Page 17 of Unexpected Shot
There are some of just her—both action on the course and some of her holding tournament trophies. A few with her and other golfers, but those are scarce as I know Shelby doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends on tour. One of?—
No fucking way.
I stop and stare at a picture I haven’t seen in years. It’s of the two of us when we were younger. If I was looking quickly, I would’ve missed it.
It’s not big. In fact, it’s one of the smaller ones she has displayed. But it’s there. The two of us, smiling as big as we can, after we each won our first junior titles. The only girl in the mix, she dominated the eight- to ten-year-old boys group, while Imade a clutch putt to win the eleven- to thirteen-year-old division.
Back then we still liked each other. If anything, we were rivals. Always wanting to one-up each other any way we could. But there was no personal animosity. She still smiled at me. Still let me call her Belle. We kept each other motivated while also wanting to always beat the other.
Then one day it all changed. And I still don’t know how it happened.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says, scaring the shit out of me as she comes into her living room. “It’s the only picture I have of that day.”
“Of course it is,” I say, letting her think I believe the lie. I know for a fact my mother took just as many pictures of her that day as she did of me. Shelby’s dad could rarely make tournaments—I know he picked up every overtime shift he could to make sure Shelby could continue golfing—so my mom always took her under her wing. “Are you ready to talk?”
She lets out a heavy sigh as she plops down on a couch as far across the living room as possible from the chair I choose to sit in. “I guess.”
“Don’t be too excited.”
“Believe me, I’m not,” she says as she pushes up the side of the T-shirt that’s fallen down a little too low. And yeah, she’s definitely not wearing a bra. “But Ethan’s right. It’s a good tournament for me to come back to. Even if I have to play with you.”
“I’m honored,” I say dryly. “It’s good for me too. I still stand by what I said last year, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling the effects of my actions.”
“You fucked around and found out.”
I sigh. “Pretty much.”
She’s quiet for a second, but I watch as her hardened shield lessens just the slightest. It’s in her shoulders. They aren’t as tense. I wouldn’t call her relaxed, but this isn’t overly-defensive Shelby.
“You were right, by the way. Those tournament directors fucked you and the rest of the guys who were in that afternoon flight.”
“I appreciate that.”
And I do. While many players messaged me privately showing their support and agreeing with what I said, none would come out and say it publicly. Which I get. No one should have to face the wrath I did just for agreeing with me. Though, it would’ve been nice.
“So,” I continue, hoping to make the best of the current mood she’s in, “we both agree this could be a good PR thing for us? Both of us need to perform well.”
“What we need is to not kill each other.”
I can’t help but laugh at her bluntness. “Exactly.”
She sits back against her couch, the shoulder of her shirt dropping again, exposing the top of a toned bicep and a long neckline down to her smooth shoulders. Would it have killed her to change when she went and washed the shit off her face?
“We only have to play together two of the days,” I explain, unsure if she looked up the format of the tournament. “First day is a two-ball scramble, second day is women’s only, third day is me, then the final day is an alternating shot.”
“I know,” she says like I’m the biggest idiot on the planet. “I’m not dumb.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Well, since you assumed I didn’t know the format, I wasn’t sure.”
“I was trying to be helpful,” I toss back at her, trying not to sound as exasperated as I feel.
“Well you weren’t.”
“This!” I scream out, unable to temper my frustration at this woman anymore. “Can we have one conversation where you aren’t defensive as hell?”
“Can we have one conversation where you don’t feel like you need to be in charge and maybe treat me like an equal?”
