Page 7 of Iron

“Who’s getting old here, Mr. Second Place, hm?” he grins. “I thought you had it locked up on the first day.”

“Lost my focus, missed a few, blah blah blah,” I laugh with a grimace. Standard lines we feed to the press when they ask. “Where’s Jasmine?” Ben and Geoff have an adorable little girl, the spitting image of Geoff.

“My mom took her for the evening,” he replies easily. “TJ did great,” he says, gesturing with his beer bottle towards the outside, where I know he is standing. I am not keeping track of him. Nope.

“Kid settled in after the first nine of Day One,” I agree.

“He’s gonna do well in the John Bell Classic,” Ben says, nodding, tilting his beer up.

An ugly spike runs up my spine. “How’d he qualify for that? Didn’t he just graduate from college?”

“Todd got him in, worked some ties, got an exemption.”

“Damn,” I mutter. “I worked my ass off to get in and he just zips on in on Daddy’s coattails.”

Ben looks at me sharply. “Kid’s earned plenty on his own. Captain of the team at DU. A lot of smaller tournaments since he could swing a club. Actually balked when Todd told him about the exemption, but he’s taking it, anyway.”

My teeth are grinding, I realize. Entitled little fucker, all the opportunities handed to him on a silver fucking platter. Damn pretty boy… who plays well enough to earn ninth in this tournament. I drain my beer and head back to the cooler for another.

I need some air. It’s too close and warm in here. I step outside, finding Caleb’s florescent pants to the left and veering to the right. Stepping up to the pond, I watch as ducks and geese vie for prime spots to settle down in for the evening. I lean my arms on the railing and look at myself sternly.

Why am I resenting TJ’s opportunities so much? Yes, I fought through the ranks on my own, scraping for enough money to even play in the tournaments, sometimes staying in sketchy hotels and eating cheap diner food until I started placing high enough to earn enough to play.

TJ isn’t an asshole about his privilege. And he actually can play. He has a lot to learn and could really use an actual caddie, but he has a ton of potential and, well, good for him for having someone, several someones, in his corner helping him out. And dammit he really is pretty. More than once this weekend it was his pretty face I imagined in the shower, his pretty little ass in my hands, his pretty lips on mine…

These are the thoughts that cost me first place this weekend. My own brain distracting me, reminding me of the feel of his soft-skinned hand in mine after the eighteenth. Those eyes locking onto mine. How I wanted to step closer on the thirteenth. How I saw the vulnerable young man for just a moment. And how I wanted more of it.

Ok, you horny old fucker, time to get out of here. I turn. And stop dead.

If I take one step.

Just one.

I could kiss him.

5

TJ

He’s standing at the railing, alone, watching Ben’s pond. It’s peaceful, this pond. I’ve spent hours right here over the past six years. This is a good place to work through… things. Should I interrupt Gavin? God, that gray henley is painted onto his body. I can see every ripple of muscle underneath. His lats are flared as he leans forward, his ass sticking out, those jeans cupping it so well. God, I want to hold it.

Caleb had practically shoved me over here, hissing at me that I can’t just let him leave without saying… something. There’s something between us I’ve never imagined even existed. When he shook my hand. When he fucking growled at me. My insides got so fluttery, my cock filling, my skin hot. Staring into his gray eyes, like storm clouds, I felt like he could see me. The real me. And he… liked what he saw.

And that right there is scary as fuck because I barely know that guy. That real me only comes out when I’m alone. Fucking the machine, or dancing alone. Sometimes on the dance floor, when there are hands all over and I can just feel. Not think. Not decide. And Gavin… liked it. I could feel his approval in that oh-so-brief moment. And I liked… no, I loved that feeling. I could chase that alone. Approval. Fuck, that’s pathetic. Like I suddenly have a praise kink. What a lame ass. I shift my weight to turn around and leave him be.

And he turns to me.

And I’m frozen.

Staring into his eyes, I literally cannot move, not one muscle. Except for breathing, I can do that. Suddenly, very fast. He is one step away from me. I look at his mouth. Swallow.

“I wanted to thank you,” I hear my voice say. Who said it could talk? Who is in charge of it? Certainly not me.

“Thank me?” he says, his voice low and rumbly. Oh, fuck, there are those flutters again.

“Yeah,” my mouth continues. “For the help on the course. Letting me copy you.”

He huffs. “Sure, kid, glad to help.” He shifts his feet a bit, then says, “I hear we’ll both be in Illinois end of the month.”