Page 73 of Unexpected Shot
She takes a second to think before she greets me with a heavy sigh as she steps out of the doorway. “You can talk. I might listen. I will drink.”
I don’t know why that makes me chuckle as she walks to the small bar in her hotel room, dropping a few ice cubes into a glass before pouring a healthy dose of vodka on top.
“Hair of the dog for you too? I went with whiskey.”
She turns and levels me with a look. Which, I deserve. I acted like an ass today, and I barely looked at her as we left the course after our press conference. Even now, I don’t know where to look. At her? I should, but frankly, she’s scaring me a little. Do I sit? Stand? I do see my shirt from last night balled in the corner and debate whether I should retrieve it now or later. Or ever.
“Talk so you can leave.”
I let out a sigh, knowing what I want to say to her, but also knowing it’s going to lead to another fight. It’s inevitable. Because that’s what Shelby and I do.
“I’m sorry.” I know I don’t deserve praise and a celebration for that admission, but Shelby’s stoic face isn’t exactly the reaction I was hoping for. “Are you going to say anything?”
“What do you want me to say?” She tops off her glass and goes to sit on a chair in the corner of the room. “Good job apologizing for shit that was your fault to begin with? You want agold star? Me to pat you on the back? What false praise would Beau Devereaux like for apologizing for the first time in his life?”
While she has some points in there, I need to breathe through the desire to immediately snap at her. She acts like I’ve never felt sorry about anything ever. Then again, Shelby has always believed what she needs to be true when it comes to me.
“I know you don’t think of me as a decent human, but give me credit that I have some ounces of empathy in me.”
“Emphasis on ounces,” she says. “Now, if you want to tell me what you’re actually sorry for, I might not think of you as a complete asshole tonight.”
“Just tonight? Can’t wait to see what you think of me tomorrow.”
“Oh, tomorrow I’ll go back to thinking you’re a cheater and a pain in my ass.”
“And there it is!” I bellow. “What the fuck do I have to do to convince you that I didn’t cheat? I thought we were over this!”
“And I thought you were serious when you said you wanted a truce last night, but I guess that only works when we’re shit-faced!”
“I was serious!”
“Then why the hell didn’t you act like it this morning!”
“Because I was hungover, confused over why I woke up in your bedroom, and then I fucking saw Chad and I lost it!”
Shelby starts to reply, but closes her mouth just as quickly as she opened it. “You spent the night here?”
That’s what we’re going to talk about? Sure. Whatever. If it means we aren’t getting security called on us because of the volume of our voices, I’ll take it. “Don’t worry. It’s not like we were spooning or anything. In fact, clip your toenails. They were digging into my stomach.”
“Fuck you,” she says, turning away so she can pace a small circle in the room. She stops midstep, and that’s when I think she realizes what I saw as soon as I stepped in. “Is that your shirt?”
“Yeah,” I say, walking over and picking up the rumpled ball of fabric. “But can we get back to the reason I’m here?”
I can see the debate wrestling in her eyes. “Fine. Apologize. Then leave.”
I do my best to take a calming breath, though I don’t know how much it actually helps. Not when I want to simultaneously pull my hair out and kiss her.
“I’m sorry, Shelby. Truly. I am.”
I catch her double blink before she puts her wall of armor back on. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, needing to also get out this next part. “And as for the sixteenth hole, that was the volcano exploding. When I heard you say what Chad did, on top of everything else with him, I snapped. I shouldn’t have.”
“Did you really punch him last night? Is that why your knuckles were red?”
I nod, no sense in denying it now. “I did. I saw him at the hotel bar before I came out to Frank’s. Things got…heated.”
“Heated? Heated how?”
