips. “Can’t exactly call you Daddy in public, can I,” he smirks, then takes another swig of beer, turning to look at the fishing nets above the door.

My coughing gets worse. Such a bad boy.

He flips the yardage book to another page, seemingly studying it intently, fingers rubbing the dark wood of the table, tracing a circular stain. Around and around. Fuck, I swear I feel that fingertip tracing circles on my skin, over Stewie on the left side of my Adonis Belt.

The door bangs open and I smother a groan. Fucking Todd Harrington, The Fucking Third.

“Benny!” he bellows in his fucking Texas drawl. “Fancy finding you here!”

He saunters over to stand at the corner of our table between me and Geoff, quickly shaking my hand. “And John,” he smirks, patting Geoff on the shoulder. “Still have this pretty young caddie, eh?”

“It’s Geoff, Todd, getting senile?” I force my mouth into a smile.

“Mr. Harrington,” Geoff answers with a nod, as he closes the yardage book, back stiffening under Todd’s hand.

“Made it through Pennecote, eh? Major didn’t chew him up and make him run home to Daddy?” Todd jostles Geoff’s shoulder and I hear my teeth grind. Geoff’s eyes sparkle with mirth.

“Here ye go, lads,” our waitress bubbles as she slides our deep fried dinner onto the table. “And will ye be joinin’, sir,” she asks Todd.

Thankfully Todd shakes his head and tosses a thumb over his shoulder. “Agent’s waiting for me. Just had to give a friendly Howdy to my friends here,” he drawls.